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corridors.”
    “Let’s stop by the bridge and see what’s holding up the captain.”
    “He’s probably already back in the Grand Salon wondering what’s taking me so long,” McGarvey said. He opened one of the side pockets in his hanging bag where he’d stuffed his gun, holster, and spare magazines. He debated rearming himself, but then he had to ask why. He was supposed
to be on vacation. He had an armed guard with him, and the CIA and DoD had vetted the crew and passengers.
    “I can call and ask,” Grassinger suggested.
    McGarvey zippered the side pocket, and shut the closet door. “This is only the second night out, Jim. And if we keep going like this, we’ll probably end up shooting each other.” He forced a grin. “We’re going to start having a good time around here, and that’s an order.”
    Grassinger reluctantly put his gun away. “You’re right. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing my job.”
    McGarvey looked at him. “I don’t expect that you will. But we have to ease up a little. And that goes for me as well as for you.”
    Grassinger chuckled. “It’s a deal, boss, as long as you don’t use the word probably again. Gives me the creeps.”
    “Right. Katy and I are going to have a last dance, and then we’re coming up to bed. It’s been a long day.”
    “That it has,” Grassinger said.
    Getting out of Washington unnoticed yesterday had been an exercise in subterfuge. Ever since McGarvey’s contentious Senate subcommittee hearings to confirm his appointment as director of Central Intelligence, the media had practically camped on the CIA’s doorstep, and down the block from his house in Chevy Chase when he was in residence. Every time his limousine made a move, the press was on his tail. It was almost as bad as being chased by the paparazzi. One of the security people drove Katy and their bags out to an Air Force VIP Gulfstream at Andrews, while McGarvey was taken to FBI headquarters in the J. Edgar Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue. He transferred to an unmarked, windowless surveillance van and was finally driven out to Andrews, where he was given immediate clearance to take off.
    The flight was bumpy all the way out to Ellsworth Air Force Base in Rapid City, South Dakota, where they were forced to land in a blinding rainstorm with high winds because one of the control system’s trouble lights indicated they were losing hydraulic fluid. It turned out to be a false alarm, but they refueled and then took off again during a brief break in the weather. An hour out of Ellsworth, Katy got airsick, but refused to let them set down or turn back.
    After that, the weather improved a little until they finally landed at
Juneau in a cold drizzle, and Katy immediately perked up. She had looked forward to this trip for several months, and absolutely nothing was going to stop her from having a good time; once they got back to Washington, her obstetrician promised to be on her back 24/7, and she would have to start behaving herself.
    Katy and Kirk would have to get a good night’s sleep, because they would be busy again the next day, hiking on glaciers, kayaking to chase whales, otter spotting, maybe salmon fishing or oyster hunting, whitewater rafting, and even hiking through the Sitka forests to see elaborately carved totem poles. They wanted to see and do as much as they possibly could while Katy was still in the earliest stages of her pregnancy. The toughest part would be complying with the strict order her doctor had given to Mac: “Slow her down, Mr. Director; she’s not a twenty-five-year-old girl.”
    “Did you tell her that?” McGarvey asked.
    Her doctor had smiled faintly. “All except the part about not being twenty-five. But she’ll be just fine as long as you don’t let her overdo it.”
    McGarvey followed his bodyguard back down to the lounge deck. The doors to the Grand Salon were closed, but the corridor was ice cold, as if a hatch or something was open to the