Chapter 22
A 5 A. M. SECURITY MEETINGThe army helicopter that hovered over the helipad in a darkened corner of the intelligence compound in Maryland carried only one passenger at 3:18 on a chilly Friday morning. That one, who had introduced herself as Ms. Cyd Watkins to the pilot, had ensured he understood she had a mind of her own. “I heard you the first time,” she had snapped, when he, glancing over his shoulder, warned to secure her shoulder harness. An elevator had pulled her only minutes before up from the depths of her hermetic chamber of an office. After hours below, she felt like she had surfaced from the bottom of an ocean. So for a few moments in her rear seat she simply sat there, eyes closed, inhaling the cool air washing over her from the blast of the chopper’s rotor blades.
