The Third Trumpet

by Anthony R. DiVerniero

The gray air force C-141 Starlifter landed at Andrews Air Force base at seven fifteen in the morning. A nearby airman directed General Giacomo DeLaurentis to the VIP suite where he showered and dressed in his uniform. Prepared for his meeting with Jerry Richardson, he knew giving his resignation was a no-brainer.

  “Giacomo.”

  He turned his head toward the voice. “Jason, thanks for meeting me here.”

  Colonel Jason Vandercliff, the number-two man in BOET, stood in an office doorway. The handsome, square-jawed officer turned. Giacomo followed him.

  “We don’t have much time. You were right. You’re in danger.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “You’re not going to make it to the White House.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. You have the chip?”

  “Yes. We have a new protocol.” Jason pulled out a syringe. “Inside is a Nano tracking device as well as a voice transmitter. It will be active for seventy-two hours. Our men will never be far behind. This is going to hurt a bit.” He inserted the needle under Giacomo’s skin near his shoulder.

  “That wasn’t too bad.” Giacomo rubbed the area. “Jason, call Sergio, and he’ll launch a drone.”

  “Will do. Giacomo, you don’t have to do this. You’re taking a risk. What about your family?”

  “Jason, I appreciate the concern. But we need to catch these bastards. You’ve got my back—right, Colonel?”

  “I do, General. Trust me—I’ve got your back. You’d better get going.”

  As Giacomo entered the hallway, he moved his head to the left and then right. Two military police waited at the security door of the building.

  “General DeLaurentis, sir.” They saluted.

  Giacomo’s eyes darted as he scanned the area behind the men. He returned their salute. The adrenaline pumped through his veins. Every sense activated on high alert. A picture of Emily flashed in his mind. Would he ever see his wife and children?

  “Gentlemen, are you my escorts to the White House?”

  “Yes, sir. Please, follow us.”

  They exited the private terminal to a black SUV parked at the curb. One man entered the driver’s side while the other held open the back door for the commander of BOET.

  “How long until we arrive?”

  “Thirty minutes, General.”

  “Thank you.” Giacomo rubbed his shoulder.

  The driver turned on Route 4 and merged with Pennsylvania Avenue. The SUV crept by Muhammad Mosque #4, then came to a stop. Maybe I should escape now. I don’t need this shit. I wonder how fast I can leave the country. No, I can’t do that . . .

  Giacomo’s attention was drawn to the windshield. A helicopter swept low over the oncoming traffic. Suddenly, three masked men jumped out of a nearby car. Armed with assault rifles, they surrounded the vehicle. The two MPs pulled their 9-mm semiautomatic handguns from their holsters—too late. The kidnappers opened the forward doors, their rifles raised as they fired an onslaught of bullets. The back door opened.

  “Out now, General!” An M-16 carbine was shoved into Giacomo’s face. “Now, General!” The six-foot-four, wide-shouldered assailant yelled over the sounds of the helicopter rotors. He threw a zippered vest to Giacomo. “Put this on.”

  “Are you people crazy? You’ll never get away with this.”

  The man grabbed Giacomo. He then hooked a steel cable from the low-hovering helicopter to the garment. Giacomo became airborne. He spun on his ascent. The 360-degree view showed the pandemonium below. While being pulled on board, he grabbed the jacket of a kidnapper. With a swift jerk, the man sailed through the air to his death. Giacomo couldn’t escape what came next—a crushing blow to his face from the butt of an AK-47 rifle. With its cargo loaded, the aircraft tilted forward, departing to the southwest. A moment later, an explosion came from below. The assailants and twenty innocent bystanders were blown to oblivion.

  Giacomo awoke as the helicopter touched down on a grassy field. His hands had been tied behind his back. He could feel his legs; they were unrestrained. He squinted and saw three men—two pilots and one other with his back toward him. Giacomo rolled out of the chopper. He fell three feet and tumbled on his side. Still groggy, with a massive headache, he crouched and ran. He moved toward the tail rotor, but another masked kidnapper met him.

  “Where do you think you’re going, DeLaurentis?” the massive, German-accented man asked. Two men joined the terrorist.

  Giacomo faced them. His training in the martial arts and hand-to-hand combat gave him the confidence of a samurai. I can do this. With his left leg, he propelled himself upward. His right leg struck the face of the German. A tenth of a second later, his left leg landed on the opposite side. With a twist of the waist, his legs gripped the kidnapper’s neck like a vise. The two combatants fell to the ground, the sound of a crack followed by the last breath of life exuded by the extremist. Giacomo set his sights on the second one. The two other men froze in shock at the sight. He rolled to his left and crouched, ready to attack the bastard. The commander of BOET scanned the surroundings. Shit, a fourth one. Where did he come from? I can’t die . . . Emily . . .

  “That will be enough, General,” the man screamed as a bullet entered the chamber of his 9-mm Beretta.

  Giacomo knew this battle had ended.

  “You two take him.”

  They approached Giacomo with caution. One grabbed his arm. The other punched Giacomo with the butt of the firearm to his midsection, followed by an uppercut to the chin. As he lost consciousness, he heard someone say, “I want to cut off his legs.”

  “When we have our information, you can cut off his testicles if you want.”

  “Testicles?”

  The two men dragged Giacomo’s body to a waiting vehicle. They left their dead comrade behind.

  Chapter 71

  Jason and ten members of the BOET waited in the operations center in Virginia. On an overhead monitor, a GPS satellite feed tracked their leader. Grounded because of a mechanical problem with their Sikorsky Black Hawk helicopter, the men waited as two mechanics struggled to repair the machine. Each soldier was outfitted with a bulletproof vest and a high-powered M16 carbine. Attached to their outerwear was an assortment of grenades and explosives. Two handheld rocket launchers were stowed in the corner.

  “Colonel, the chopper is heading toward the West Virginia border. The general still seems to be unconscious.”

  “Very well. Gentlemen, this will be quick and easy. Kill the insurgents, gather intel, and rescue our boss. They have a fifteen-minute start.”

  “Sir, we lost the GPS signal.”

  “What do you mean—we lost the GPS signal?”

  “Sir, he’s gone off the grid.”

  “What does diagnostics say?”

  “I’m checking now.”

  The soldier pounded the keyboard. “Nothing, sir.”

  “All right. What can you tell me?”

  “The copter was descending.”

  “Show me potential landing sites.” The colonel issued more orders. “Contact NSA. Tell them to move one of our satellites. We’ll try for a visual. Contact the FAA; they might have reports of low-flying aircraft. Damn it, this is not okay . . .”

  The monitor displayed a map of northern Virginia and the West Virginia border. Two men sat at keyboards, typing.

  “Sir, we’ve got a satellite picture. A heat signature detected in a field outside of Winchester, Virginia.”

  “Sir,” another soldier yelled, “the general’s GPS shows he’s moving again. The patterns suggest he’s trying to escape.”

  Colonel Vandercliff gawked at the satellite monitor. The infrared image displayed the helicopter. Five men could be seen, two in hand-to-hand combat. Four of the men moved methodically as they approached Giacomo.

  “The helicopter’s position is fixed, sir.”

  �
��Damn! They got him. Let’s saddle up, men. No time to waste.”

  * * *

  Forty Minutes Later

  Giacomo was strapped to a gurney. He was partially aware of the commotion around him. He tried to move his legs but to no avail. He hurt like hell. Through his clouded consciousness, he could hear explosions. He felt the heat of a blast sweep across his face. Garbled voices echoed in his brain.

  “He’s down! He’s down! We need help in here now.”

  “Backup ETA five out.”

  Gunshots ricocheted off the floor, and bullets burst into the walls around the three BOET men. They crouched, waiting for help to arrive. A cinderblock wall exploded in the back of the room. Twenty armed BOET members carrying automatic weapons crashed through the hole. Their red laser beams cut a pathway through the smoke and debris as they searched for the enemy. The rapid pop-pop of automatic weapons broke the unnerving silence.

  “Four men to your left, behind the wall.”

  Another explosion! The wall and the men were thrown into the air—dismembered body parts scattered on the floor.

  “Secure the general.”

  “General secured.”

  “Let’s move—insurgents ten minutes away. Let’s get the hell out of here, gentlemen.”

  General Giacomo DeLaurentis was still strapped to the gurney as four men carried him to the waiting BOET troop carrier.

  Chapter 72

  Three Days after the Kidnapping

  Richardson yelled into the satellite phone. “No idea where DeLaurentis is. Your stupid-ass people kidnapped an army general in daylight—using a freakin’ helicopter. I told you not to do that. You’ve caused more problems. With today’s technology—did your people really think they wouldn’t be seen?” His fat face ballooned with rage. “I am the president of the United States! I am no longer your pawn, you stupid son of a bitch.” The commander in chief hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.

  * * *

  Baltimore

  “Giacomo. Giacomo.”

  “He’s not waking.”

  “General DeLaurentis, sir?” The nurse touched Giacomo’s shoulder.

  “Where the hell am I?” His eyes opened slowly as three people came into focus: Jason, Tom Maro, and a nurse.

  “Ann, you can leave us now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long—”

  “Almost two days.” Jason finished his commanding officer’s sentence.

  “How many days since I was kidnapped?”

  “Three.”

  “What day is today?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Am I all right?”

  “Yes. The drugs they gave you are flushed out of your system.”

  “Oh.” Giacomo sat up with the president-elect’s help. Puzzled, he asked, “Tom, why are you here?”

  Jason spoke for Maro. “We’re at his house. This was the safest place to come. During your transit from Italy to Washington, one of our men attached to the presidential Secret Service detail overheard an irate Richardson discuss the abduction. He relayed it to me. I called Tom, and he suggested you come here. It was a good thing you asked me to meet you at Andrews.”

  “I’m happy you did.” Giacomo rubbed his chin.

  “Still sore?”

  “A little. I’d like to take that rifle butt and shove it up that son of a bitch’s ass.”

  “I’m sure you would, but they’re all dead.”

  “Unbelievable. Jason, did we get any intel?”

  “A laptop—encrypted.”

  “Damn. What’s our next move?” Giacomo winced as he repositioned himself on the bed.

  Tom answered, “I spoke with Sergio. You’ll be transported back to Italy.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re persona non grata, buddy,” Jason said.

  “At least until my inauguration.”

  “Jason, Richardson’s gotta know you’re involved.”

  “As far as the president is concerned, I’m out of the country.”

  “How do you explain my rescue? Richardson must be suspicious.”

  “I’m sure he is. After the rescue, the BOET team was deployed to Afghanistan. Our troops believe you were kidnapped by foreign terrorists—not by our government.”

  “What do the news reports say?”

  “Your face is all over the media. The FBI is going crazy trying to find you.”

  “What do you mea . . . oh—nobody knows I’ve been rescued?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Does Richardson know?”

  “We think he does—but we’re not sure. He’s making a stink about how we can’t even protect our own. He says Waldron allowed America to be infiltrated by terrorists.”

  “Not true.”

  “You got that right, Mr. Maro.”

  “Jason, does my wife . . .”

  “We told Emily you’re safe. We’ll arrange a secure line so you can talk.”

  “Thanks. Tom—what happened with you and Richardson after Art died?”

  “At first, Secret Service suspected me of killing Waldron. Richardson intervened. After he took the oath of office, he met me at the holding area in the White House. He was cordial at first, and then he snapped. He said if he’d been president, the country would not be in ruin. Then he stormed out, mumbling something about his wife. His aide approached me, apologized, and said we can expect no help from the acting administration during the transition in January.”

  “Wow, not available for the transition? What—are we in grammar school again? Did I leak any information?”

  “No. We arrived before the interrogation started.”

  “Jason, did the search at Richardson’s office yield any info?” Giacomo asked.

  “Search?”

  Giacomo reached for a glass of water and took a sip.

  “Sorry, Tom. I meant to tell you during our last call before Arthur . . . Sergio found the video of the interrogation of the helicopter pilots. They implicated Richardson, who had the stolen journal.”

  “So, you took it upon yourself to execute an illegal search of his office?”

  Giacomo showed no remorse for his actions. “I did.” He found it odd that Tom did not question Richardson’s involvement.

  “We found a non-government-issued satellite phone.”

  Hesitant, Jason fixed his eyes on Giacomo.

  “Colonel, please continue. But, gentlemen, when I’m in office, this has to stop. We need to uphold the Constitution.”

  Giacomo said nothing.

  “Yes, sir. We put a tracer on all future calls. Due to the death of the president, we weren’t able to gain access to the communications databases.”

  “Can we do it now?”

  Jason gave a curious glance at Maro, seeking approval.

  “I didn’t hear anything.” Tom smirked.

  “I’ll have the info for you by the time you return to Italy.”

  Jason filled Giacomo in on the details of the rescue.

  “Thank you, Jason, for saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome. But we had help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re confident one of your drones fired a missile, blowing a hole in the side of the building. That’s how we rescued you.”

  “Really?” The president-elect shook his head, showing his displeasure.

  “I’ll ask Sergio. My wife?”

  Tom and Jason glanced at each other.

  “I already asked, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. By tomorrow, you’ll be 100 percent.”

  “How did you get me here?”

  “Your father’s suggestion.”

  “My father? You received one of his notes?”

  “Yes. Five days ago.”<
br />
  “Care to tell me what he wrote?”

  “He instructed me to contact Danny, and he would arrange for you to get here safely. To be honest, I wasn’t going to go against your father’s wishes.”

  Giacomo shook his head in disbelief. “Smart. Jason, when do I leave for Italy?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tom . . . thank you.”

  “No problem.” The president-elect’s cell phone rang. “Yes, Dean? Okay, thanks.”

  “Issues?” Jason asked.

  “No, on the contrary, my chief of staff was able to make headway with Richardson’s transition team.”

  “That’s good news. Sounds like you have the right man in the position.”

  “Yeah, I’m lucky, Giacomo. I still miss my cousin, though.” He patted the general’s shoulder. “You need to rest, my friend.”

  Giacomo settled back into the bed. He closed his eyes and dreamt of when he and his father used to walk to the Yale Bowl on Chapel Street.

  Chapter 73

  President-elect Maro led a weary Giacomo into the attached garage of his house. A black Nissan Maxima with dark-tinted windows waited. A BOET driver would take Giacomo to a remote airport in Maryland.

  “Sergio made arrangements for you to enter Italy without clearing their customs. Think of it like being in a diplomatic pouch. There will be no record of you traveling out of the States. You’ll be flown to Rome where he will meet you. Any idea how we should handle Richardson?”

  “Not yet.”

  Maro withdrew his cell phone from his pants pocket and typed. “Giacomo, I just forwarded you the number for my chief of staff. If for some reason you can’t contact me, you can give Dean a call. He’ll get the message to me.”

  Giacomo’s cell phone pinged. He looked at the number. “Got it.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “All those notes from your father . . . how . . .”

  “How do they reach us?”

  “Yes.”

  Giacomo shrugged. “Not a clue.”

  The two men shook hands. Giacomo climbed into the car. Tom pressed a code on a keypad, and the garage door opened.

  * * *