by Eric Meyer
They made their way around, talking and laughing at the drunken jokes, sipping out of each drink, then pouring the rest on the ground when no one was looking. The area was packed with laughing, chattering people in various stages of intoxication. Overhead, strips of bunting were tied between the trees, and there were dozens of lanterns ready to switch on when night fell. The music was loud, and it wasn’t difficult to blend into the cheerful party atmosphere. Near the stage was a huge gazebo decorated with white silk hangings and garlanded with thousands of flowers. The spot for the ceremony to take place, of course. But they weren’t here for a ceremony. They were here to bring life to the Admiral and death to the Salazars.
“We need to get inside and find the Admiral,” Gracia murmured. “They won’t miss us in the middle of all this noise and partying.”
Nolan nodded. “You’re right, it’s a good time. Let’s head back inside.”
They crossed the area of noise, laughter and music, and walked up the steps underneath the massive white portico.
“Commandante Montez, how can we help you?”
Manuel Rivera, the Salazars’ security chief, stood just inside the door. To one side of him was one of the guards, carrying a modern M4-A1 military carbine. Rivera’s pistol was still in the shoulder holster, and his eyes were hidden behind his mirrored sunglasses. Did he suspect anything? But why should he? This was an obvious point for him to be able to monitor the wedding guests so that anyone who entered or left the house would be noted, and he had a good view across the ground to the stage where the band was now playing a slow lament.
“We’re returning to our room, Senor Rivera. My wife is ill.”
“I am sorry about that, Sir. I’m afraid at this late stage the house is closed to guests. We are making certain arrangements. It is the order of Mr. Salazar.”
“It’s not way to treat a guest, Rivera. My wife needs to lie down for an hour, and besides, our wedding present is in the room. Just give us an hour, hombre.”
“I cannot, please will you leave the house.”
“Fuck you, my friend. You will not treat me like an enemy. Either you trust the FARC or you do not. If you will not allow us up to our room, we’re leaving, and I shall make sure our headquarters knows of the way you treat our people. You’re not the only family that we can deal with. There are two others in Medellin. What’s it going to be?”
Nolan had planted his feet square onto Rivera, and the two men faced each other like prizefighters. Nolan recalled that he’d handled this badly; macho Colombian pride would not allow Rivera to back down.
“What’s going on, Manuel?”
Rivera looked at the new arrival. At first, Nolan thought it was Victor Salazar, but this man was a couple of years younger, and slightly paunchier. So it had to be Alberto Salazar.
“These people, Alberto, Commandante and Senora Montez, they wish to return to their room. But as you know, Victor said that no one is to enter the house right now. You know what is going on, and we cannot risk any problems.”
Alberto waved a hand airily. “Let them through, Manuel. Victor’s orders were not for honored members of the FARC.” He clapped his hand on Nolan’s shoulder. “We need each other, is that not so, Commandante?”
Nolan nodded, keeping his face grim. “It is so, and we do not treat each other like traitors or spies.”
“Exactamente. Manuel, let them through.”
“But, Alberto, I…”
“I said let them through, Manuel. Now!”
Rivera nodded. “Yes, Sir.” He stared at Nolan. “You can go inside to your room.” He turned to the guard with the assault rifle. “Francisco, go with them in case they get lost. Wait with them until they come back down to the party.”
He looked back at Nolan. “I am sure you understand. I have to take security seriously.”
Nolan nodded. “Come, Gracia, you can lie down for an hour, and we’ll come back down for the wedding.”
“You’ll be in plenty of time, Commandante. It doesn’t start for another two hours. But we do have another event taking place just before then, you might…”
“Alberto!” Rivera’s voice cracked like a whip. “Victor was clear that no one is to know the details until it takes place. He was very firm on that.”
Alberto nodded. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see you all later. It’s going to be a great evening.”
They made their way up the grand staircase, closely followed by Francisco, carrying his assault rifle. When they entered their room, he gave them a sneer and lounged against the wall opposite their door. Nolan gave him a neutral glance and closed the door.
“What do we do now?” Gracia whispered.
“Unwrap the LTD. The show is about to start.”
“The guard, will he be a problem?”
“No, but he will be the source of an assault rifle. When the time comes, we’ll get him in here, and I’ll take it off him.”
He got out the commo and pushed the earpiece in, then keyed the mic.
“Bravo One, this is Four.”
“This is one, you’re strength Four.”
“We believe the Admiral is in the basement of a copycat White House, probably in the situation room.”
There was a silence. Then, “Say again, Four.”
Nolan explained the situation. We estimate he has an hour and a half max.”
“Copy that. What’s the plan?”
“We’re about to search the house and find a way down to where we believe they’re holding him. The shit will hit the fan in about an hour or so. Will you be ready?”
“We’re on the way. I’ll alert the AC-130, and we’ll keep the Reaper on standby too in case we need extra firepower. But you know they’ll be alerted the second we move out.”
“Understood, we’ll deal with it. The plan is to locate the Admiral, and then light up some targets for them to clear an exit for us. Are you bringing the BTR?”
“That’s affirmative, Four.”
“We may need it, Bravo One.”
“Yeah, about time we had something useful from the Soviets. Good luck with finding Jacks.”
“Copy that. Four out.”
Nolan looked at Gracia. “You’re very ill. In fact, I think you’re dying. It would be even better if you were naked. Make it happen.”
She nodded, stripped off her clothes and lay down on the bed. Then she started moaning, louder and louder, and soon she was screaming in agony. Nolan flung open the door, and the guard looked up, alert.
“Francisco, my wife, she is gravely ill. Is there a doctor here?”
“A doctor, is she that bad?”
Nolan was waving his hands, the agitated, worried husband. “See for yourself, man. I think she may be dying.”
The man rushed into the bedroom, and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw Gracia’s naked body on the bed. When Nolan hit him, he went down as if poleaxed, and the Chief had to hastily grab for the rifle to stop it clattering to the floor. He checked the man was unconscious and pushed on his carotid artery for a few seconds.
“You’ll kill him,” Gracia admonished him.
Nolan shook his head. “Not this time, it’ll just hold him under for a while longer. But when the attack comes in, he may wish he were dead. Get your clothes on, let’s go.”
While she was dressing, he unwrapped the LTD. There was no need for subterfuge, carrying a stolen assault rifle in this house was as much a declaration of hostile intent as in the real White House. Gracia finished tidying her clothes and rapidly checked the body of Francisco.
“We haven’t got time for that,” Nolan said in irritation. “Every second counts now. We have to find him. Bring the LTD. I guess we’re going to need it.”
She stood up nodded. “Let’s go.”
They hurtled down the back stairs to avoid the security checkpoint at the front. On the lower floor, they started searching for a way down to the basement areas. After fifteen minutes, they’d checked every possible door
way and corridor, with not a sign of a basement entrance. Even more ominous, Manuel Rivera was still on station in the foyer, surrounded by four guards who regularly patrolled the house, so they had to hide in an empty room whenever footsteps came near.
“This is crazy,” Gracia exploded as they waited in a cleaner’s closet for a guard to pass by. “We haven’t a clue where they’re holding the Admiral. There may not be a basement in this house.”
“No, he’s spent millions getting it right, and he won’t have missed one of the most famous features. Everyone has heard of the Situation Room, so you can be he’ll have one somewhere.”
“Where is the entrance in the real White House?”
“I haven’t a clue. I’ve never been there.”
“Then why not call up your Lieutenant and ask him?”
Nolan stared at her. “Christ, yes, why didn’t I think of that?”
He called up Talley.
“Bravo One, this is Four.”
“Go ahead, Four.”
“I need to know the location of the White House Situation Room.”
There was a brief silence. “Are you serious?”
Nolan explained what he was after, and Talley acknowledged.
“I haven’t been there, Four, but I’ll use the satcom to ask someone. Back in two.”
They waited, and Gracia peered out of the door. “It’s all clear. We can go when we’re ready.”
Nolan nodded as his earpiece came to life.
“Four, this is One.”
“Reading you, One.”
“The Situation Room is below the West Wing, in the basement.”
The West Wing, the entrance was off the foyer guarded by Rivera and his men.
“Copy that, One. What’s your ETA?”
“Twenty minutes. We’ve already taken down a roadblock, so they’ll be on full alert. Be careful.”
“Copy that, out.”
He explained the situation to Gracia.
“All hell is about to be let loose. Our people are on the way, and Rivera will be checking out the defenses. It could be our chance. Let’s go see the situation at the front of the house.”
They left the closet and quietly walked back to the foyer. It was empty, and the wide, heavy oak door that led to the West Wing was partly open, just across the floor and less than forty feet from where they stood. Outside, they could hear shouting, men running to prepare for the coming action. So now it had started.
“Let’s get into the West Wing. It’s now or never, I guess.”
They ran lightly across the wide expanse of the foyer, conscious that they were still making too much noise on the marble floor. But it couldn’t be helped. They reached the door to the West Wing and pushed through. They ran down the corridor, past the Cabinet Room and stopped just after the door to the Oval Office.
“I guess we need to head for the lobby. The elevator and stairs for the Situation Room will be in there.”
“And exactly why would you wish to go the Situation Room, Commandante? Put down that rifle.”
Nolan looked around slowly. Manuel Rivera stood a few feet away, and this time his pistol was not holstered. He was flanked by several of his men, all carried M4-A1 carbines, and identical to the one he’d taken off Francisco. He tried to bluff his way out and held onto the carbine.
“Victor Salazar told me there was a show going on and we were welcome to watch. Why are you threatening us with those guns?”
Rivera sighed. “Because you are carrying a weapon stolen from one of my men, and because Mr. Salazar has given orders to shoot anyone who tries to enter the Situation Room. Put down the rifle, and I will give you the opportunity to talk to Mr. Salazar later. Otherwise, I will have to shoot you both. It’s up to you, Commandante. I suggest you put it down and put up your hands. And you, Senora Montez! What is that you are carrying? Vincenzo, take it from her. We will examine it later, but it is certainly not a wedding gift.” He sneered at Nolan. “Is it, Commandante? I assume that is your name, but we will know for sure very soon.”
Nolan put down the rifle and raised his hands. Rivera gave rapid orders to his men.
“Take them, tie their hands and put them in the Press Office.”
He smiled at Nolan and Gracia. “You will find it most comfortable, Commandante. We had it especially fitted out for guests. I must go now, but I will speak to Mr. Salazar, and you will see me later. Believe me, I think you will tell me the truth about what you are really doing here.” He turned to the man holding the LTD. “Vincenzo, put that on the desk in the foyer. I will inspect it later.”
They were hustled along the corridors to the Press Room by two of the guards. But no press had ever entered this place. It had been converted into something with quite a different use. The walls were hung with iron loops, and in the center of the room was a heavy wooden table. It was splashed with a dark red substance, blood. Close to the table was a steel post, about five feet high and cemented into the floor. The ground around it was also covered with dried blood.
“Over there, and face the wall, hands behind your backs,” one of the men gestured with his rifle. He stood well back with his finger on the trigger. The other man had Gracia similarly covered, and Nolan had no chance to take both of them.
One maybe. But not two!
They both did as they were ordered, and he felt the pressure of plastic cable ties being fastened together. Then they were pulled over to the post and fastened to it, back to back.
“Enjoy your stay, my friends,” one of the guards sneered. “The post you are tied to is a whipping post, a specialty of Mr. Salazar. He will enjoy introducing you to its delights. I have little doubt he will start with your woman. Have you ever seen a woman’s bloodied bones, Commandante? It is an unusual sight.”
“Yeah, not as unusual as seeing your bleeding body on the floor of this room, hombre. Take off these cuffs, and I’ll show you who’s a real man.”
The man hammered his fist into the side of Nolan’s head, and he saw stars for a few seconds.
“I’d save your insults, my friend. You’ll need all your energy for later.”
He laughed again and nodded to the other guard. They walked out of the room, and they heard the heavy oak door being locked.
“I didn’t see any windows when they brought us in here, Gracia. Can you see any your side of the room?”
“None, but even if we could get out of these cuffs, we’re locked in, Chief Nolan.”
“Yeah, and they’re about to murder Admiral Jacks.”
“Do you think Lieutenant Talley will get here with his men in time to save him?”
“Not without air support, and the only way they’ll get that is if we identify and light up the targets for them.”
“So what are you going to do?”
He was thinking the same question, with no answers. “I honestly don’t know, Gracia. I think this may be the end of the line.”
Chapter Ten
He could feel Gracia pulling against the plastic ties.
“Can you crouch down a little, Chief Nolan? I need to fix my skirt.”
“You’re not serious? They’re about to torture and murder us after they’ve killed the Admiral. This is not time to worry about your skirt. I’d be saying your prayers if I were you.”
“So you’re not interested in the knife I have strapped to my inner thigh?”
He nearly choked with relief. “You’re serious?”
“Of course. It was quite a problem finding room for Francisco’s gun as well, in my underwear, but I managed.”
He laughed out loud. “Gracia, you are an absolute wonder woman. What the hell would I do without you?”
She didn’t reply. They’d both bent their legs slightly, sliding their plastic ties down the post.
“That’s it! I think I can reach it now. Hold it there.”
He waited while she wriggled around to extract the knife, then she started sawing through the plastic.
“Tell me something, Chie
f Nolan. What are you planning to do when you get home to America?”
“Do? I’ll take a long, hot shower, a few cold beers out of the icebox, and catch up on the baseball. Why?”
“I didn’t mean that. Are you in any relationships, with women?”
He understood but didn’t reply at first; he was thinking hard.
“Or men?” she prompted him.
“Hey, you’ve got me wrong, Gracia. I thought I showed you what my preferences are.”
She grunted as she cut through the last of her cuffs.
“That’s true. You know, I like you tied like that. It’s very sexy.”
“Dammit, stop playing around. Our people are in trouble.”
She grinned. “And I’m freeing us so we can help them. Stand still.”
He felt his bonds slacken, and he pulled his hands free.
“We need to get out of here, and fast.”
He examined the door; in the absence of any windows, they had to get it open.
“Gracia, hand me the pistol.”
She passed him a small automatic, a small frame .380 ACP semi-auto Beretta PPK.
“That guard had it in a small holster strapped to his belt. I thought it might come in useful.”
He nodded.
“When you were shouting at me to stop wasting time.”
He grinned. “I’m sorry, Gracia. You were right. Now I need to get this door open. The lock is solid and built into the woodwork that’s heavy oak. It’ll have to be the hinges. Get back, and I’ll attempt to shoot them off.”
He pointed the gun and fired. The bullet ricocheted around the room, and they both dived to the floor. Nolan got to his feet and checked the hinge. The bullet had just dented the iron. Clearly, the door fittings were made from high quality iron. After all, this was the White House, or as near as was possible in Victor Salazar’s crazed mind.
“It didn’t do any good. It’s more likely to kill us than break open the hinges.”