by Chase Austin
“Update me once the sweep is done.”
“Yes sir.”
It took another thirty minutes before the sweep was completed. Then, slowly the SWAT team started to branch out in the market. The dust had started to settle, and the carnage had started to take a shape. The medics followed the officers, ready to tend the injured. The uniforms’ first priority was to find the survivors.
One of the officers rushed to the two dead hostiles and squatted beside them to check their belongings for their identities.
“Medics needed here now,” another officer yelled at the medical team.
“Sir, you need to see this,” yet another officer hissed in his lip mic to the captain.
“What is it?” the captain asked.
“We have eyes on an injured shooter.”
The captain didn’t need another invite to spring into action. He was halfway through to the first hostile when his radio cackled again. Another terrorist spotted, and closer. He decided to change his destination while barking orders. Uniforms closer to the two terrorists moved in tandem to get in positions.
The first thing the sergeant closer to the second hostile saw was a gun similar to his own, a SIG, in the right hand resting on the floor. The man’s back was partially visible, rested against a steel counter.
“Hands in the air where I can see them,” the sergeant yelled. The man might be a terrorist, but he was on the American soil and the law had to be upheld.
There was no response, as if the man didn’t hear him.
“Hands in the air where I can see them,” he yelled again. The man didn’t even flinch.
“The hostile isn’t responding. He could be dead,” the sergeant informed the others in tow. The uniforms kept on tightening the semi-circle, their SIGs leveled at him.
The first sergeant loomed closer to the man and kicked his gun. It slid away from the man’s reach. The second sergeant then slowly covered a big arc to see the face of the man from the right side. The man’s eyes were open, staring in oblivion. His other hand was on his stomach. The first sergeant exchanged cues with the second and then inched forward. He held the hostile’s hand to check his pulse.
“Need a medic here, fast,” the second sergeant yelled. A minute later, one of the medics came rushing. The two uniforms took a step back to give him room. He checked Stan’s vitals and then looked at the sergeants. His face explained everything. The first sergeant quickly checked Stan’s pockets and found a wallet Credit cards, some papers, and a social security card.
The captain reached in time to hear what the medic had to say. “Cause of death?” he asked
“Possible excessive bleeding. Bullets in his abdomen region,” the medic replied.
“Any id?”
“We have his SSN.” His sergeant spoke this time. The man was American.
“Transfer the body to the morgue and find everything about him and his family. I’m going to check the second hostile,” the captain ordered without battling an eyelid.
Two of the sergeants who had found Saif and his dead partner, amidst the rubble, stood in silence as a team of medics tried their best to get Saif out of the steel rods, alive. The blast had made one of the pillars fall on them, taking the duo by surprise. Two AK-47s lay a few feet away.
Occasionally the medics paused and checked the whole situation again. It was a delicate case; any haste would mean the imminent death of the man. Two others held Saif carefully while a third one cleaned the area around his legs to look more closely at the steel bars.
“I need him alive.” The captain had finally reached the spot and fired his first order.
“We’re trying our best, but you need to stop yelling,” one of the two experienced medics snapped back at the captain. He knew his job and didn’t need a reminder of what needed to be done.
“Let my boys know if you need any help.” The captain remained unfazed by the rebuke and moved to check the rest.
Saif, who was semi-conscious, looked at the captain and his lips moved, whispering, “I have done what I came to do. Kill me now.” The medics ignored his pleas. The two sergeants looked at each other and then looked at the captain who had just stopped in his tracks to listen to Saif’s murmuring.
“I need him breathing. Make sure of that.” He reiterated his orders to the two sergeants. They both nodded in the affirmative. He was a high-value capture, and they all knew his value.
Chapter 23
Onyx Hotel, The Marina, Houston
With their loaded Kalashnikovs held high in the air, Shahrukh and Yakub had stepped out of the men’s restroom, into the reception area of the Onyx.
Once they were in range, Shahrukh started to fire blindly at the reception, killing eleven guests on the spot, and then flung a grenade that exploded near the reception counter at the far end. Yakub took care of the entrance, killing three guards. Two of the guards standing away from the entrance, seeing off some departing guests, heard the shots being fired and fled the scene before the bullets could reach to them.
Both Shahrukh and Yakub deftly changed magazines and sprayed a few more rounds inside to ensure there were no survivors. The attack was brief and violent, lasting a little over two minutes. The shots, the screams, and the explosions were quickly swallowed up by the chaos of a busy Onyx afternoon. Once the shooting stopped, six more militants entered the hotel. They knew where they had to head next in the building and moved towards the first floor, where the rest of the haversacks were placed.
In the hotel, a couple was halfway through their meal at the Lobby Bar, when they first heard a firecracker-like sound, followed by the screams as people ran to take cover. They weren’t alone. Three other tables were also occupied in the bar with guests having their breakfast. The couple saw a gun-wielding terrorist through the glass door of the restaurant and quickly ducked under their table. Shahrukh didn’t enter the Lobby Bar but crossed it, looking for something else. Yakub walked behind him, firing from the hip into the elevator area, killing more guests. Shahrukh and Yakub’s bullets crackled wildly down the shiny marble corridors. Then they heard the gunshots on the first floor. It could mean only one thing; the rest of the six teammates had found their rucksacks. Shahrukh and Yakub then rode an elevator to the first floor of the hotel, leaving thirty-something bodies on the ground floor.
Briella, along with everyone else present in the Marina mall, heard the gunshots and became immediately alert. The sound was coming from the Onyx, where Olivia worked.
“We need to find her,” she said, looking at one of the two boys she was with.
“It’s not our job. Police will find her. We need to leave now,” the boy retorted.
“But…”
“We are not heroes! It’s a police job to save people. We can’t do anything.” The other boy tried to sound convincing.
“Everyone please, move towards the right-side exit.” The announcement happened in tandem.
Briella still took out her cell phone. She needed to tell Olivia about the shootings.
Olivia mistook the shots fired on the ground floor for firecrackers from the wedding reception organized at the Bellaire of the Onyx. She had just finished her second month as a trainee at the hotel and barely knew her way around the maze of rooms.
She was in the server room of the hotel on the second floor overlooking the poolside. The room was a converted guest bedroom. It was one of the most vital spaces in the hotel. Inside, floor-to-ceiling IBM servers streamed and backed up data from the Onyx’s ninety-three hotels. The office was located directly beneath the grand dome of the hotel.
The shots continued. Then an explosion reverberated through the hotel.
Olivia immediately reached for her cell phone to call her mother, and saw Briella’s missed calls. There was a message too: ‘Shooting at Onyx. Hide’.
Chapter 24
Onyx Hotel, The Marina, Houston
Martha was in the kitchen when her phone rang. The ringer was on mute and she hadn’t got the time to unmute it
. The phone rang three times but no one picked it up.
Olivia searched desperately for her father’s number. William Helms was in his office when he saw Olivia’s name on his phone.
“Dad,” Olivia was petrified.
“Olivia! What happened? You okay?” Helms immediately sensed the fear in his daughter’s voice.
“Dad, I heard gunshots in the hotel. What’s happening?”
“Gunshots?” Was Onyx under attack? Helms had no idea until now. “Olivia, stay where you are. Stay hidden. Don’t go out. I will come and get you. Tell me where you are exactly?”
Olivia slowly explained the way to her office. Helms heard it with utmost silence.
“Dad, I don’t want to die. Please, please come soon.” She had started to cry.
Even someone like Helms, who dealt with life and death day in and day out, couldn’t control his emotions. His daughter was in danger and he would need all his strength and resources to save her and so many others who were in the hotel.
Chapter 25
Situation Room, White House | Time: 3 and a half hours since the attack
General David Shelton traveled to the White House with his four aides, one each from the Army, the Air Force, the Navy, and the Marines. The CIA director, Walter Raborn was also in the room. When the President and Raborn entered the Situation Room, the five military men simultaneously snapped to their feet. Raborn got up too. Hancock nodded in return and went to sit on his leather chair at the head of the table.
Patrick Mattis, the Secretary of Defense, Frank Allen, the President’s National Security Advisor, and Samuel Baker, the President’s Chief of Staff, arrived soon after, and were seated on both sides of the President. General Shelton glanced at Baker and then looked at the file. According to him, Baker was a nuisance, especially in a time-sensitive matter like this, and he didn’t like his presence in the room, but it was not the time or the place to air his personal thoughts. It would have taken the focus away from the more pressing issues.
“Gentlemen, William Helms is with us via video conferencing,” Mattis informed everyone.
Helms had just got off the phone from the FBI Director who was also connected via the video conferencing. He hoped that at the end of this, he would have some answers on how the offense would be planned, especially in Houston. On Mattis’ insistence, he had not taken that flight to DC and now except the video-con, he had no way to be in the discussions. The agenda at hand was to apprise Hancock of his options and give him a realistic estimate of the time it would take to move the right assets into position. Full-blown attacks were underway for the last couple of hours and the snail-paced government bureaucracy still had no tactical plan in place to stop the mayhem.
“What’s the status?” Hancock asked.
“Mr. President, three hours ago more than twenty trained terrorists attacked six American cities. A total of six cities have been hit. A mall and a hotel in Phoenix, two malls in San Diego and a luxury hotel in Indianapolis were hit by five suicide bombers. Union Square Park in Manhattan, Onyx hotel in Houston and Farmer’s Terminal market in Philadelphia were attacked by three teams of six to eight members in each. Of these three cities, Farmer’s Terminal market in Philadelphia is now under control. Manhattan is the worst hit and the terrorists have taken refuge in a hospital near the Union Square Park. In Houston, gunshots have been heard from the Onyx, a 7-star hotel in the Marina mall,” Mattis said.
“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 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 a blind 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 the
m. 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 to 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.