“Bring me the president,” Arash Abbasi said. “Or my men begin shooting.”
CHAPTER 56
Grace had dropped to the floor behind the row of analyst’s desks when the sounds of gunfire erupted on the other side of the steel security door, dragging Ben Murray with him.
He’d seen Haggard stand up and move into the open and called to him to take cover, but the Secret Service agent held his ground and paid the price when the terrorists breached the doorway. Grace’s hand went to his back and pulled the Glock from its holster. He knew the first round was already in the chamber and he didn’t have to check it, for this very reason. The shooters would have heard the sound of the slide being pulled back then released to load a bullet and he’d be dead before he could get a shot off.
He heard Abbasi’s voice demand to see the president and knew it wasn’t a bluff. There were only moments before bullets would begin taking people down. Grabbing his phone he made sure the ringer was off and typed in a fast message and sent.
Motioning to Ben to stay still and quiet, Grace inched along the ground, staying as low as possible to try to get a view through the rows of desks. At one point he could see the legs of one of the men but nothing more.
His phone vibrated and he hit the button quickly and looked at the screen. Holden and Netty had been in the observation room reviewing video from the interviews with Graham. With them coming from the far side of the room they would have the terrorists flanked. He continued crawling along the floor, moving to a position that wasn’t straight across from the hallway to the detention cells so he wouldn’t be in the line of fire from his own team. He moved close to the wall near the main door and would be able to come up behind the shooters.
“Let me through,” Abrams voice came from the back of the room. “Let me through now.”
Grace dropped his head to the floor and closed his eyes, waiting to hear the sound of Abbasi’s gun as it killed the president. The clicking of her heels moved to the front of the room.
“Madam President, it is an honor. My name is Arash Abbasi.” His gun was aimed at her head.
“What is it you want, Mr. Abbasi,” President Abrams said.
Grace moved a few more inches and had a view from the back of the room. He saw the three remaining shooters with AK-47’s trained on the group of suits and uniforms, Arash Abbasi standing in the middle, a pistol aimed at the president ten feet in front of him.
He ran the scenarios through his head and knew he could take one man down before the other two had a chance to turn and shoot. If Holden and Netty were in location and reacted quickly, they would have the other two handled, leaving only Abbasi to worry about.
“I am a contractor, Madam President,” Abbasi said. “I do not kill for enjoyment or my own political gain. I kill for money, plain and simple. People hire me to do my job and I do it well. This is not personal. I have no loyalty to any nation or flag and am not an enemy to any nation or flag, only to men.”
FBI Director Monroe had moved up beside the president in the absence of her lead Secret Service agent. He had never carried a gun and didn’t have one now.
“Do you think you’re going to be able to walk out of here alive?” President Abrams said.
“Yes, I do,” Abbasi’s thumb moved up and pulled the hammer back on the weapon.
“Do you have any demands?” the president said.
“Yes,” he said. “Die.”
Arash Abbasi pulled his finger and fired the pistol. As the bullet left the barrel, Jim Monroe jumped to his left, pushing the president to the floor. The gunshot struck him in the left temple and exited the back of his head. His lifeless body fell on top of the president.
Grace was on his feet and sprinted up behind the closest man, who happened to also be the smallest. He had his pistol but couldn’t chance shooting towards the group of people. In a smooth motion he brought his left arm around the throat of Alexandre Fortier, shoving his chin up towards the ceiling and with his right hand grabbed the muzzle of the AK-47 and spun the man to his right, away from the group.
He counted on the man pulling the trigger on the automatic weapon and hopefully taking out at least one of his own men. The terrorist’s finger pulled back on the heavy trigger of the Russian made assault rifle. Three bullets exited the barrel as Grace continued to turn his body then throw him to the floor. His knee came down onto Fortier’s forehead and knocked him out. He’d seen Abbasi duck and move forward as they turned and had heard the whispered snaps of the Sig Sauer rifles. He knew he would turn to see the other two terrorists on the floor.
He turned and froze. Abbasi was on his feet, his left hand holding President Abrams in front of him, his pistol to the side of her head.
“Put your guns down,” Abbasi stared at Grace.
“Do you have him?” Grace said.
“I have him,” Holden stood twenty feet away with his rifle aimed at the side of Abbasi’s head.
Abbasi looked over at the tall black man with the gun pointed at him then back to Grace. He raised the Beretta into the air and released the hammer then threw the gun onto the floor in front of Grace. He then slowly let the president go and placed his hands on the back of his head.
“I wish to surrender and give my confession to the crimes I have committed in your country.”
“Confession?” the president said.
“Yes,” Abbasi said as Grace stepped in and yanked the man’s hands down behind his back and tied them together with a zip tie Netty handed him. “I am responsible for the destruction of the United States Capitol.”
CHAPTER 57
Holden and Grace held either arm of Arash Abbasi as they watched the black armored vehicle of the FBI SWAT team out of Quantico stop in front of them. There were two large SUV’s with tinted windows with it, one in front and one behind. A well armed and armored agent climbed out of the back of the truck as half a dozen more came from the front seats as well as the SUVs.
Grace could feel Abbasi shivering as they stood in the cold. He’d thought about putting a jacket around the man’s shoulders before bringing him up from the ETTF then chose not to.
Amanda Paulson was off to the side and met with the lead agent in the front vehicle. The convoy would transport Abbasi to the Federal detention center in Alexandria where he would be stripped and searched then dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit and put into the highest security cell in the building. He would stay there until his first court appearance in the Federal Courthouse across the street.
Two SWAT agents placed heavy handcuffs on the prisoner’s wrists then clipped the zip ties off. A set of leg irons was wrapped around his ankles. He was then assisted up into the back of the armored vehicle and the door was locked from the inside.
“Seems kinda anticlimactic,” Holden said.
“Yeah,” Grace said. “I know what you mean. Would much rather have him in a bag. How’d you two miss the shot?”
“He was blocked by one of his own guys,” Holden said. “I was going to double-tap, drop the guy closest to me then take him out with the second round, but Abbasi moved as soon as he fired at the president.”
“Really?” Grace said. “No hesitation?”
“Not that I saw,” Holden said. “Practically sprinted to grab the president.”
“Hmm,” Grace said. “How tall would you say Monroe was?”
“Couple inches shorter than me,” Holden said. “6-2 maybe.”
“And Abrams is five foot five in heels,” Grace said.
“True,” Holden said. “So how did he get a head shot on Monroe when he was aiming at her face?”
“Exactly.”
The front SUV went into motion and the loud diesel engine of the armored truck revved and took off behind it. The final SUV rolled past silently in contrast. As the vehicles hit the street past the gate their lights and sirens came on to speed up their trip to Alexandria.
“Grace,” Amanda walked up to him. “Good work in there. You and your team.”
&nb
sp; “Thanks. I wish we’d been a little better,” Grace said.
“Don’t give it another thought,” she said. “The president is alive thanks to you.”
“But your boss isn’t,” Grace said.
“No, but he died to protect the president,” she said. “In the short time I got to work with him, I can say that his actions were fully in line with his personality. He wanted to give everything he could to his job and his country.”
“Well, he did that,” Grace said. “So what about you?”
“What about me?” Amanda said.
“You in charge now?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. The president asked me to step up as interim director.”
“Congrats?” Grace said.
“Sure,” she said.
CHAPTER 58
The used U-Haul truck sat in the right lane just ahead of the turn to the toll road that took traffic to the beltway, hazard lights flashing and hood up. The rear door was raised two feet. One man stood up on the front bumper staring under the hood.
The armored vehicle convoy transporting Arash Abbasi was moving faster than the speed limit, barely slowing for red lights. Cars were pulling out of its way as the three vehicles began moving from the left lane to prepare for the right turn onto the toll way.
As the lead SUV approached the U-Haul the first shots came out from the darkness of the inside of the box truck. Two sets of .50 caliber rounds came from the truck. The first weapon was set on disabling the lead vehicle, putting rounds through the radiator and front tires. The second shooter put a half-dozen shots through the front window killing the driver and front passenger.
The armored truck driver accelerated to move past the threat, forced to move between the disabled SUV and the U-Haul. The moving truck jolted forward with the wheels turned hard left and struck the front of the transport vehicle.
The man who’d been on the front bumper of the moving truck reappeared and climbed up on the hood of the armored truck and attached a hand grenade to a windshield wiper blade, pulled the pin, then jumped off the front of the truck. The doors flew open and the driver and passenger leaped to the ground as the grenade exploded. Two bursts of fire from an AK-47 cracked the air, killing both of the men before they could get off the ground.
The second SUV had stopped short and the three agents were out and had their rifles raised and were moving towards the U-Haul, putting distance between each other. Another grenade came through the air over the U-Haul and landed on the ground in front of the men. As it exploded, the agents were diving away from the blast. In the moment following, two men ran towards them and began firing with their rifles until there was no movement.
“Open up now,” one of the terrorists banged on the back door of the armored vehicle. “You open the door, or we blow the whole truck.”
The back door opened slowly to show Arash Abbasi standing in the opening. The men lowered their weapons at the sight of their leader then watched as he was pushed forward from the door, his arms and legs still shackled. Unable to brace himself, he struck the ground on his side, his skull crashing into the ground. The door of the truck slammed shut again and was relocked.
A Ford Explorer screeched to a halt beside the scene and the men helped Abbasi into the back seat and the truck sped off as a grenade taped to the back door of the armored vehicle blew.
CHAPTER 59
“They were waiting,” Grace said. “Which means they knew he’d be coming.”
“How’s that possible?” Arrington said.
“I think the plan went exactly as he intended,” Grace said. “He wanted to get into the ETTF, he wanted to shoot Monroe, then he wanted to get arrested and taken out.”
“That would be a hell of a plan,” Arrington said. “A man like Abbasi doesn’t choose to get arrested.”
“Unless he had someone inside,” Grace said.
“Stop it. We already have a man detained that has essentially been rendered innocent by the actions that took place here,” Arrington said. “Now you think someone else is involved.”
Grace shook his head and looked away. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t make sense. Why did he go to all the trouble to get in here and then not kill the president?”
“You may be the only person not relieved by the fact that he didn’t,” Arrington said.
“Not what I mean,” Grace said. “He had her in his sights, but ended up shooting a man more than a foot taller than her, with a head shot.”
“Your point?”
“My point is he had to adjust his aim away from the president to get that shot,” Grace said.
“Monroe was diving to protect Abrams,” Arrington said.
“Even so, he was still taller than her,” Grace said.
“Not everyone can be a perfect shot like you. Now I need to go get Graham released and hope he doesn’t demand my head on a platter,” Arrington said.
“He was involved. Or William was. At least one of them,” Grace said. “I just don’t know which.”
“I can see motive in the first attack,” Arrington said. “Graham had a lot to gain, though it still seems ridiculous that he would go through that. But what about this mess? What motive was there to attack the ETTF to assassinate the president?”
“Or Director Monroe,” Grace said. “We don’t know Abrams was his intended target.”
“This isn’t helpful,” Arrington. “You want to be productive? Go find Abbasi before he disappears.”
“I already have my team monitoring all possible exfiltration routes,” Grace said. “If I’m right, he’ll be out the U.S. within the hour.”
“Great,” Arrington said.
“Well, I think it is,” Grace said.
“Why?”
“Once he’s out we’ll go after him the way we go after people,” Grace said. “As long as he’s still on our soil, my hands are tied.”
Arrington stared at his lead operative then stepped in closer and looked him in the eyes. “Are you fucking crazy?”
“No,” Grace said. “I’m practical. The American people will be far more relieved with a dead Abbasi than a long trial.”
“Just go,” Arrington said. “Do what you do. Just actually get some results.”
CHAPTER 60
The Gulfstream G650ER was cruising at 525 miles per hour at 45,000 feet over the Caribbean Sea. The luxury interior of the jet was covered with tactical gear and weapons. The tables in the back of the cabin were lined with maps and Ben Murray had a laptop open with a secure satellite connection.
“At least it’s somewhere warm,” Avery said. “I’m getting sick of the cold.”
“Tell you what, we get this done quick and there’s a couple days R & R on any tropical island on the way home in it for everyone,” Grace said.
“Don’t you think Leighton wants his plane back?” Netty said.
“I’m pretty sure the CIA has other aircraft if the director needs to go anywhere,” Grace said. “Or he can fly commercial.”
The pilot’s voice came through the speakers. “Thirty minutes to wheels down.”
“Okay,” Grace said. “Final checks. Once we hit the ground we don’t stop until we’re done.”
“Think he’ll know we’re coming?” Corbin said.
“Maybe,” Ben said. “But I registered a flight plan originating in Montreal and I hacked into the registry and reassigned the CIA director’s tail number to a Canadian pharma company.”
“That’ll slow them down for a couple minutes,” Levi said.
The plane touched down at half past midnight at Simon Bolivar airport just north of Caracas, Venezuela and taxied past the terminal. They approached a large unmarked hanger at the east edge of the airport and the wide door slid open and allowed them in.
After pulling to a stop and the door to the hanger closed behind them, Grace released the cabin door and stepped out. Two silver Mitsubishi Pajero SUVs were parked and waiting.
“You gonna take care of these cars?” a man steppe
d out of the office in the back corner of the hangar.
“We’ll do our best,” Grace jumped to the ground and walked over to shake the man’s hand. “We appreciate the assist.”
“When the call comes from as high up as it did, there’s not a way to say no.” The man looked up at the numbers on the tail of the Gulfstream then back to Grace.
“True,” Grace said. “I’ve been there.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” the man said. “I know about you.”
Grace looked at the man to take in his features. “Who’s station chief here? Is it still Levin?”
“Levin left six months ago,” the man said. “But I’m sure you knew that.”
“Right,” Grace grinned. “Slipped my mind. Will you be around if we need you?” He had no intention of relying on the man for anything.
“Sure,” the man said. “Keys are in the cars. Try not to scratch them.” He turned and walked back towards the office.
Corbin stepped up next to Grace. “Sheez. These CIA guys just get weirder and weirder, don’t they?”
“Sure do. This is a hard post, though. Ever since some agency officers were accused of shipping cocaine up through Miami in the late 1990’s, nobody’s wanted the assignment.” Grace said. “Okay, let’s load the cars and get out of here.”
The team began handing bags down through the door and placing them into the backs of the two vehicles. A few minutes later they left the hanger with Corbin behind the wheel of the first car and Avery the second. Grace rode beside Corbin and navigated them through the winding roads of the Venezuelan city.
“Nice place to hide out,” Corbin said.
“He knew we’d expect him to go back towards the middle east,” Grace said. “And with Venezuela having no extradition to the U.S. it’s not a bad choice to hole up. Well, until we got here.”
Designated Survivor Page 22