Chapter 23
Dilya kept her body absolutely still. Despite the crowding of the room, she knew it wouldn’t work but her instincts made her try.
She could blend into the background in the Roosevelt Room or the Secret Service’s office in the West Wing’s ground floor.
But the Tac Room was built for two people sitting at chairs in front of consoles—Claudia in one and Michael in the other.
Though being a two-finger typist at best, Michael didn’t touch a keyboard.
But with Mark and now Emily in the room, Zackie had to move under the desk for them all to fit.
When she barely shifted her weight, Emily’s attention snapped to her face, though her cheek still rested on Mark’s shoulder.
“You sure you don’t want me gone?” Dilya didn’t manage more than a whisper.
“I’m sure.” Then Emily turned to Claudia as if that was all that was needed. “What do we know?”
Dilya always liked watching Emily work. She’d wanted to be like her when she was young.
She still did. Except when it was necessary to blend in.
Emily never did that; she commanded the attention of every room she walked into.
She even overshadowed Mark, which was hard to imagine yet was true every time.
It was disturbing to discover things she could do that Emily couldn’t.
Also to see that Emily didn’t have her act completely together.
Dilya saw, in retrospect, how thinly she was stretched yesterday.
Even Emily Beale had limits and that uncomfortable thought made her question her own state of mind.
Racing across the country had seemed the most natural thing after the collapse of her relationship with Jimmy.
And yet, who did that? Certainly none of her other high school friends.
They were each as settled in their choice of place as Jimmy was in New Hampshire.
She was the lone vagabond of their group.
Emily might work at all of the Night Stalker bases, and their training areas spread all over the country, but she was rooted here.
Adrift. Dilya had nowhere she belonged. She’d spent half her life in the White House and most of the rest in a variety of war zones. She—
Claudia turned from her screen. “We know that due to a short runway, Choteau airport sees very few bizjets. The ones that do come in are known, mostly Hollywood and music folks coming up to their Montanan ranch-in-the-country. I reached the FBO, Choteau’s fixed base operator, during dinner last night.
He lives close to the field and heard a Gulfstream G650 arrive that night.
Spotted it departing in the morning after Miss Watson was taken, but he didn’t see the tail number. ”
“The 650? How far…” Dilya didn’t know her nonmilitary aircraft very well. In fact, she’d rarely flown in a civilian plane.
“Far,” Claudia answered her. “Moscow, Beijing, Hong Kong. Twelve hours to max range without refueling. About the only places out of direct-flight range from here are southern India or Africa, Australia, and Antarctica. It’s a proper globe trotter.
I’ve been able to backtrack enough satellite imagery to confirm there was a jet parked at Choteau during the night, but it left before full dawn, so I can’t determine much more than that.
Based on their departure time, their range limit would have landed them around dinner time last night. ”
Dilya slid down the wall until she was squatting in the corner.
She was so tired. They’d all agreed to meet after six hours sleep.
She’d managed three. She’d been right yesterday—they didn’t have time to sleep or eat.
They were too late even before they’d lost the night.
Wherever Miss Watson had been taken, she’d arrived while Dilya was riding her horse back through the evening light.
“ADS-B?” Emily asked.
“I confirmed that all G650 models are equipped with the ADS broadcast system, but I have no tracking for a plane in this area at that time. They had their safety location beacon shut off or illegally spoofed as another aircraft.”
Dilya was going to be sick.
“There is one odd thing.”
Emily made a Hmmm noise.
“I did have brief satellite coverage from a Chinese surveillance bird that they don’t know we’re in on.
Poor resolution, but it did capture a small jet thirty kilometers northeast of Choteau at the right time.
If they held that precise bearing, they passed directly over a grand total of three airports of any significant size before hitting their fuel limit.
Palermo in Sicily, Paris, or RAF Station Brize Norton. ”
Dilya looked up so quickly that she banged her head on the wall.
She’d assumed it was the Russians out to grab Miss Watson.
She’d been a deeply embedded spy in the Soviet Union.
Though that had been forty years ago and the USSR hadn’t existed for over thirty—the former KGB were now the oligarkhiya.
No one held a grudge that long. Don’t trust your assumptions.
How many times had Miss Watson told her that?
But Italy, France, or Britain? That made even less sense.