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It was three a.m. and bitterly cold for Washington, DC, even in November.
Miranda’s plane had spent a day under a hastily erected Quonset-style tent on the JFK Hockey Fields. The perimeter secured by National Guard and the plane serviced by specialists from Andrews Air Force Base.
Miranda had spent the day asleep.
Drake was hoping to get to sleep soon himself. Now that the detailed interviews had been completed and the deep code unraveled to lay out exactly what had happened in that horrific twenty-four hours—especially what was in the simulator and what wasn’t.
The detailed code that had infected the simulation computer and the aircraft had been delivered to the right people. Security patches to block any similar attack were promised quickly. Very quickly after he threatened to ca
