by Chase Austin
“What about the casualties?”
“Exact numbers are yet to be determined but initial reports suggest that this is bigger than 9/11.”
Everyone in the room let out an audible gasp. 9/11 was a black day in the history of America and a repeat attack of that magnitude had seemed unimaginable till this morning, yet now it was underway with no end in sight.
Hancock was seething with anger. It didn’t matter that not long ago he was thinking about a similar attack to help his Presidency. But now he had no choice except to appear in charge and angry. Somewhere in his mind, he also hoped to find a scapegoat for this mess too. Because once the dust settled, the first question would be, ‘How did this happen despite a glut of acronyms of the agencies working 24X7 to prevent just these kinds of attacks?’
A fuming Hancock asked, “An attack of this scale and no one had a clue?”
“Two special operatives from Task Force-77, during a mission in the Helmand Region in Afghanistan, had found out about this attack a few hours ago, and immediately relayed this information through the right channels. They have also captured a Taliban commander, who seems to be privy to this attack and can help us with more details. At the moment they are air-bound with the captive,” Mattis tried to sound responsible.
Sitting in his place, General Shelton flinched with surprise. No one except Hancock noticed it.
“William Helms handles TF-77, right?” Hancock asked, his question addressed to no one in particular.
“Sir, TF-77 is the brainchild of both NSA and the US Army. So, William Helms and I both are the overseers of this unit,” General Shelton responded.
“Did you know about this?” Hancock asked a pointed question to the General.
“No, not until now.” General Shelton spoke the truth. Helms had not had the time to tell him about the raid and the aftermaths.
Hancock jeered, “Seems like you both have a lot to discuss then.”
General Shelton said nothing but he was enraged about being put in the spot like this.
“What do we know about the attacks and what can we do to stop this immediately?” asked Hancock.
Mattis answered his question. “William has a theory on how this attack is going to shape up and what we need to do to stop it.”
Chapter 26
William Helms gazed at President Hancock and the rest of them in the Situation Room via the TV screen, wondering how helpless the whole nation was right now. Despite his urgency, the attacks had already claimed hundreds of lives and the numbers were rising. And now his own daughter was also somewhere in the Onyx, struggling for her life.
As everyone in the room turned their eyes to the screen to look at him, he felt an unease engulfing his senses. On one hand, he wanted to drop in the information that he had tried to reach out to the President, but his efforts were thwarted on the President’s own orders of keeping him at bay. But what would it help achieve in this situation? The condition demanded all hands on deck and rattling about an idiot seemed like an unwanted distraction no one would indulge.
Helms stared at the occupants of the Situation Room on the large screen in his office, looking at him with rapt attention, hoping he’d answer the question writ large on their faces — What now?
What the hell now indeed? thought Helms. However, he started to speak with grave seriousness. “On 26th November 2008, ten Pakistani terrorists in inflatable speedboats came ashore at two locations in Mumbai, India, where they split up and headed in two different directions. Over the next four days, these ten men carried out twelve coordinated shooting and bombing attacks across the city. More than 170 people died, including 9 attackers, and more than 300 were wounded. Only one assailant was captured.”
He continued, “This attack was inspired by a similar attack that had happened on 4th March 1975, when eight Palestinian terrorists in two inflatable rubber crafts landed on a beach in Tel Aviv. They walked into the four-story Savoy Hotel that was a few yards away from the Jerusalem beach, the only building on that street that was brightly lit. They took ten hostages and were barricaded on the top floor with all the hostages. In the ensuing firefight, eight hostages lost their lives. Three Israeli soldiers, including their commanding officer, were killed. Seven of the terrorists blew themselves up, destroying the top floor of the building. Only one was captured alive.”
“What do you want to say?” Hancock interrupted him impatiently.
“This is an attack on similar lines. The attackers are specialized killers, highly trained and fearless. All they know is to kill. We cannot negotiate with them. The only way is to contain them and kill them before they kill thousands.”
“What about the hostages? What if they get killed in the raid?” Hancock asked. His hands were sweating. He didn’t want to be the one who would give the order that could result in the killing of Americans on American soil. This would be a sure-shot way of kissing his political career goodbye.
Helms talked tough, “Mr. President, if we don’t stop this madness right now then even your whole office won’t be enough to count the bodies.”
Suddenly the door of the Situation Room burst open, and Mattis’ assistant entered the room with haste. He paused at the entrance for a second while his eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other. As soon as he found Mattis, he hastened towards him. Once near, he raised his right hand and showed Mattis what seemed like a note. Mattis glanced at it and his face froze.
He looked at the assistant and asked softly. “You sure of this?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Okay. Keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir.” The man took an about-turn and with the same urgency exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Mattis waited for the door to be closed and then looked back at everyone. “We have just confirmed the IDs of the terrorists in the Philadelphia attack,” he said.
“And?” Raborn asked.
“Americans. All of them.”
Chapter 27
Time: Four and a half hours since the attack
Wick and Eddie sat in silence watching Basit’s unconscious body, held by a seat belt, lolling both ways. They had to leave Josh Fletcher, the CIA agent Wick and Eddie were tasked to extract from the Taliban stronghold in Zangabad, at the military hospital. The doctors had refused to give him permission to travel. But for Basit it was different. They had orders to take him with them, and no doctor could stop them. After tending to him with basic First Aid, they had taken the next C-17, a military aircraft, for getting out of Afghanistan.
Getting in and out of a country like Afghanistan wasn’t as simple as taking a flight from any city. To get out, US troops had to travel in a military aircraft to a nearby country and then take a chartered flight the rest of the way. The total flight duration was nearly fifteen to seventeen hours, depending on the weather and many other factors.
Wick and Eddie, after a journey of four and a half hours, had finally landed in Romania, from where a chartered flight was ready to take them to the USA. All this while, they had no access to the Internet, or any other communication modes. Although they hoped to get a chance to hook onto a network at Romania’s airport, what they didn’t know was that they would not be ushered inside the airport building but would be taken directly to their chartered plane.
The journey to Romania had been uneventful. Basit was unconscious and Wick and Eddie hoped that the interrogation team in America would be able to extract some more information from him once they get hold of him. But right now, all they wanted was some sort of network connectivity to get an update on the attack Basit had spoken about. What they didn’t know was that as soon as they had hopped on to the aircraft, the first bomb had gone off.
During their flight of four and a half hours, America was drowned in unimaginable chaos.
They had hoped that when they landed in Romania, they would learn that everything was under control, as they had relayed everything to the best-positioned person in the bureaucracy echelon, He
lms. They had no idea that the tables had been turned upside down for Helms.
At Romania’s airport, they were escorted to the chartered flight that was ready to take off with its three passengers – Wick, Eddie, and Basit in a wheelchair. Wick and Eddie walked together while an airport attendant pushed the wheelchair. At the beginning of the aircraft’s stairs, four security personnel stood at attention. Wick and Eddie watched them with curiosity.
“Your IDs, please.” One of the four security personnel asked of them. Wick and Eddie each took out one of their many fake passports and extended it to the security. The man checked both their IDs keenly and once satisfied, he handed them back to Wick and Eddie. “Thank you, Mr. Alex, Mr. Charlie. Please transfer any weapons that you have into this bag. We will move them to the luggage section.” He extended an open, small black bag towards them.
“Is this necessary?” Eddie asked.
“Mr. Charlie, this is only for your own safety.”
“I only feel safe with my gun by my side.”
“Sir, without this we cannot let you board this flight. Protocols are important as you yourself understand.”
Eddie wanted to say something in return, but Wick placed his right hand on his shoulder. Eddie zipped his mouth. Wick took out two guns and slowly dropped then in the opened bag.
“Thank you, Mr. Alex. Magazines too.”
Wick took out five magazines and dropped them in the bag without a word. The man moved the bag in front of Eddie who did the same, with a sour face.
The man looked at the unconscious Basit.
“Be my guest,” Eddie hissed with sarcasm.
“We are good.” The man said and moved aside, giving way for them to board the plane. The other security personnel followed suit.
Once inside, they looked back at the men through the window. One of them was instructing the only air stewardess of the plane about where to put the bag, and to hand it over to them as soon as they landed in America. Wick saw the stewardess nodding politely at the instructions. With butterflies in his stomach, he only came back to his seat once the door of the plane was shut and it started to move towards the runway.
The stewardess approached them with a short summary of the safety protocols. She was only going to serve three passengers, and it was better to tell them everything in person rather than doing the whole routine. At the end of it, she looked at Basit who was strapped to a seat belt, his head lolling.
Eddie’s fierce stare silenced any question she may have wanted to ask regarding Basit, and she only asked them if they needed anything to eat or drink. Eddie answered her without looking at Wick. He knew Wick would have said no and Eddie couldn’t stay hungry for the rest of the flight.
Wick, sitting in the next row, opened the Toughbook to check the news. While they were on the ground, he had hoped the Internet would work. So he had already plugged in the DoD designed mini device in the USB panel to connect to the Internet. As soon as the news websites started to open, the first thing that hit him was the body count. More than two thousand dead and the attacks were still continuing. He looked back at Eddie who was already gazing at him to ask if he needed anything to eat, but Wick’s expression soon mirrored on his face.
What? Eddie asked silently.
Something was wrong.
“Thank you,” he said to the stewardess, while quickly getting up from his seat to walk towards Wick. Wick shifted his gaze back at the Toughbook and Eddie followed suit.
“What the hell!” Eddie exclaimed as soon as he scanned the headlines.
Wick responded with silence. His eyes were busy scanning the news report for more details, trying to figure out the modus operandi of the terrorists. Eddie sat beside him as the stewardess came back again to ask them to buckle their seat belts, blissfully unaware what was going on in the other part of the planet. Wick and Eddie absent-mindedly buckled their seat belts while slowly digesting each bit of the news report.
They then checked their emails. There were none. No one in TF-77 except Helms knew that Wick and Eddie were on their way to the USA since their return was not planned for months. Helms himself had arranged all the logistics with some help from Wick’s handler, Riley. Wick decided to send a message to Riley whom he knew was obsessed with checking her email every second minute and was very prompt in her response. So, before the connection might get lost, he needed to drop her a one-liner email, which he did. “Need details of attacks; esp. Houston and Manhattan. Need a support team on standby in both cities.” Then he hit the send button. The page loaded for a few seconds before it showed the notification that the email was gone.
The plane had left the taxiway and was ready to take off. The two pilots were checking the systems one last time when they got an emergency message. Effective immediately, all the USA airports are closed for any incoming or outgoing flights due to ongoing terror attacks.
The pilots did not have time to think about the why or the how. They had received the notification from the ATC and even though it was not for them specifically, there was no point in flying to a country where they could not land.
The captain looked at the first officer and said, “We need to inform our guests that they might have to spend some more time in Romania.”
“Let me give this news to them personally,” the first officer offered.
The captain nodded. “I will start turning the plane back to the hangar.”
Wick had already started trying to figure out the strategy behind these attacks. ‘Why these cities and why these locations?’ He closed his eyes and imagined himself in the place of the terrorists. If he had to plan an attack like this, what would he do and why? By the looks of it, the militants had come ready for shoot and scoot. But something was amiss. Something wasn’t making sense. He jerked his head back and forth, rubbed his forehead to get it out, but nothing.
The first officer was addressing them now, “Gentlemen, we have just received an information bulletin. All the airports in the USA are closed for any takeoff or landing, until further notice. We have to get back to the hangar and unfortunately you’ll have to wait in Romania till the coast is clear.”
Subconsciously, hearing the first officer speak, something clicked within Wick. The team in Houston would have to be the most prepared one. Once they got in, they would wait till the coast was clear. Using the hostages, they might get a section of media on their side. He had seen this happening in a hostage situation like this. The rest of them might come with the intention of ‘destroy and move’ but this team in the Onyx had to come with the intention to stay put. The longer this standoff continued, the more the terrorists would gain. Wick’s thoughts solidified with each passing second.
“We will head to Houston,” he spoke loudly.
The first officer was surprised. Wasn’t he clear earlier? “Sir, we cannot land in the USA.”
Wick looked absentmindedly at the first officer. The stewardess stood behind him. Wick’s hand moved fast and unbuckled his seat belt. In a fluid motion, he rose from his seat and took a step forward. His right hand swiftly slid inside Basit’s coat and when it reappeared, a Berretta was shining in the reflective lighting.
He pointed the barrel at the first officer, looking into his eyes. He asked, “Can a single pilot fly this plane?”
“Sir!” The first officer had suddenly started to sweat. A shriek escaped from the stewardess. Eddie looked at her and raised his finger to his lips to signal silence.
“Can one pilot fly this thing?” Wick repeated his question.
“Yes…sir.”
“That means we don’t need one of you.” He cocked the gun.
“S…sir!” The first officer stuttered.
“Eddie, tell the captain that you will be his first officer and we are taking off for Houston now. If he says no, then you know what you have to do.”
Eddie walked towards the cockpit.
Wick tilted his head and looked at the stewardess who stood there, stunned into silence. “Ma’am, you shoul
d sit down and strap yourself in. We are about to take off.”
“You too, if you don’t want to die.” Wick signaled the first officer to follow suit, and he complied too.
After a hiatus of ten excruciatingly long minutes, the plane started to move, and it meant that Eddie had done his job. But Wick had to tell someone in his team that they were heading for Houston. He grabbed his Toughbook and started typing, while keeping an eye on his two new hostages. “We are heading for Houston from Romania. Help us land safely. Need a support team outside the airport. Send the team’s details. Need weapons. Only precautionary measures. Inform Helms.” He plugged in the chartered flight’s details and pressed send. He could now only sit and hope that the attacks would probably be contained, at the least, by the time they would land.