by Brad Taylor
At the hands of a kafir.
He staggered to his feet, the woman locked relentlessly on his back. He slammed her against a tree, attempting to scrape her off, but all she did was grunt.
He heard the boom of an EFP, and renewed his efforts. Victory. So close. I will not be killed by a kafir.
He tried to claw her face, wildly swinging his arms at something he couldn’t see. He could feel the woman’s spittle on his neck as she cranked the rope tighter and tighter. In his last breaths, it dawned on him that he had been tricked. He had been led down a path, believing the woman was subdued. She had never trusted him, and he had fallen for her tears. The injustice was staggering.
Defeated by a woman.
I went as fast as I dared through the woods, trying to strike a balance between speed and security, the Glock tracking everything to my front. Jennifer’s GPS signal from her alarm transmission showed her only four hundred meters from my location. I had been running for about two minutes when I heard an explosion ahead of me, knowing what that meant. Jesus.
I saw a clearing to my front and slowed, my subconscious screaming at me to simply plow ahead. I scanned quickly, then broke into the clearing, immediately seeing two large EFPs on tripods, both aimed at the nuclear facility. One had an M57 attached, ready to fire. I rapidly did a three-sixty, seeing no threat, but also seeing the destroyed tripods of two expended EFPs.
What the hell? I’d heard no gunfire, which was an ominous sign, given Jennifer’s alarm, but clearly something had stopped the attack. Where’s Jennifer? A flash of yellow caught my eye. I jogged to it, and saw Jennifer’s radio on the ground.
Shit.
I was reaching down to retrieve it when a blinding flash of pain sliced through my left shoulder. I collapsed to the ground, feeling something broken grind against itself. I rolled over and saw a giant black man standing above me, holding what looked like the steel posts used on the warning signs I had passed. He swung again like he was aiming at a golf ball, and my hand holding the Glock was hammered, sending the gun sailing fifteen feet away. Before he could recover from the swing, I snapped out with a leg sweep and brought him to the ground, then scrambled to maintain the initiative.
My left arm was numb, refusing to move, but I still had use of my right, although my right hand felt like wood. I fell on top of him and popped him twice in the face, my fist refusing to close completely, the blows ineffectual. He flung me onto my back and straddled my waist, raising the bar again.
I snaked my legs around his neck, my body now resting on my shoulders with him above me. I used my one good arm to help achieve a triangle choke with my thighs, winding my left foot under my right leg. I began to squeeze, causing his eyes to bulge.
He began huffing like a bull, but didn’t drop. Jesus, this guy is strong.
He swam a hand in between my left thigh and his neck, achieving some relief. He began to work the hand through, creating a larger and larger gap. His other hand punched my left shoulder in light jabs that at any other time would have been a joke. Today it felt like he was working a welding torch against my flesh, each blow causing my broken bones to grind into themselves. The punishment caused me to flinch, giving him a bigger gap between my lock and his neck.
He’s going to escape. And I’m going to die.
He hit me again, and my vision blurred. If he kept at it, I was going to black out.
Need to end this. Right now.
I squeezed with all of my might, giving him something else to focus on besides hitting me. When he reached up to fight the hold, I completely released, causing him to flail about to keep his balance. I mule-kicked his chest, launching him in the air backward. I leapt up and began running in the direction of the Glock. As expected, he leapt up as well, only he was closer. When his eyes left me and focused on the weapon, running full out, I changed direction and ran to the armed EFP. I rotated it on the tripod until it was aimed directly at him.
He came up with the weapon, charging toward me and firing. I dropped to the ground and scrambled down the wire to the M57 firing device, the rounds popping the dirt around me. As I reached the M57 I felt a bullet tear into my thigh. I rolled over, holding the M57 in my one good hand, seeing him standing directly in front of the EFP fifteen feet away, drawing a slow bead on my head. I frantically squeezed the clacker, and the world ripped apart.
I gradually came back to the present, unsure how long I had been out, feeling like I was in a dream but partially awake. My head slowly cleared, but not my hearing. I saw my attacker on the ground, still alive and struggling to move. His entire midsection was gone, with the exception of six inches of flesh connecting his upper body with his lower. His mouth worked like a fish out of water for a moment, then he lay still.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and recognized Jennifer shouting something I couldn’t hear. Incongruously, next to her was a small child of eight or nine.
I’m hallucinating. I’m hurt bad.
The Jennifer vision ran to me and began checking my wounds. I could feel the pressure of her touch, confusing me further. The ringing in my ears began to subside, and I could hear Jennifer speaking as if through a long tube, reciting the litany of things wrong with me. She went about the triage expertly.
Just like I trained her. I began to believe it was real.
I croaked, “The Arab.”
“He’s dead.”
“His phone?”
“I got it. Shut up and let me finish.”
“Who’s the kid?”
She stopped what she was doing, giving me a look of exasperation. “He’s just a lost boy. I found him on the trail. We need to take him to his mother.”
The comment was so crazy, yet so completely in character, I laughed out loud, sending a sharp pain through my shoulder.
She said, “What’s so funny?”
“Still saving the lost puppies.”
She finished with my thigh and said, “It’s the other way around. If he hadn’t been there, the Arab would have just carved me up. Because there were two people, he decided to tie us first, which gave me an edge.”
“How come I didn’t hear any gunfire?”
“Uhh… well, I had to keep the Glock hidden because of the boy. I didn’t get a chance to draw it.”
She saw me grin and cinched the sling on my left arm, causing a wince.
“What’s funny now?”
“He saved your life by being there, but if he wasn’t there, you could have used the pistol. Your lost puppies always seem to just barely break even.”
She finished and stood up.
“Not all of them. I’m still working on you.”
80
Kurt felt his phone vibrate and moved as unobtrusively as possible to a corner of the conference room. Even with the cacophony of voices, the president noticed him move away, and watched him like a hawk.
Since Pike had been released to go on his safari, the Oversight Council meeting had turned into a makeshift war room, with anyone who had any ability to help stop the attacks now plugged in with a laptop. As often happened in crisis situations, this little room had become the epicenter of the storm, regardless of the million-dollar suites specifically made to command and control just this type of contingency. Top advisors from across the political, law enforcement, and defense spectrum were crowded into the small space, all vying for the president’s attention with information that positively, absolutely needed to be heard right now.
Kurt turned into the wall, away from any ears. “Give me some good news.”
He paused for a second, then said, “Jennifer? Is that you?”
He quit talking as she began to give him a situation report. He listened for close to four minutes, hearing Jennifer end with a summary of Pike’s condition and what she was doing about it.
He said, “Don’t take him to a hospital. Get him to the Taskforce. If what you say is true, and it’s really a through-and-through wound, our physician’s assistant can handle it.”
He hung up the phone, seeing President Warren still eyeballing him. He gave a small nod, and saw President Warren visibly relax. Kurt sat back down and waited on the official version of events at the nuclear plant to wind its way through the system. Ten minutes later, a call came in from the emergency response team at the Calvert Cliffs nuclear plant.
“We had an attack, but it was unsuccessful. They hit one of the domes, but then screwed up the daisy chain for the repeat attack to penetrate the concrete.”
Phil Spallings, the team leader deployed from the Department of Energy’s Nuclear Emergency Support Team, took the call. “What happened? How sure are you that there’s no second attack?”
“Very sure. It wasn’t a diversion, unless these guys are way, way more dedicated than we think.”
Spallings said, “Assume they are, dammit! Don’t let down your guard. We don’t know the extent of the attacks. There could be others.”
The tone of the man on the phone caused Kurt to smile. Like soldiers throughout history, he was on the ground but being questioned by a pinhead miles away. The man remained professional, but the sarcasm crept out. “They had a misfire. One of the devices blew up, cutting a guy in half. The rest of the devices are here, now rendered safe. I suppose they could have planned to kill him in a spectacular manner so we’d let down our guard, but, in my professional opinion, the attack failed.”
The men and women around the conference table collectively let out their breath. Spallings paused for a minute, apparently trying to think of something heroic to say, settling with, “Good work. Keep us in the loop.”
President Warren spoke to the scientist still on the VTC. “What’s the status of the grid?”
“We’re okay, for now. We get one spike, and we’re in trouble, but right now it’s contained.”
“What’s the assessment of the damage?”
“Well, it’ll take a few days to really sort out, but off the cuff, I’d say we’re looking at rolling blackouts in four states until we can replace the EHVTs. That, coupled with the loss of the Calvert Cliffs reactor until it can be certified as safe, will put a severe strain on production, but we can manage unless we get something else during that time, like damage from a natural occurrence. We can handle the load, but not if anything, and I mean anything, interferes.”
“Well, then, make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m counting on you.”
The scientist looked at the president in confusion, wondering how on earth he’d be able to prevent a lightning strike. He was about to say something to that effect when he realized he’d been dismissed.
President Warren spoke to the room at large. “Well, looks like we dodged a bullet here. Good work, everyone. Keep up a full-court press; make sure we don’t have anyone else out there.”
The director of the FBI said, “You got it. I’ll let you know if anything else spikes.”
President Warren nodded, and said, “If you’re not directly involved in this event, if you’re not law enforcement or with the power companies, clear out. Give the people who have real work to do some room.”
As the people directed to leave stood up, President Warren stopped Palmer, the national security advisor, and said something to him. Kurt watched Palmer thread his way through the people exiting and stop several, whispering in their ears.
He’s rounding up the Oversight Council. Kurt waited, and eventually Palmer got around to him. “Head to the conference room down the hall. The president would like a word.”
Kurt trailed the cattle call of men and women out the door, then went left instead of right, following a much smaller group. When the door closed, the president said, “Let’s hear it.”
Kurt relayed what he knew, including the fact that Pike and Jennifer had found the leader’s cell phone, and that the owners of all the numbers within it were either dead or captured. The information caused everyone to visibly relax.
President Warren said, “Okay, that’s great news. What’s the damage to the Taskforce? Where do we go from here?”
Kurt said, “No damage that I can see. It’s contained. No need to throw Pike to the wolves.”
Secretary Brookings’ jaw dropped. “What? How can you say that? It’s a debacle. We’ve got three Taskforce members in the hospital, and Pike broke just about every privacy law on the books. Not to mention the murder of U.S. citizens. It’s going to get out. We need to burn him.”
When Brookings’ words sank in, Kurt snapped forward against the table, leaning over it until he was close enough for the secretary to feel the spittle off of his words. “Murder? You sanctimonious little fuck…” He backed off, realizing he wasn’t going to win by rage. “Pike broke some laws, that’s true, but if he hadn’t, the entire Eastern seaboard would be roasting hot dogs in their fireplaces. He stopped the damn attack. There’s no reason to crucify him. Nobody knows about the Taskforce involvement. Nobody can connect the dots.”
Brookings said, “Are you out of your mind? We commandeered the presidential helicopter to save two Taskforce members. You don’t think that’s going to make the news? You just told us about a fucking eight-year-old kid who saw the final action at the nuclear plant. You think he’s going to remain quiet?”
Kurt turned cold. “What are you saying? You want me to smoke the kid?”
Brookings looked like he’d been punched in the gut. Before it could turn more contentious, President Warren held up his hands. “Stop it. This isn’t helping.”
He looked at Kurt. “Tony has a point. How are we going to prevent Taskforce disclosure, given what’s occurred? I don’t want to burn Pike any more than you do, but we need something.”
Kurt said, “You sent Marine One with CAT guys, didn’t you?”
President Warren’s eyebrow’s furrowed, seeing where he was going. “Yeah, there was no way the doctor would go without protection, and the counterassault team was all that was available.”
“Well, there you go. Those guys are trained for this very thing. I mean, they’re trained for a counterassault against a direct threat to your life, but it’s not a stretch to say they went out to capture some terrorists that may have been hell-bent on killing you. And they’re Secret Service. You control them. You can write the story. Like Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, only for a good reason.”
Kurt watched the president consider, and knew he was close. “Nobody knows anyone was injured out there. We can write the press release any way we want. Give the credit to the CAT guys and the Secret Service. They took down the terrorists.”
Kurt saw Brookings look from the president to him, and knew he realized he was losing the argument. They both understood that the Secret Service story would look like the president himself had directly averted disaster with his own team, and would be something very appealing.
Brookings said, “Sir, there’s no way you can contain this. It isn’t 1962. We live in a world of transparency, with Internet bloggers and instant news. There’ll be a History Channel special on these attacks in four months, and it’ll be down to the minute. They’ll know everything there is to know, and broadcast it every hour for a month.”
Kurt snarled, “Bullshit. I’ve seen the History Channel crap. Watch the one on the capture of Saddam Hussein and you’re left believing it was a fourth infantry division operation all the way. We can contain this.”
Brookings spat back, “This isn’t a war zone, Colonel, it’s America. You don’t get to control the news here. Shit, we couldn’t keep anything secret when we killed bin Laden. The entire operation was on the news in hours, and this will be no different. The truth of the matter is that Pike needs to be put down. He’s a fucking menace. He’s done whatever he thinks is right regardless of what we say. He’s exactly why I didn’t want
to start this organization. Exactly the reason why it will go wrong. One man who thinks he knows better than anyone else. We need to make an example of him to other Taskforce operators—”
The tirade sank into Kurt’s head and he lost control. He leapt out of his chair, crossing the table and snatching Brookings up by his hair, using his momentum to slam Brookings into the wall. He locked up Brookings’ elbow and leaned into his ear.
“You fucking miserable piece of shit. Pike saved your life last year. Your life. Does that mean nothing to you? He just averted a national tragedy, using skills that we gave him, and authority that we blessed. He’s a man doing what is best for the country. Because we asked him to.”
President Warren said, “Kurt! Stop. Right now.”
Kurt looked at the president, then at Brookings’ trembling face. He raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “Okay, sir. You want to burn Pike, so be it. But I want Mr. Secretary here to know that if Pike goes down, I’m going to put him in the hospital. You can arrest me later.”
He cranked Brookings’ arm, eliciting a squeal. “You get that, Mr. Sanctimonious? Pike goes to jail, for whatever reason, and I’m hunting you down. Make sure your fucking health insurance is up to date.”
He released Brookings, panting a little from the adrenaline rush. The secretary sank onto the floor, rubbing his arm, looking for sympathy. President Warren ignored him. “I get the point. Calm down.”
Kurt returned to his chair.
President Warren said, “Look, we can make the substation hit work. I agree with that, but what about the kid? There’s no way we can cloak that.”
Kurt said, “I know. Jennifer said she’d convinced him not to say anything, but he’s been through a traumatic event. He’s going to talk. The question is whether anyone will believe him. And if they do, if it will reach the media.”
President Warrant waited, then said, “So? That’s it?”
“It’s a risk, but some things are worth the risk. Pike is one of them.”