Their conversation was lighter for the balance of the drive back to John’s condominium in Ashburn, mid-way between Leesburg and Dranesville, Virginia. He remarked that he was getting home much later than he’d originally planned on, and couldn’t help but smile when Etty assured him that he would sleep like a baby soon enough.
The Secret Service recorded all of it.
Team 2 finished their onsite recon of the Manleigh Cheese truck, and reported nothing out of the ordinary. They faded back into the shrubbery, trees, and bushes in Logan’s front yard—ostensibly to wait until morning to leave the premises, but to catch a little sleep, too.
Logan was blissfully unaware of events outside his computer room. He’d discovered an entire crop of new “Neko mimi” (cat ears) girl photos posted in an online forum he didn’t visit very often. It would be hours before he tired of them. Sound clips from the surveillance videos would be secretly passed around at the CIA, NSA, and Secret Service.
Even high pressure, top-secret, employees needed a laugh now and again. Logan’s comments, and ridiculous kitty noises, brought many of them to tears—from laughing.
Donna made it home with no issues, except for Agent Greg Clark’s secret approval of her music choices. The sniper across the street noted her arrival, reached out to his commanding officer, and confirmed that his target was not an active issue. When he received his reply, he, too, stood down for the night. Anything else that could possibly happen with Donna Abrams inside her home would be recorded in several different ways, and reviewed at leisure—if not summarily destroyed when she was no longer a person of interest.
The material from the cameras and microphones in John Frost’s home would be the object of great speculation in the days and weeks following their appointment at the White House. Analysts in certain government agencies were tasked with uncovering how, and why, a normal man was able to engage in vigorous (often acrobatic) sex with someone who wasn’t there. Another set of individuals, with even higher security clearances, had the duty to research why the surveillance devices failed at the crescendo of the subject’s solitary sexual performance.
When the answer came to light, it was surprisingly simple.
“The devices failed due to being subjected to freezing temperatures below their operational range.”
Etty and John, at the time, couldn’t care less. She was making absolutely sure her new husband was too exhausted to do anything other than sleep for the coming four hours before he was due to wake for the day. Neither of them, at the moment of her victory, noticed the tiny blue flashes of shorting circuits in the corner of the room.
They slept, entwined, and the world beyond the warmth of their bodies simply didn’t exist… until John’s alarm clock went off at 6am.