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Johnson composed himself before he replied, Russell was not a man known for his patience. Whatever Johnson was about to say would potentially be the difference between him remaining in post or having to spend the next week looking over his back and around every corner, wondering how they were going to kill him. He had fucked up but he still believed taking Sam out was imperative; four highly trained killers were testament to that.

“Because you have to trust me when I say you want Sam Baker dead.”

“And why would that be?” asked Russell.

“Because if he were alive, he would not rest until he found his brother’s killers and eliminated each and every person involved. Including the four of us in here.”

“I am the Vice President of the United States of America and soon to be the President. We are talking about one man here. Get a grip Allan. What’s the big deal?”

“Because if I wanted to assassinate the President of the United States, he’d be the one man I’d turn to, to get the job done.”

The words hung in the air as each of the men digested exactly how highly the Director of the CIA regarded Sam Baker.

A rather less indignant Russell eventually spoke.

“So why the hell didn’t you send a better team to deal with him, four amateurs to kill an assassin, are you mad?”

“Of course not, I sent four ex-Special forces killers. They weren’t amateurs, anything but. That’s exactly why we needed to take him out!”

Before Russell could respond, his phone rang.

“Russell,” he announced as he answered the phone.

Gates, Johnson and Preston sat and watched as Russell’s demeanor instantly changed to that of a chastised child. After what seemed a lifetime, Russell spoke.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied and replaced the handset.

Visibly shaken, he turned to his audience. “Guys, I cannot emphasize enough how imperative it is that we find and eliminate the Bakers.”

All were interrupted by a knock at the door as Russell’s assistant entered the room.

“Sir, sorry to interrupt but I have the President holding on line 2. I just realized you had finished the other call.”

All three attendees looked at each other in shock, the question clear in each other’s faces. The VP had just called someone ‘Sir’. They had all assumed he had been talking to the President, the only person the Vice President was ever likely to call ‘Sir’. Who in the hell was pulling the strings and who were they working for?

“Taxi!” shouted Senator Charles Baker for the first time in many years. Agent Clark did what she did best. She watched and surveyed everything and every person in sight. So far, it seemed they had evaded whatever the hell was going on. Although it did seem apparent that the Senator’s life was in danger, it was not from Yuri Andriev. Travis, it appeared from the indignation in his face, was on their side but the Senator had been clear he trusted nobody but Clark and even then, Clark didn’t fully believe him.

As the taxi stopped at their side, Clark gave the driver a once over before allowing the Senator to enter the vehicle.

“OK, where to?” she asked turning to Baker.

“BWI, train station,” announced Baker. As the driver pulled away, he smiled. Baltimore Washington International train station was a thirty mile run and outside the city limits. That would be a hefty bill and from the passengers’ attire, he knew they were good for it.

“What the hell for?”

“Sam has a plan. Actually, Sam has a plan for everything. Anyway, if he gave me a warning or if ever I were in danger, he planned a route for me. In fact, sorry, do you have a cell phone?”

Clark reached into her pocket and handed Baker her phone. Without so much as a thank you, Baker flicked the cell through the open window of the cab, quickly followed by his own.

Clark could only turn and watch as her cell, with five years of stored numbers, disintegrated under the tires of the car behind. It wasn’t the loss of the phone that upset her, it was forgetting to back up the memory of all her contacts that was really pissing her off.

“Anything else they could use to track us?” asked Baker, ignoring Clark’s look of horror over the loss of her phone.

“Not sure if they can track my radio communicator,” she answered realizing she had to get back to the job in hand.

“Well, now is not the time to risk it, Get it off and out the window please.”

As Clark disposed of her radio communicator, Baker sat back and tried to remember all the steps Sam had talked him through many years earlier. It had all seemed like nonsense at the time but Sam had made Charles repeat every step twice as he had talked him through his escape route. He had argued how ridiculous it was. He was a Senior Senator and was going to be Head of the Defense Committee, not the President. Sam had cautioned that it was for exactly that reason that he was talking him through the plan. He had emphasized more than once that Charles had no idea what he was getting himself into by accepting the Chairmanship. He was going to be playing with people whose life was war and where contracts were measured in billions of dollars and hundreds of thousands of jobs. These were not people you wanted to upset and as Chairman for the United States Senate Subcommittee for Defense Appropriations, you were going to upset a few people, no matter what you did. Sam needed to disappear for a while but only if Charles would take him seriously. They had argued long and hard over Sam’s decision to retire. Charles wanted him to come to Washington and talk about the explosion but Sam had had enough. Also, if Charles was going to be Chairman, he had to go. Sam had been called before the committee on a number of occasions and felt any future appearance could do nothing but embarrass his brother.

With the decision made, Charles had repeated the plan twice. Once Sam was happy he had taken it on board, he had left. That had been over three years earlier and Charles had not spoken to, nor seen him since. But the plan, just as Sam had intended, had remained with Charles ever since. Don’t use Union Station, it’s too obvious, use BWI, it’s big, busy and they’d never expect it. If you went there, they’d watch the airport, not the train station. Dump any cell phone or communication device. Don’t use any credit cards, use cash only. Always have $500 cash on you at all times. This is your emergency fund and don’t, for God’s sake, have five $100 bills. People remember big bills, have a mixture. Once you’re at BWI rail station, buy a ticket to New York City. You’re not going all the way but if anyone does remember your purchase, it will be a ticket to New York and whatever you do, buy a coach seat. Get off at Newark Airport and go straight to the Howard Johnson at the Airport and check in under the name Tim Wilkinson. If I’ve contacted you, I’ll meet you there. If not, and you need me, call 555-1349-911 the first chance you get from a public phone booth. I’'s an answering service. Just say ‘sorry, wrong number’ and hang up and I will get to Newark asap.

Although it had been three years since their conversation, Charles had not forgotten even the slightest detail. If Sam said jump, despite being the older and more stately brother, Charles would have asked how high. Sam never did anything without reason.

As the taxi driver unashamedly asked for $94 dollars, Clark climbed out and surveyed the area. All was clear and Baker grudgingly settled up with a small tip, another of Sam’s points, don’t not tip and don’t over tip, people remember both. $100 dollars lighter, he exited the cab and walked into the terminal. One concern remained. The woman sworn to defend his life was not featured in Sam’s plan. Charles took an executive decision. She stayed.

“OK, we need to get a couple of tickets to NYC. Probably best you buy them,” suggested Baker, handing over a pile of twenties.

Clark walked towards the ticket counter. “Oh and better get coach!” he added with a smile. It had been a very long time since Senator Charles Baker had travelled Coach.

As Johnson exited the room, he hit the speed dial button on his cell and connected to his ops center.

“Where are we?” he barked as the call was answered.

Recognizing the boss’ voice, the senior operator wasted no time on pleasantries.

“The satellites have picked up six dead bodies...”

“I know all that thanks to Preston. Where are we on finding the target?” he interrupted brusquely. Preston’s telling the VP information his team had been responsible for had really pissed him off.

“The call to the Secret Service was made over two hours ago. We’ve had three satellite sweeps on North Haven in that time and it seems the target has probably taken our operatives’ car as it’s not been found on the island. Which means two things. One, we can track him. And two, more importantly, he had to use the ferry. That takes over ninety minutes and the one he’s on is due to land shortly.”

“What assets do we have locally?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. Our closest assets are in Boston, just under 200 miles away. However, I have managed to acquire a General Atomics Avenger unmanned combat air vehicle. It’s still in development but I am told has performed exceptionally in testing and our guys are extremely keen to utilize it in a live environment.

“What have you told them?” Johnson was well aware of the Avenger’s capabilities. It was one tool he couldn’t wait to get in to the field. The jet powered stealthy reconnaissance vehicle could fly faster, higher, further and carry far more ordinance than her predecessors, the Predator and the Reaper.

“That we are tracking an Al Qaeda cell which we believe is targeting Seabrook Nuclear reactor in New Hampshire and or Pilgrim Nuclear reactor in Massachusetts. Both reactors are within 40 miles of Boston and as such they were happy to assist. The Avenger was operating out of the 174th air wing at Syracuse New York. They were trialing it alongside the Reaper. The Avenger is armed with hellfire missiles and will be on station when Baker’s ferry docks.”

“Excellent and the Senator?”

“Sorry Sir, dropped off the radar. We have nothing on him nor the Secret Service Agent. We have them on camera running from the Hart building shortly after the shots were fired. We lose them as they run into the road. We’re grabbing all CCTV images from the vicinity. As soon as we’ve got something, I’ll let you know.”

Johnson knew that Sam would ultimately lead them to the Senator but to let him go when they had an opportunity to take him out relatively easily, made his decision. The Senator was an amateur and would slip up. Sam wasn’t and wouldn’t. They had the drop on him and that was exactly what they would do, drop the hellfire missiles on him asap.

“Keep looking for the Senator but take Sam out as soon as you get a clear shot and by clear, I mean minimize civilian casualties. We’ve had enough collateral damage for one day. I’m heading to you now, so should be with you in about 45 minutes. First chance you get, take him out.”

“Yes Sir.”

Johnson began to relax, dealing with the loose end that was Sam Baker had been a long overdue issue. Of course they could have disposed of the Senator without touching Sam. It had been a calculated risk to throw Sam into the mire but Sam knew things about Johnson that nobody should know. Johnson had seen his opportunity and he had taken it. It was just a shame that the idiots he had selected hadn’t. Mind you, he thought, they certainly paid for that in spades, quite literally. Johnson knew Sam Baker was a risk, almost certainly because there were only two people who knew he was alive. One was his brother and the other was him. Johnson, therefore, would be top of Sam’s hit list, not a place anyone would want to be but with 20,000 employees in the CIA, Sam would have to go some to get near him, never mind the six hellfire missiles 10,000 feet above Sam with his name on them.

Sam had been out the game for three years, not something he was overly concerned about. His training regime was as tough if not tougher than it had ever been. He was as fit now as he had been twenty years earlier. He did, however, have one nagging doubt about the previous three years - how far had technology travelled and how far behind had he fallen? Three years earlier he knew every conceivable way to track a human being but things had moved on. He looked again at the sat nav system in the car. Three years ago, he would have been confident it wasn’t an issue but could it be tracked now? The system was pulling information from somewhere and if it was getting it, it was giving it. He had to dump the car quickly.

They already knew where his starting point was, Rockland Maine. There was no need to give them anymore of a head-start than that. The local airport was out. Once in the air, he would be a sitting target and trackable. The train would be no better Slow and few or no escape routes would favor only his hunters. That left sticking with the roads and with over 400 miles to travel, speed was of the essence. As he pulled off the ferry, he could feel the roar of the Chrysler’s engine. It certainly had the power he needed. T, the 6.1l hemi engine produced 425 bhp and could propel the car to almost 180mph. Rockland was a cul-de-sac. He had no choice but to go for it.

The Virginia plates gave Sam some comfort; whoever had sent the men to kill him did not have local help. He knew they’d be onto him but Virginia was 800 miles away and it would take at least a few hours for them to regroup and get assets on scene and in that car, he could be in Newark in three hours, traffic allowing.