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At 16:52 EDT, a flight from London, England, landed at Washington Dulles International Airport thirty minutes early due to favorable conditions. The lineup for customs, while long, moved quickly. Having multiple flights land simultaneously from around the world was a regular occurrence and not an issue. Agents were used to processing millions of people annually.
A middle-aged couple, husband and wife, were visiting from Sweden, and after a few questions, a customs agent barely looked up at them before he called the next person to step forward.
Five minutes later, a woman from the airline pushed an older gentleman through the crowd in a wheelchair. A pair of crutches were tucked into his side, and a small bag rested on his lap. The man was brought to the customs agent on the end, who helped those with special needs. He was whisked through without incident, and the woman brought him to the luggage area, where his nephew was allowed to help.
On the opposite end, a customs agent’s finger caressed the red button under the counter, and twice, he almost pushed it. Something about the man in front of him made him nervous.
There wasn’t anything remarkable about him—forty-five years of age, short dark hair, and casually dressed in a gray sweatshirt and khakis. The Irish passport held a new picture, and there was no doubt of the resemblance. Maybe it was the total lack of emotion on his features or the way he seemed to glide as he walked, but the button was nearly pressed a third time. He wrote R-45 on the CBP Traveler Entry form with a blue marker and allowed him through.
After collecting his luggage, the man showed the paperwork to the departing agent. He was led to a secondary inspection, where detailed questions were asked and a thorough search, including a body scan, was conducted. Every piece of clothing and luggage went through the X-ray. Swabs were taken and run through the “puffer” machine as it looked for trace detection of explosives.
The man was polite and did not hinder the agents. After a dog handler brought a black Labrador retriever through to sniff his possessions, he was free to go.
At 18:12, a blue airport panel van with tinted windows pulled away from the authorized short-term parking. The set of crutches left by the wheelchair would eventually end up in the lost and found and remain unclaimed for sixty days before being donated.
*****
AFTER TWO HOURS, NOAH used the handset. “Anything?”
“Nothing. Even if we were to bust walls, I think the place is clean.” Angie sounded tired.
“Come on out, and we can switch. I need a break.”
“Roger. Out in two.”
Noah grew bored after countless hours of sitting in a vehicle and watching a target. He found his mind drifting as to Miriam’s involvement. The information kept adding up to a foreign government being involved, long past Leslie and Joe Taylor’s involvement. Revenge against the US government agencies for discovering their spies? That line of thought didn’t make sense. Any actions taken would be done covertly and not in a public kidnapping.
Dickinson came out of the house, and he could tell she carried something wrapped in her skirt. She passed him a Smith and Wesson MP&9 pistol at the driver's door. The 9mm gun was much smaller than the Glock, and it would be easier to conceal.
“Whoever searched the place left it unloaded on the bed. It wasn’t what they were looking for or just didn’t care.” She showed him the extra magazine.
“Keep it for now, but tucked away.” After flashing the Glock to the agents, he had placed it in the armrest storage. It would court trouble and shift attention where he didn’t want it. “What section of the house is left?”
Angie opened the door, and he stepped outside. She knew enough that the vehicle should always be ready to drive away if needed. “Kitchen, office, and exterior.”
Noah grabbed the handset and made his way up the walkway. He had no doubt Dickinson was methodical in her search, so he didn’t waste time double-checking. Before he began a systematic examination, Noah stood in the middle of the office and did nothing.
If something is out of place or odd, your attention will be drawn to it. So, to start, do nothing but take it in. Hutchings gave that advice to him eighteen years ago, and he couldn’t help but hope Hutch was staying out of trouble.
After three minutes, Noah found one thing missing. The lack of any security systems or cameras throughout the home. He stepped out on the front porch to confirm. Nothing. A woman in her position should have something—even a false outdoor camera as a deterrent. Why? Only one answer came to mind—there was nothing of any real value within the home.
As he turned around and saw the pictures, a grin spread across his face. He removed a small five-by-eight frame to examine the photo.
“It looks like we’re going on a road trip.”
Noah tucked the picture inside his jacket when the flashing lights came through the front window. They had company.