As she reviewed every second of that hit, she wondered if she’d run into trouble at the airport. If they detained her, it was all over. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Though she was flying on a private jet, she needed to move up her departure time. Two-thirty in the morning meant eight-thirty the previous evening in the DMV—the District, Maryland, and Virginia. She called her handler.
He answered. “Code name?”
“Fox Key.”
“Go,” said her handler.
“I need to change my departure from 4:00 pm to this morning.”
“Is the job done?” asked her handler.
“Yes,” she replied. “With issues.”
“How bad?”
“Just get me out,” Sydney pushed back.
“The jet can be ready at 7:00 am.”
“I’ll be on it.” She killed the call, set her sights on the road, but kept glancing in the rearview mirror.
I’m not out of danger until my ass is back in DC. Until then, I gotta watch my six.
TEDDY
For too many months,Theodore Santini had been chasing evil, but not getting close enough to catch it. He’d spent the summer in Boston hunting down every damn lead. He’d raided three locations only to find the Haqazzii terrorists had fled. In August, a cryptic note in a private chat room on the Dark Web led him to Ocean City, Maryland. Again, he came up short.
After Ocean City turned up nothing, a confidential informant claimed he found the leader, Muhammed Haqazzii, in Southern Virginia. Teddy had jumped on that, but no Haqazzii.
September had turned to October. With each passing day, Teddy’s frustration grew. Pushing himself hard at the gym didn’t help. A quick jaunt home to be with family hadn’t worked either.
He’d been using Stryker Truman’s propriety IDware, hoping to get a match on public surveillance footage, but the software had yielded no results.
Until now.
The facial recognition program had identified two Haqazzii soldiers in a small town an hour outside Pittsburgh with an eighty-five percent confidence rating.
“Mr. Santini, we’re on final approach to the airport,” said the pilot, snapping Teddy from his thoughts. “Ten minutes ‘til we touch down in Pittsburgh.”
Teddy unbuckled his seatbelt, retrieved his go-bag from the small closet. Already dressed in black—including his weathered black combat boots—he pulled on the body armor. He strapped on the double-holster harness, fitted it with his Glock 17s, then pulled on his black leather jacket. In the bag sat his suppressor and his helmet with night-vision goggles. He shoved the silencer into the jacket pocket and pulled on his black leather gloves.
He was ready to hunt down as many Haqazzii terrorists ashe could find. Despite his lack of progress, he remained hopeful.
Or stubborn.
The verdict was out on which.
The newly-acquired ALPHA-owned jet touched down on the runway and the pilots slowed the giant Gulfstream to a smooth stop.
Shaking off the ‘tude, he made his way to the front, pausing near the cockpit. “Nice ride.”
“Our pleasure,” said the female pilot.
“We’ll stretch our legs and be on call in the main airport,” said the male copilot.
“What’s your time frame?” she asked.
