Transfer of Power

by Vince Flynn

  Rapp moved quickly for the terrorist’s radio, saying over his lip mike, “I need help. Get the Whiskey Team over here on the double.” Keeping his gun trained on the open door that led out into the hallway, he grabbed the radio and brought it up to his ear. The voice he heard on the other end caused Rapp’s skin to crawl. It was Aziz.

  Rapp had to think fast. Speaking into his own headset first, he said, “Control, we may have to go with jamming. Be ready to do so on my command.” Rapp thought about how to play it. After just a second or two he brought the radio to his mouth and hoped his clipped Farsi accent would work. “Everything’s all right. It was nothing.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Aziz asked, “Who is this?”

  Rapp hesitated for only a second. Into his lip mike, he said, “Control, jam everything! I repeat, everything!”

  52

  AZIZ LOOKED AT the door to the president’s bunker and then at the electronic device in his hand. He spoke into his radio for a third time and then held it to his ear. Nothing came back. Without having to be asked, Bengazi tried his radio. The result was the same. Aziz calmly checked the digital pager clipped to his hip and then looked at Bengazi.

  “Take Ragib, check the stairwell, and try to reestablish radio contact.” Aziz then turned to Yassin, who was sticking a long spikelike object through one of the holes he had drilled. “Keep working,” he told the plump little man.

  Aziz walked down the hallway, following his men, and when they reached the stairwell, he waited for them at the bottom. As Bengazi and Ragib disappeared into the stairwell, Aziz tried his radio again. It still didn’t work. Now he began to get nervous. If the radios failed, that was one thing, but if the Americans were jamming them and they covered the frequencies of his digital pagers, that would be something entirely different. The countdown would begin on the bombs, and if the Americans did not stop jamming the signal, there was nothing he could do to stop them from going off. He had only several options, and he didn’t have a lot of time to think them through.

  RAPP STOOD NEXT to the main doorway of Horsepower looking down the hall, waiting for a Tango to come around the corner any second. Rielly had ventured into the room and was staring at the dead terrorist. Rapp brought his hand up and motioned for her to get behind him.

  She didn’t see his gesture, and Rapp said, “Anna, get over here, and stay behind me.” Rapp looked back down the hall again and said, “Whiskey Four, where in the hell are you?”

  “We’re in the tunnel. We’ll be there in a second.”

  “Hurry up.”

  Commander Harris, who was in the lead, passed a tired Milt Adams and sprinted up the stairs. He arrived in Horsepower with his weapon up and sweeping the room.

  Rapp heard him enter and turned. “We need to take these guys out quick before they figure out what’s going on.”

  “What about the bombs?” The other three black-clad SEALs entered the room.

  “We pray they don’t go off while we’re shooting, and we worry about them later.”

  “Slow down a minute.” General Campbell’s voice came over their radios. “We need to make sure we know what we’re doing first.”

  “We’ve got one Tango upstairs watching a half a dozen hostages or more.” Rapp spoke rapidly. “We’re blind in the mess, but we know there’s at least three Tangos watching over the hostages. There’s nothing else to discuss. These guys are going to get real antsy if they don’t start hearing something on their radios. We need to move now.”

  “I agree.” Harris backed up Rapp.

  “What’s the Tango in the Roosevelt Room doing?” asked Rapp.

  “Nothing. He’s just sitting in his chair, but Aziz and several others are on the move.”

  “Where’s Delta?”

  “They’re on their way in.”

  Rapp looked at Harris. “The mess is down the hall, first left and then first right. Take your team and clear the room. I’ll go upstairs and take care of loner.”

  “Why don’t I give you Mick?”

  Rapp shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t need him. I’ve got video on what he’s doing. You’re flying blind. You need the extra man more than I do.” Rapp started to move for the other door. He grabbed Rielly’s hand and said to Harris and the boys, “Good luck. I’ll see you in about twenty seconds.”

  When Rapp reached the back steps, Milt Adams was slowly climbing the staircase from the tunnel. He looked exhausted. Turning to Rielly, Rapp said, “Wait here with Milt.” Then on the way up the stairs to the Oval Office, he remembered all of the bombs. Into his lip mike he said, “Control, you’d better start thinking of a way to get us out of here.”

  BACK AT LANGLEY, Kennedy was already on the job. Things were moving along at a frantic pace. General Campbell’s Joint Special Operations Command staff was busy monitoring every aspect of the mission and telling the general only the things he needed to be most concerned about. Fortunately, everyone in the room had received enough training and, in some cases, real-life experience that they knew to keep their mouths shut unless what they had to say was imperative. During a frenetic operation like this, it was easy to swamp the lines of communications.

  Kennedy tapped Campbell on the arm. “I’ll handle Iron Man. You worry about the Whiskey Team.”

  Campbell nodded his consent. Colonel Gray, the commander of Delta Force, was to his right and overseeing the actions of his Alpha and Bravo Teams. The Alpha Team was on the move and about to be inserted onto the roof. The Bravo Team had left its cover under the Arlington Bridge and was on its way in. General Flood and Director Stansfield sat in the back row and watched. They were both very careful not to interrupt.

  Kennedy looked at the three monitors on the big board that most concerned Rapp. “Iron Man, you are all clear. There is no movement in the hallway, and the Tango is sitting with his gun resting on his lap.” Kennedy squinted at the screen. “There’s a chance he could be sleeping.”

  “ROGER THAT.” Rapp climbed the steep concrete staircase that led to the Oval Office. When he reached the top, he pressed the latch and pulled the wall in toward him. He checked to his left first and then moved through the dining room and into the pantry. There he stopped and looked out at the door across the hallway.

  “Whiskey Four, are you in position? Over.”

  Harris and his three SEALs were crouched against the wall just outside the White House mess. Having gone through this drill together countless times, they fell into their slots. Reavers was number one, followed by Clark, Rostein, and finally Harris—the same way they had jumped out of the plane.

  “We’re ready to go on your command, Iron Man.”

  Before moving, Rapp asked, “How does my Tango look, control?”

  “No change in status,” replied Kennedy.

  “Roger that. All right, Harry, let’s bag ’em on three. One . . .” Rapp moved across the hall. “Two . . .” He placed his right hand on the doorknob. “Three!” Rapp threw the door open and stayed in his crouch. The Tango looked up, and as he did so, the thick black suppressor of Rapp’s submachine gun coughed twice.

  Downstairs Mick Reavers raced into the White House mess in a crouch and peeled to his left, sweeping his area for targets. A split second into the room-clearing maneuver, he found one. The Tango was standing with his weapon cradled across his chest. Reavers placed two rounds directly in the center of the man’s forehead and sent him to the ground. The next three SEALs came in right on top of Reavers, each man peeling away and searching their area. Tony Clark, the number two man in the train, found his target thirty feet away and directly across the room. The Tango was bringing his gun up to fire, but it never happened. Two bullets hit him right between the eyes and sent him back over a chair. As Jordan Rostein entered the room, he peeled further to the right and came up blank. He fought the urge to sweep further to his right and went back over his area again. Harris was right on his heels and pivoted ninety degrees to cover the area all the way to the right. No more than eig
ht feet away, the snubbed muzzle of a shortened AK-74 was being brought to bear. Harris was quicker and sent two rounds into the man’s face.

  Reavers called clear, and he was followed in quick succession by the other team members. They heard Rapp’s call over their radios, and then several of the hostages began to cry out for help. The SEALs ignored them and kept their weapons up as they searched the mass of hostages for any Tangos that might be using them for cover. Harris ordered Clark and Rostein to watch the hostages, and then he and Reavers moved out to secure the other areas of the room.

  53

  THE THREE LITTLE Bird helicopters moved out from their holding pattern and raced in over the White House. The rain was falling in sheets and the wind was howling. Most helicopter pilots had the common sense to stay on the ground during weather like this, but the pilots of the 160th

  Special Operations Regiment trained in the worst possible conditions for this exact reason.

  The only adjustment they made was to loosen their formation a bit to allow for some error that might be caused by the gusting wind. The first Little Bird came in and hovered ten feet off the deck over the eastern end of the roof. The NOTAR system on the chopper’s tail gave it unmatched hovering stability. All four troopers kicked free at the same time and rappelled the short distance to the rooftop. The men pulled their ropes from their rappelling clips and headed out for the guard booth. The second chopper came right behind the first, and then the third. The twelve operators of the Alpha Team immediately set out for their objective in the basement.

  AZIZ WAS TRYING to figure out what to do when he heard the distinctive noise of an AK-74 being fired somewhere on the floors above. The noise caused him to freeze at first, and then he raced back to the anteroom of the bunker. Neither Yassin nor the woman had any idea that something was wrong. Aziz grabbed the woman by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

  Pulling the woman down the hall, he yelled back to Yassin, “Get that door open.”

  As they neared the stairwell, shots could be heard again. Aziz opened the door and yelled for Bengazi. He waited a moment but got no reply. Furious at all this when he was so close, he grabbed the woman by the hair and shoved her into the stairwell. He had to get to the first basement or there would be no escape. Aziz pushed the woman before him as the noise of battle grew louder.

  When they made it to the first basement, he pressed on. At the next landing they found Bengazi and Ragib. The two of them were firing furiously at the stairs above them. Brass shell casings came tumbling down the steps. A hail of bullets hit the plaster wall just in front of them, and chips of the wall flew in every direction.

  Aziz began backing down the staircase, yelling to Bengazi, “Muammar, hold on for another minute and then meet me in the tunnel!”

  Without turning, Bengazi yelled, “Go!”

  As Aziz headed back down the stairs, there was a bright flash and a loud bang from above. He reached the door to the first basement and burst through it with the president’s secretary. Using her as a shield, he checked both directions and then headed for the Treasury tunnel. He had to fight all of his urges to go back downstairs and see things through with the president, but he knew that would end only one way. This was it. He had been so close, but somehow the Americans had figured out what he was up to.

  Aziz rounded the next corner to the left and stopped. Holding the woman up in front of him, he brought his fist back and then punched her with a right hook. The woman spun from the blow and went to the floor like a wet noodle. Aziz set his MP-5 down and began to tear off the green fatigues he’d been wearing for the last three days.

  RAPP DID A quick search of the room and came up with nothing. One by one he pulled the canvas bags off the hostage’s heads, counting nine of them. The room reeked of urine.

  “Whiskey Four, what’s your status?”

  “We’re golden. Three Tangos down, and all of the hostages are secured.”

  Rapp looked over at the bomb by the wall. Its red light was blinking. “We’re not out of this yet. Get your boys working on these bombs.”

  Turning his attention back to the hostages, he said, “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.” He took his knife and cut the first two uniformed Secret Service officers free. Then, giving his knife to them, he told them to free the others. Rapp spoke into his headset, “Control, what’s the plan?”

  Kennedy answered. “Start moving the hostages into the tunnel. If there’s no other safe way out, we’ll off-load them by helicopter from the roof.”

  “Roger that.” Rapp looked back at the hostages, who were still trying to get up. “Can you people move?” A couple of them nodded, and Rapp said, “All right. Follow me, and don’t touch anything. Those of you that can’t move, I’ll come back and get you.”

  Rapp led the first three out of the room and toward the hidden staircase. “Control, what’s the update on Aziz?” Rapp waited but got no reply. He repeated the question as he went back to grab a couple more hostages and was stopped cold in the hallway outside the Roosevelt Room. He had heard a beep and looked down at the bomb on the wall. The red light had stopped blinking and was now green. Beneath that, two red numbers appeared.

  “Shit! We’ve got big problems! These bombs are counting down! Control, did you hear me? Whiskey Four, did you hear me?” Rapp ran back into the Roosevelt Room. “People we have to move fast. Who needs help?” One of the remaining six raised his hand. Rapp snatched the Secret Service officer from the ground like a rag doll and threw him over his shoulder.

  “Say again?” General Campbell asked.

  “These bombs are counting down. Something went wrong. Get the Alpha Team back up to the roof.” Rapp headed out of the room. “Let’s go! Everyone, follow me.” As Rapp raced across the hall and into president’s dining room, he yelled, “Harry, move everybody into the tunnel fast. It’s our only chance.”

  Rapp cut through the short hallway and started down the steep stairs. When he reached the bottom, he handed the wounded Secret Service officer off to several other hostages and told Anna and Milt to head down into the tunnel and keep people moving. Rapp then ran into Horsepower, where he saw the first of the hostages coming his way. Rapp screamed, “Come on, people! Move! Hurry up!”

  The line slowed for a second, and Rapp backed up to the door and screamed, “Get your asses moving! This whole building is wired to blow!”

  The line instantly surged forward. Rapp checked his watch. He had no idea how much time they had left, but it couldn’t be much. Harris and the other three SEALs finally appeared. Reavers was carrying a hostage in each arm. Clark, Rostein, and Harris appeared within seconds, each of them helping a hostage.

  “Is anyone else left?”

  “No.” Harris passed Rapp and said, “Get your ass in the tunnel.”

  Rapp didn’t need to be told. He was right on Harris’s heels and slamming the heavy steel door closed behind him. Rapp yelled over his headset, “Milt, make sure the door on the other end is closed.”

  AZIZ PEAKED AROUND the corner to see if Bengazi was coming. The gunfire had stopped, and he took it as a bad sign. The Americans would have silenced weapons, and if he could not hear shots, that meant Ragib and Bengazi had been overpowered. The Americans would be arriving shortly.

  Looking at his pager, he smiled. The Americans were in for a big surprise. The pager had gone into countdown mode. The system was foolproof. He had designed and tested it himself. With the laptop jammed, the pagers didn’t receive their codes. Now they were in countdown mode, and in sixteen seconds they would start to blow.

  The green fatigues were off. Underneath them Aziz had been wearing black coveralls similar to those worn by the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. The black assault vest he wore over it had FBI printed in yellow across the back. The plan was a long shot, but in the confusion created by the bombs going off, it just might work. The Secret Service MP-5 submachine gun, the black gas mask he would put on once the explosions occurred, the coveralls—they would all h
elp him blend in.

  Aziz looked around the corner again, expecting to see members of the Hostage Rescue Team working their way down the hall. There was no one. It was completely silent. He checked the pager one last time and pulled his gas mask down.

  The first explosion was a rumble in the distance. It was followed by a quick succession of explosions, each one getting a little louder. The building began to shake, dust and plaster started to fall from the ceiling, the lights fluttered several times and then failed completely. All of the sudden a huge blast came from the left, where the entrance to the Treasury tunnel was located. The concussion knocked Aziz to the floor, where he landed on the president’s unconscious secretary.

  Aziz pushed himself up, spitting the dust from his mouth and shaking it from his hair. His hearing had been rendered useless from the explosion. Commanding himself to get up, he stood and found the small flashlight in his assault vest. Aziz turned it on and tried to regain his sense of direction. The air was thick with dust and smoke, preventing him from seeing more than five feet in any direction.

  He was pretty sure the tunnel was to his left. Grabbing the woman, he threw her over his shoulder, picked up his gun, and felt his way along the wall for the tunnel. At the next corner he went right, and several steps later he stumbled over chunks of concrete that had been knocked loose from the blast. In front of him was a mound. He started to climb into the tunnel. For a moment he was fearful the entire structure might have collapsed, but then the rubble began to dissipate.

  Breathing through the gas mask was difficult. It didn’t give him oxygen; it just helped filter the dust and smoke from the air. Carrying the woman was proving to be more tiring than he had anticipated. He stopped for a moment to gather himself. The dust started to settle, and his breathing became slightly easier. The visibility grew better with each passing step, and it motivated him to pick up the pace.