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I’ll wake you when we start our descent.”
    Nathan knew there was no point in further speculation about the face-to-face meeting. He’d have his answer in a few hours. He closed his eyes and reclined his chair. If he fell asleep, he hoped he wouldn’t dream of Nicaragua.

    A sudden jolt awoke Nathan. Feeling disoriented, he quickly sat up and looked around. The bump he’d felt was the landing.
    “I didn’t want to wake you.”
    “I can’t believe I fell asleep. You?”
    “A couple of hours, you know the adage . . .”
    “Sleep when you can.”
    The Challenger turned off the runway and began taxiing.
    “It’s really tempting to time-share one of these jets,” Harv said, “but it would be hard to justify.”
    “I was thinking the same thing, but as little as we fly, it wouldn’t make economic sense. It’s infinitely cheaper flying commercial everywhere.”
    Nathan and Harv owned a highly profitable private-security company. They’d founded First Security Inc. a few years after they’d retired from the CIA. Their firm specialized in sophisticated alarm systems and countersurveillance measures for homes and businesses. They also taught personal-security awareness and tactical-combat classes to VIPs and corporate executives. So far, they’d done extremely well. Last year, Harv started an armored SUV line, and he’d already secured a five-vehicle contract with three more big clients ready to sign.
    “Well, at least you didn’t have to go through a TSA checkpoint. I know how much you love doing that, Nate.”
    “It’s not that bad—it just makes me want to break a few arms.”
    Harv smiled. “You’ve come a long way. Twenty years ago, you would’ve wanted to break a few necks .”
    “Don’t remind me.”
    Nathan heard his phone chime with a text message.
    How was your flight?
    Very nice, thx . . . Are you meeting us?
    Yes. I’m inside the Dulles Jet Center. See you in a few.
    “Cantrell?” Harv asked.
    “She’s waiting for us in the jet center.”
    “Good call.”
    “Well, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.”
    When the Challenger stopped in the transient parking area, the first officer emerged from the cockpit and lowered the fuselage door, which also served as a ladder. They grabbed their overnight bags, complimented the crew on a pleasant flight, and stepped down to the tarmac. A jet center employee escorted them over to the automatic glass doors.
    Director Cantrell was waiting inside with two men—presumably operations officers doubling as bodyguards. Both men wore business suits and had small ear speakers with lapel mikes. Cantrell was dressed in a dark pants suit. In her early fifties, her shoulder-length brown hair had a touch of gray. She stood at least a foot shorter than Nathan but possessed a commanding presence. Harv and he approached Cantrell and shook hands. Introductions were made. Nathan noticed that the woman behind the jet center’s counter seemed to recognize Cantrell. When the woman made eye contact with Nathan, he winked. She forced a smile and quickly averted her eyes.
    “It’s good to see you guys,” Cantrell said. “Thank you for coming.”
    “Glad to do it, Rebecca. You’re working late.”
    “I’m on graveyard for a spell. We’ve got an operation going on the other side of the world. We’re about to collar a major bad guy.”
    “Aren’t you in more of a political position?” Harv asked.
    “I’ve been resisting it.” She smiled, then gave each of them a look, up and down. “You guys look sharp.”
    “Five Eleven Tactical line,” Nathan said.
    “It looks good on you.”
    “Thank you.” Nathan wanted to ask what was going on but knew it had to wait until they were clear of any potential eavesdropping equipment.
    “We’re parked out front,” she said. They began walking toward the street-side entrance. At the door, Rebecca stopped and let the two operations officers leave the building. Nathan watched them through the glass as they visually