shouted, as she smiled from the tarmac.
Nodding toward the jet she replied, “I’ll catch up. Got a little deadweight to take care of first.”
He understood. This was her operation and that made the dead body her problem.
Placing his drink between his legs, he strapped in and put on a headset as one of the crew members slid the door shut. The craft then began to vibrateas the pilot applied power to the twin GE turboshaft engines. Seconds later, they were airborne. There was no feeling in the world like it.
No matter how many times Harvath had experienced it, and he had experienced it a lot, lifting off in a helicopter was always an incredible sensation.
The Black Hawk banked northwest toward the Anacostia River. Soon, he could make out the lights of NationalsPark. Off in the distance, on their left, was the Tidal Basin and the Thomas Jefferson Memorial.
As they flew over the National Mall, depending on which window he peered through, he could see the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial beyond, as well as the Capitol on the other side of the helo.
D.C. was beautiful at night, particularly from the air. He had no idea where they were going.
After passing the White House, they continued northwest, flying over the Adams Morgan neighborhood and then the towns of Chevy Chase and Bethesda. Rockville and Gaithersburg slipped beneath the dark belly of the Black Hawk next.
Once they passed Frederick, Maryland, he had a pretty good idea of where they were headed. Years ago, as a Secret Service agent attached to the Presidential ProtectiveDetail, he had made this trip many times. He knew the terrain below them like he knew the scars on his kitchen table. If the helicopter went down right now, he could lead everyone to safety, as well as to a handful of supply caches and covert redoubts.
Closing his eyes, he took a sip of his drink and listened to the chatter over his headset. It was all so familiar—the radio communications, thepounding of the rotor blades as they sliced through the pine-scented air, the bounce of the airframe as it was buffeted by updrafts from the mountainous forest several hundred feet beneath them.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the nostalgia, but he couldn’t help but be taken by what a gorgeous night it was to be in the air. He was sorry they weren’t flying with the doors open.
Whenthe pilot gave the two-minute warning, he opened his eyes and looked at his watch. Twenty-eight minutes since they had passed the White House. Just as he remembered.
After checking his seatbelt restraints, he peered out the window and drained what was left in his cup. They were about to land on hallowed ground. It would have been disrespectful to hop out of the helo with a drink in his hand.
When the big bird came in, it came in hard and fast. It quickly flared and then touched down on the concrete helicopter landing zone. The rotor wash blew dust and small clumps of dirt in all directions.
Harvath glanced at his watch again. From the White House to Camp David, it had taken exactly thirty minutes. When everything had been absolutely turned upside down in his world, it was nice toreturn to something from his past that was still the same.
Sliding open the heavy door on the right side, one of the crew members hopped out and made sure all the passengers kept their heads low as they headed toward a line of waiting golf carts.
Piloting them was a team of young Marines. Harvath headed toward the nearest one.
The name on the driver’s perfectly pressed uniform was Garcia. Heintroduced himself to the Lance Corporal and she checked her list of berthing assignments.
Known officially as Naval Support Facility Thurmont, the two-hundred-acre Camp David retreat was established in 1942 under the FDR administration. Prior to the outbreak of World War II, the President’s favorite retreat had been the presidential yacht, the USS Potomac , also known as the “Floating White House.”But concerns over
Nodding toward the jet she replied, “I’ll catch up. Got a little deadweight to take care of first.”
He understood. This was her operation and that made the dead body her problem.
Placing his drink between his legs, he strapped in and put on a headset as one of the crew members slid the door shut. The craft then began to vibrateas the pilot applied power to the twin GE turboshaft engines. Seconds later, they were airborne. There was no feeling in the world like it.
No matter how many times Harvath had experienced it, and he had experienced it a lot, lifting off in a helicopter was always an incredible sensation.
The Black Hawk banked northwest toward the Anacostia River. Soon, he could make out the lights of NationalsPark. Off in the distance, on their left, was the Tidal Basin and the Thomas Jefferson Memorial.
As they flew over the National Mall, depending on which window he peered through, he could see the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial beyond, as well as the Capitol on the other side of the helo.
D.C. was beautiful at night, particularly from the air. He had no idea where they were going.
After passing the White House, they continued northwest, flying over the Adams Morgan neighborhood and then the towns of Chevy Chase and Bethesda. Rockville and Gaithersburg slipped beneath the dark belly of the Black Hawk next.
Once they passed Frederick, Maryland, he had a pretty good idea of where they were headed. Years ago, as a Secret Service agent attached to the Presidential ProtectiveDetail, he had made this trip many times. He knew the terrain below them like he knew the scars on his kitchen table. If the helicopter went down right now, he could lead everyone to safety, as well as to a handful of supply caches and covert redoubts.
Closing his eyes, he took a sip of his drink and listened to the chatter over his headset. It was all so familiar—the radio communications, thepounding of the rotor blades as they sliced through the pine-scented air, the bounce of the airframe as it was buffeted by updrafts from the mountainous forest several hundred feet beneath them.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the nostalgia, but he couldn’t help but be taken by what a gorgeous night it was to be in the air. He was sorry they weren’t flying with the doors open.
Whenthe pilot gave the two-minute warning, he opened his eyes and looked at his watch. Twenty-eight minutes since they had passed the White House. Just as he remembered.
After checking his seatbelt restraints, he peered out the window and drained what was left in his cup. They were about to land on hallowed ground. It would have been disrespectful to hop out of the helo with a drink in his hand.
When the big bird came in, it came in hard and fast. It quickly flared and then touched down on the concrete helicopter landing zone. The rotor wash blew dust and small clumps of dirt in all directions.
Harvath glanced at his watch again. From the White House to Camp David, it had taken exactly thirty minutes. When everything had been absolutely turned upside down in his world, it was nice toreturn to something from his past that was still the same.
Sliding open the heavy door on the right side, one of the crew members hopped out and made sure all the passengers kept their heads low as they headed toward a line of waiting golf carts.
Piloting them was a team of young Marines. Harvath headed toward the nearest one.
The name on the driver’s perfectly pressed uniform was Garcia. Heintroduced himself to the Lance Corporal and she checked her list of berthing assignments.
Known officially as Naval Support Facility Thurmont, the two-hundred-acre Camp David retreat was established in 1942 under the FDR administration. Prior to the outbreak of World War II, the President’s favorite retreat had been the presidential yacht, the USS Potomac , also known as the “Floating White House.”But concerns over
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