Jesse laughed softly. “You want me to push us out of the driveway and down the block so no one will hear the engine?”

“I considered doing it myself, but I didn’t trust your concussed brain to see straight.”

Jesse wasn’t sure she was kidding.

“Put your computer backpack on the rear seat floorboard,” she said. “Don’t let it fall against the soft thermal bag behind me. I made up some yogurt and granola for your breakfast. There’s also a thermos of coffee and two sealable mugs that are full. You should be able to reach them from the front passenger seat. I’ll have my coffee once we hit I-66.”

Jesse did as she instructed and then buckled himself in beside her.

Ethel started the car and let its idling speed creep the vehicle out to the street. Once they were clear of the curb, she slowly accelerated to the twenty-five-miles-per-hour neighborhood speed limit.

“Don’t you trust Lisa and Douglas?” Jesse asked.

“What they don’t know they can’t be forced by their superiors to reveal.”

“I understand about Bradshaw pressing Douglas for what you’re doing, but Lisa isn’t Secret Service.”

“No, but she’ll keep her supervisor informed anyway. Jonathan’s last case was a joint operation, and she’ll point that out. She’s smart and figures the way to stand out is to be in the know. Information is power, and she’ll try to parlay that to her advantage. I did the same thing when I was her age, so I don’t fault her. I just don’t want to fall victim to her ambitions.”

“Won’t she and Douglas be curious where we’ve gone?”

“Yes. That’s why I left a note by the coffeepot saying neither one of us could sleep, so we’ve gone for a morning walk along the river in Old Town. It’ll also explain why I skipped my RBG workout.” She glanced in her rearview mirror as she turned onto a four-lane highway. “Lisa and Douglas should report for work before our late return raises questions.”

“How far is this airport?” Jesse asked.

“About forty minutes away. Near Manassas National Battlefield Park.”

“A municipal airport?”

“It’s private. For UFOs only.”

Jesse stared at her. “UFOs? Come on, Ethel. I’m serious.”

Her mouth twitched into a smile. “So am I. UFO. United Flying Octogenarians. It’s a club for pilots in their eighties.”

“But you’re not eighty yet.”

“Let’s just say they consider me their adopted little sister. A little sister who owns a share of a plane. Most club members are ex-military or retired commercial. A few are like me, private hobbyists with a love of flying. My father paid for my lessons when I was eighteen. It was a great gift he gave me.”