Bring the Heat

25.

We touch down, taxi briefly and come to complete stop. The Gulfstream’s door opens with a familiar woosh, releasing the pressure built of almost four hours at five hundred mph. Time, speed and distance. The attendant escorts me from my work station to the door, parting company with a crisp salute and cordial farewell. Waiting at the bottom of the stairs is a black Ford Expedition Max. Next to the driver side door stands a young man, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine, in a LA Dodgers ball cap and aviator shades. He is holding the keys to the rig that needs no introduction as a police vehicle. 

“Even without the CIA or FBI logo, this baby shouts that the cops are here.” I quip. I introduce myself and take the keys. “Hop in let’s go.”

We squeal a one-eighty and head towards a gate I assume is the exit. I look to the computer and program the GPS coordinates. I am informed that the destination is thirty-nine minutes away via the displayed suggested route. 

“You are part of Team Five?” I ask the kid with as calm a demeanor as I can muster. 

“Yes sir, they call me Drysdale, sir.” I look at his cap and smile recognizing and appreciating the nuance. 

“Do we have any updates? Particularly regarding Saunders, or the possibility that your cover is blown?” 

“Not on Saunders, she is recuperating in post op. We have noticed what appears to be a surveillance van circling the safe house at fairly regular intervals. Dark tinted windows and obscured license plates, hard to ID. But we have some video that is in the process of being analyzed.” 

“How far from the Hospital is the Safe House.”

“About thirty miles. Took me 27:43 to get here.” He consulted his watch for the precision time in transit answer. “They are very similar in distance from the Safe House.”

“Davis is point?”

“Yes, sir, a very capable leader. The rest of us are in good shape.” 

“Is there a communications package in the back?”

“Yes sir.”

“Can you get to it as we move?”

“I can, sir.”

He releases himself from the harness as instantly verified by the sound of an elevator bell from the console. He climbs over the passenger seat, removes the rear cushion and enters a four digit code to the security box built-in below the rear compartment seats. 

“Drysdale.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll take a Glock Nine and two fifteen round clips while you’re there.”

“Yes. sir.” 

“Drysdale. Can I assume that you are carrying one as well.”

“You can and I am, sir. That is how I got the nickname.”