by Vince Flynn
In regard to putting the president in touch with his next in command, Stansfield said, “I would advise against that right now, sir.”
“Why?”
“We have suffered several leaks from the vice president’s camp thus far.” Stansfield paused, giving the president time to digest the innuendo. “We know that Aziz is monitoring the news, and I would not want it to leak out that we are in contact with you. We need to let Aziz continue to think that he has the upper hand. General Flood and General Campbell are in the process of putting the final touches on an assault plan. As soon as they are ready, and you give the order, we can end this.”
Hayes thought about the decision. His mind was made up almost instantaneously, and then he paused, wondering why Baxter hadn’t given the approval. Turning his back to the group of agents and his chief of staff, he asked, “Why hasn’t the vice president given this order?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I have some ideas, but I don’t think you’re going to like them.”
“Try me.”
“I think it would be best if waited to discuss them face to face.”
Hayes nodded. “All right.” Then moving on to practical matters, he said, “I’m assuming that the powers of my office have been transferred to the vice president.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Well, if I remember my Constitution correctly, we have some procedural issues to take care of.”
“Such as?”
“We need to inform both the president pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House that I am able to resume my duties. Technically, unless we do that, the transfer of power is not complete.”
Stansfield exhaled an uncharacteristic sigh. To someone who had spent years trying to skirt, bend, and sometimes break laws, this technicality seemed to be utterly trivial. He reminded himself that President Hayes was both a lawyer and an amateur presidential historian. Stifling the temptation to tell Hayes that it was a waste of time to discuss such a point, Stansfield instead said, “Sir, you are the president. The powers of your office were transferred to the vice president for the sole reason that we could not communicate with you. That is no longer the case. General Flood and I are going to take our orders from you. If you feel that it is absolutely imperative to inform the vice president and the Speaker of the House that you are once again able to discharge your duties, we can do that in the minutes just prior to the raid.”
Hayes thought about it. Always a stickler for detail, he wanted to make sure everything would be legitimate. “That sounds fine to me. I just want to make sure those calls are made.”
“We can do that, sir.”
Hayes turned and looked at the bunker door, the humming sound of intruders just on the other side. “Thomas, what are we to do if they breach the door before the strike teams are ready?”
Stansfield paused for a moment and looked at Kennedy. Kennedy was listening in on the call, and she pointed to herself. Stansfield nodded for her to go ahead.
“Mr. President, it’s Dr. Kennedy again. We are monitoring your situation and have both audio and video surveillance of the bunker door. Iron Man is very close by. If it appears that they are about to get the bunker door open, we can order him to prevent that. In addition, the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team is deployed across the street at the Executive Office Building. They have a pretty good idea of where the hostages are being held and”—Kennedy sounded less than enthusiastic—“if we really need to rush it, they can be inside the West Wing within thirty seconds of the execute order.”
Hayes picked up on Kennedy’s tone and said, “I get the feeling you have some reservations, Doctor.”
“Aziz brought a lot of explosives with him, and he has threatened to bring the whole building down if there is any rescue attempt.”
Hayes thought about this new, disturbing piece of information. “Any chance he’s bluffing?”
“None at all, sir.”
“Can we handle this?”
Kennedy looked up at her boss and General Flood. “We’re working on it, sir.”
THE SUN WAS falling in the western sky, and from the east a solid wall of gray was approaching. Salim Rusan stood near the tailgate of his ambulance and looked in both directions. A deeply superstitious man, he did not like the foreboding change in the weather. One of the other ambulance drivers had stopped by and introduced himself, and as luck would have it, the man was gay. Instead of the disguise working as a repellent, it had done the opposite.
After several moments of idle chitchat, Rusan made up the excuse that he needed to run and make a phone call. When the other ambulance driver offered his cell phone, Rusan declined and stated that in addition to having to call his boyfriend, he also had to use the bathroom.
He turned and started walking to the east down Pennsylvania Avenue. Just a dozen paces later he approached two D.C. cops manning the barricade at Fourteenth Street.
“Excuse me, Officers,” he asked. “Can you tell me where I can get a bite to eat?”
One of the officers eyed him with a frown while the other paused for a moment and then pointed down the street. “If you head down E Street here, you’ll run into a deli and a couple fast-food joints.”
Rusan smiled and said thank you as he passed the two men. Then turning, he asked, “Will I have any problem getting back to my ambulance?”
“No, we’ll be here for a while.”
Rusan turned on his toes. He ducked under the blue sawhorse at the far end of the intersection; he was immediately pleased with the volume of people. After pressing his way through the crowd, he found that it ran about ten people deep and then loosened up. A large concrete trash can, overflowing with trash, sat behind the crowd. There must have been a McDonald’s nearby because eight or so their bags stuffed with cups and spent french-fry containers littered the immediate area around the receptacle. All the better, since the bomb would do more damage lying on the sidewalk than in the garbage can.
He pulled one of the cans of diet Coke from his fanny pack and bent over. Taking one of the spent McDonald’s bags, he wedged the can in with the rest of the refuse and set the whole package back on the ground. He positioned the bag so the majority of the blast would be directed toward the crowd.
Rusan stood and started down the sidewalk again. He would come back the same way and make sure the bag was still there. Up ahead on his right, he could make out the ugly brown surface of the Hoover Building. He wouldn’t go that far, although it was very tempting. There were too many cameras and too many professionals with a trained eye. Rusan would play it safe for now. There was no need to risk exposure.
46
THE CONFERENCE ROOM at the Counterterrorism Center at Langley was bustling with action. The room was actually a room within a room. Built several feet off the floor and surrounded on four sides by glass, it was enveloped in an electromagnetic field that made eavesdropping impossible. Irene Kennedy stood at the front of the room with General Campbell as the meeting attendees filed in.
Director Roach and Special Agent Skip McMahon of the FBI entered the room with Thomas Stansfield holding on to each man’s elbow. The elderly director of the Central Intelligence Agency led them to where Kennedy was standing.
Stansfield released his grip on the men and said, “Irene, I was just fillingin Brian and Skip on Iron Man.” After hanging up with the president, Stansfield had sealed off the control room. No one was to breathe a word that they had reestablished contact with the president. Stansfield, Flood, Campbell, and Kennedy were the only people outside the control room that knew. The men from the FBI would be informed of this piece of information by the president himself.
Kennedy was half ready to have Skip McMahon chew her head off, until Stansfield said, “I was telling Skip and Brian that you had wanted to let them in on what we were doing with Iron Man. I take full responsibility for this, gentlemen, and I have good reasons for doing so.”
“Such as?” asked an edgy Skip McMahon.
Stansfield p
layed his old man status for all it was worth. Reaching out, he patted McMahon’s large forearm and said, “That’s why I like you, Skip. Always vigilant, always pressing for the whole story.”
“That’s right. So let’s hear it.”
“I’m afraid that will have to happen during a later conversation. Right now I have something I think you will be far more interested in. Now, if you will please take your seats, we need to get started.” Stansfield gestured to two chairs near Kennedy, and McMahon and Roach sat. Stansfield turned to Kennedy and said, “Let’s get started.” The director walked to the far end of the table and sat next to General Flood.
The attendees at the meeting were chosen on a need-to-know basis. The secretaries of state and defense were bypassed, as were several other high-ranking officials. Stansfield, Flood, and the president had agreed that, for now, only a select few would be told that contact had been made with the president and that his life was in danger. Those selected, other than those already mentioned, were the commanders of HRT, Delta Force, and SEAL Team Six.
One of Kennedy’s people closed the airtight door to the conference room, and Kennedy pressed a switch that lowered dark blinds over the glass walls. Standing at the front of the room next to General Campbell, Kennedy started off by saying, “Gentlemen, what General Campbell and I are about to tell you doesn’t leave this room. You don’t tell the people on your teams, you don’t tell your bosses, you don’t tell your wives.”
General Campbell stepped forward. “I can promise all of you”—Campbell eyeballed the three commanders of the elite counterterrorist strike teams—“if I find out you breathed a word of this information to anyone, I will make sure your career is ended.” Campbell waited to get a nod from each of the three commanders.
Behind Kennedy and Campbell were five TVs. Four twenty-fiveinchers and one thirty-six-incher. Kennedy dimmed the overhead lights, and then with a remote control she turned on the TVs. Dead center, on the thirty-six-inch TV, was the live feed of the bunker door.
“As all of you know, the president was evacuated to his bunker in the initial minutes of the assault. Shortly thereafter, we lost the ability to communicate with him due to the fact that Aziz was using a state-of-the-art mobile jamming unit that he conveniently borrowed from the Secret Service’s arsenal. Yesterday evening we were able to sneak two individuals into the White House. One is a civilian with intimate knowledge of the White House, and the second is a counterterrorism specialist who for our purposes we will refer to as Iron Man. The images that you see on the screens behind me are provided from surveillance units they have in place in the White House.”
Kennedy turned around and pointed at the middle screen. “For those of you who haven’t figured it out, this is a shot of the door that leads to the president’s bunker. This slovenly man that you see moving about is Mustafa Yassin, an Iraqi who specializes in breaking into vaults. These three objects you see attached to the door are drills. We have no idea how far along they are in this process, but we are not going to wait around for them to succeed.” Kennedy pressed a button on the remote, and a white screen lowered from the ceiling. On it was an overhead view of the White House compound. Turning to General Campbell, she signaled for him to take over.
Campbell pointed to the West Wing and said, “The bulk of the hostages are being held in the White House mess on the ground floor. Intelligence from the FBI and the NSA leads us to believe that there is a second, smaller group of hostages being held in the Roosevelt Room on the main floor. Iron Man thinks this second group of hostages consists of any Secret Service or military personnel that are still alive. Dr. Kennedy and I agree.”
Sid Slater, the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team, raised his hand. The general looked at him and said, “Sid?”
“Do we have any video on the hostages?”
“I’m afraid not. At least not at this point. We don’t have a lot of time, which brings me to my next point. H-hour is set for twenty-thirty.”
“Whoa,” proclaimed Director Roach of the FBI. “The order’s been given to go in?”
“That’s affirmative,” said General Flood from the other end of the room.
Roach looked at his watch. It was several minutes past five in the evening. “Baxter gave you the go-ahead?” asked the skeptical head of the FBI.
From the overhead speaker system a very familiar voice answered Roach’s question. “No, I did.”
Half of the faces in the room looked up toward the heavens as if God were speaking to them. President Hayes cleared his throat and said, “Men, I know we’re not giving you a lot of time, but I have an immense amount of faith in you. Now, if I may make a suggestion, I think we should all keep a lid on any questions until General Campbell finishes briefing us. General, please continue.”
Campbell looked up at the speakers in gratitude and then back at the group. “Gentlemen, we don’t have much time, so we’re gonna use the KISS rule. HRT”—Campbell tapped the left side of the screen—“the West Wing and the hostages are all yours. Sid, I know you and your people have been working on different scenarios. You are going to need a two-pronged assault at a minimum.” Campbell held up his finger and cautioned the stocky head of the Hostage Rescue Team.“We have some ideas for entry, and I’ll get to them in a minute.”
With his usual precision Campbell did a left face and tapped the roof of the mansion. “Delta Force will be responsible for the mansion.” Campbell looked at the unit’s CO, Colonel Gray. “Billy, your boys are going in on the Little Birds, and they have to be ready to move lightning fast. Before I get to the master plan, I want to caution everybody that there is a real chance that we might not make it to H-hour. If we get an inkling that they are about to get that bunker door open, we have no choice but to move.”
Campbell looked at the commanders for a moment and then held up a file. “What I have here is Commander Harris’s briefback.” Campbell shook his head. “This is one of the finest, most thorough briefbacks I have ever read. I have to compliment you, Commander Harris, on doing such a fine job on such short notice.” Campbell shook the file and looked at the rest of the group. “This thing is a doozy. If Lieutenant Commander Harris hadn’t already performed part of this, there is no way he could have sold me on it, but he did.” Campbell shook his head. “Here it goes. Almost eight years ago, Commander Harris and three of his fellow SEALs jumped out of a MC-130 Combat Talon in the middle of the night and parachuted onto the roof of the White House undetected by the Secret Service. This was no stunt; it was an exercise that the Secret Service wanted the Navy to help them conduct. The results have been confirmed.”
Campbell paused and looked at the group. “I’m sure some of you are wondering why I am even considering a crazy James Bond maneuver like this, and here’s my reason. Iron Man has verified that explosive devices have been planted in the mansion. We have separate intelligence that tells us Aziz brought along enough Semtex to level the whole building, which means that most likely any raid will result in the loss of all the hostages and most of the assault teams. Our only chance is to get a group of demolition experts into the building just prior to the assault and figure out a way to disable these bombs. This is what we were trying to do early this morning when one of the men on Commander Harris’s team was killed.”
Campbell paused for a moment and then said, “Here is how things will go if we make it to H-hour. Commander Harris and three of his men will do a HALO jump out of a Special Forces MC-One-Thirty Combat Talon. Our intel people think the rooftop cameras that monitor the grounds are still operational and being used. Because of this, all four men must land on the roof. Two of SEAL Team Six’s best snipers have set up shop four blocks away from the White House in the bell tower of the Old Post Office. Just prior to the landing of the first element, the sentry in the rooftop guard booth will be taken out by the snipers. From there Commander Harris’s team will be met by Iron Man, who will lead them via a tunnel that runs from the basement of the mansion over
to the West Wing.”
Campbell paused for a moment to backtrack. “Between now and H-hour, Iron Man will reconnoiter the West Wing and collect as much information as possible. His first priority will be to obtain video surveillance of both groups of hostages. His second task will be to scout out both primary and secondary assault lanes for the Hostage Rescue Team. Having taken care of the that in advance, he will lead Commander Harris’s team to open at least one of those lanes, if not both. If Commander Harris and his team fail to open those, we have one other backup in place. Within thirty minutes an Air Force E-Three-A Sentry will be on station above the city. We have reason to believe that Aziz has the ability to detonate the bombs by remote control. We don’t know if this remote is radio, cellular, or digital, and we can’t take a chance on guessing, so if the order is given, the AWACS will shower the area around the White House with a storm of disruption that will jam everything except the stuff that we are using.”
Looking at the commanders of HRT and Delta, Campbell said, “We considered lighting up the area from the get-go but decided against it. The break in communication may tip them off and allow them to manually detonate the bombs.”
There were several moments of silence, and then Slater and Gray looked at each other. They both knew it would do no good to start asking questions. There wasn’t enough time to really plan and practice. This would be one of those times that they had talked about during their countless training exercises. This would be one of those times they had feared. A time when they would throw the playbook out the window.
The commander of JSOC looked around the room. After a moment of silence he focused on the warriors to his left. The men who would be going into battle. Speaking as one commando to another, he said, “A thousand things could go wrong at any stage of this operation.” The three commanders acknowledged the warning given to them from a decorated soldier with a knowing look. Campbell frowned, biting his lower lip, and then added, “Stay loose . . . Pick your best shooters . . . This one is going to be all instinct and reaction. There’s no time to rehearse.”