“Touchdown in thirty seconds,” Doolan called.
“Okay,” Walker said. He’d studied a map of the streets surrounding Jasper’s apartment building and memorized the route from where they would be landing, on a commercial helipad near Stanford Medical Center. Palo Alto stretched from San Francisquito Creek to the north to San Antonio Road to the south, from the San Francisco Bay to the Skyline Ridge, a mess of houses and buildings and monolithic homes that formed the bulk of the world’s tech companies.
Monica had said nothing during the trip other than to recount Jasper’s address. Walker thought her reticence was caused by the drugs that still coursed through her. She’d finished a bottle of water but had not eaten. Her whole form seemed in a funk, as though the adrenaline had drained through her and she had no energy left. He knew what that felt like. He’d been there many times, after breaching doors and engaging an enemy and things going to shit—and afterward, a flat funk. A SEAL buddy had got him onto magnesium supplements, which seemed to help a little. Walker didn’t know the medical reasons behind it all. But it worked.
The helicopter pivoted and hovered down to a light touchdown. The engine spooled down. Doolan unclipped Monica and helped her out. The two door gunners waved goodbye. Walker stood next to Doolan, far enough from the Huey to be clear of the wash of the still-turning rotors as the engines idled.
Walker said, “Master Chief, I’m going to need one more thing from you and your two boys here.”
“You name it.”
•
“Got him!” Kent passed the tablet to Harrington and pointed to the Trapwire screenshot of Paul Conway. “He used another ID to book a charter flight out of Palm Springs, light aircraft. This is from the reception’s camera, hundred percent facial recognition match.”
Harrington said, “Destination?”
“Flight plan has him headed for San Francisco.”
Harrington nodded. “Gotta be Brokaw’s apartment. He’s headed there. That server he touched, all that extra text that our tech guys at Meade said was on there—that’s a goddamned code.”
“A code for what?”
“Get the team in the air in five minutes,” Harrington said, already loading up his gear. “And get the drone over Brokaw’s building.”