Pitt looked up and smiled, then gazed out at the gray gloom hanging over Reagan National Airport as evening fell. “I was beginning to have my doubts we’d ever make it back.”

He had spent the better part of the morning being interrogated by Navy, FBI, and local Idaho law enforcement authorities about the previous night’s fatal accident. Ann redirected the questioning as best she could and ultimately gained his release, along with Heiland’s plans salvaged from the wrecked car.

The Gulfstream rolled off the runway, bypassing the commercial terminals for a private hangar reserved for government aircraft. A blue Ford Taurus shot onto the tarmac and pulled alongside as the jet’s wheels were chocked. Dan Fowler climbed out of the car and stood by, tapping his foot and checking his watch, until the jet’s door opened. He rushed over to Ann, took her hand, and helped her down the steps.

“Ann, are you okay?”

“Dan, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. We’re both a little tired, but holding up fine.”

“I thought you could use a lift home.”

Pitt followed her out of the plane and handed her a new pair of crutches.

“Good to see you, Dirk.” Fowler reached out to shake Pitt’s hand.

“After the last two days, I’m not sure I’m so happy to see you,” Pitt said, returning his handshake.

Fowler noticed Pitt was moving with his own limp. “Were you hurt, too?”

“A bullet grazed my calf. I got off easier than Ann.”

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Fowler said. “We obviously had no idea of the danger you both were walking into. We had only speculated that someone might be trying to obtain Heiland’s research when he disappeared. We certainly had no idea of the seriousness of the threat.”

“You mean threats,” Ann said. “At least they ended up as failed threats.”

Fowler gave Ann an anxious look. “Do you have Heiland’s plans?”

Pitt ducked into the Gulfstream and returned with the bin containing Heiland’s laptops and research journals. “It’s all here,” Pitt said.

Fowler looked relieved. He stepped to the rear of his car and opened the trunk. Pitt followed, shooting the security director a sharp glance as he dropped the bin in.

“You may not know it,” Fowler said, “but that represents a priceless bit of naval technology.”

“Then why didn’t you arrange an armed security escort to keep it safe? Someone is willing to kill for that data.”

“Don’t worry. It’s headed to a secure room in the bowels of the DARPA headquarters building—just as soon as I take Ann home.”

Pitt retrieved Ann’s bag from the Gulfstream and placed it in the trunk beside the bin.

“Can I give you a lift, too?” Fowler asked.