The Point Of A Gun: Thriller

by Steven W. Kohlhagen

  He fell back, instinctively pushing her away with the briefcase. He was dazed, but not out.

  He grabbed her gun by the suppressor and tried to wrest it away from her.

  She pulled the trigger, but missed him. Shot into the double seat at the front of the car.

  The terrified terrorist kicked at her, pulling the gun away. May kicked him in the groin before he could turn it on her, then kicked him in the head.

  She regained control of the gun and hit him again on the temple.

  He stopped moving.

  She grabbed the briefcase, shot him in his right knee, and stuck her head out the door.

  There were passengers walking her way, but all looking in at the train. Looking for a door to enter.

  She took the briefcase ahead of the car and placed it on the further side of the platform.

  She walked back into the car, looked at her watch.

  8:09.

  Two minutes? It had taken her an hour. She was absolutely sure of it.

  She started walking through the cars, back toward the entrance.

  She texted Samms the location of the briefcase and the wounded and unconscious terrorist.

  Then added, “Meet you at the Capitol.”

  *

  Samms got May’s text.

  She texted Moose, giving him the location of the terrorist and the bomb, ending it with “You have ten minutes to disarm.”

  He wrote back, “The bomb or the terrorist?”

  Finally. Moose responds. She texted, “We took care of the dirtbag.”

  “I thought that was a no-no.”

  “If you can do your job, the other ten at the Capitol will notice having heard no explosions before they notice Ahmed’s failure to show. They will know before they miss him.”

  She ran from the station and headed for the Capitol.

  Her phone pinged an incoming text from Moose.

  “Our guys now have him. And all three bombs are secured.”

  “I’m headed to the Capitol,” she texted back on the run. “I hope you’ve got that covered.”

  “Samms?”

  “Yes?”

  “Were you the one with the long blonde wig and fake tits?”

  “No. That was Cheese.”

  *

  As she joined May jogging toward the Capitol, she saw Licht get in the back seat of a black SUV. Then it and its identical twin headed at top speed, no sirens or lights, past them and up Pennsylvania Avenue.

  She called Tom.

  “Yes?”

  “I saw your text. You okay?”

  “I’m pretty sure I am. I’ve identified the aircraft. Security agents inside the plane have killed two excessively curious cops. Put them in the cargo hold.”

  “Keep your head down.”

  “Thanks for the timely advice. What now, Samms?”

  “What do you advise?”

  “Things go okay at Union Station? How much time until the security forces engage the terrorists at the Capitol?

  “Yes, and any moment. I just saw Licht and at least ten agents headed there going eighty.”

  “I’d say give Moose the identity and location of their aircraft now. Before they are alerted to any problems.”

  “Roger.”

  “And, oh, Samms. Tell Moose to send his guys here who shoot first and ask questions later. Tell him not to send in his negotiators.”

  *

  Cheese looked out over the Potomac. Toward Arlington. To the right of Arlington Cemetery.

  Thought he saw a helicopter coming in low. Then rejected it. Too low. Rush hour traffic.

  Too early, anyway. Looked at his watch.

  8:30.

  Samms and he had figured 9:00 at the earliest.

  He resumed looking. Over eagerness was an undesirable characteristic in a sniper.

  He stared at the traffic. Then above it.

  *

  It was instantly clear to Samms when she and May arrived within sight of the Capitol building that it was now out of their hands.

  All roads were blocked. She could see her two terrorists, just ahead of them, on the ground. There had to be ten guns pointed at them.

  Wherever the eight dirtbags were holed up, they had to know that whatever Plan B was, it was now their only option. No explosions coming from Union Station, and at least two of their three bombers out of commission.

  And then all hell broke loose at the Capitol.

  *

  Tom watched as two armored trucks sped toward the plane.

  He ducked down to avoid detection.

  One truck stopped in front of the plane’s nose and the other stopped sideways behind the left rear tires.

  The inside crew of the plane closed the door on two crew members scrambling up the steps as a SWAT team of twelve spilled out of the trucks.

  The two crew members on the steps rained machine gun fire onto the SWAT team. Two fell as the rest returned fire.

  The two on the steps were blasted off the steps and fell dead onto the tarmac.

  The jets’ engines fired up. The plane tried to drive backwards into the truck at the rear, but only succeeded in doing a screeching pivot, with the nose twisting to the right.

  Guessing what was coming next, Tom dove into deep cover behind a concrete blockade.

  The explosion came from within the plane, taking out eight of the remaining SWAT team along with whoever was in the aircraft.

  The plane lifted into the air, and then pieces scattered for a hundred yards as the jet’s fuel caught fire.

  Tom couldn’t hear a thing, but he had the presence of mind to text Samms, “Plane blown. All dead here at Reagan. Carnage is immense. Planes, parked cars, passing traffic. Hundreds may be dead. I might be late for our meeting.”

  *

  Cheese could see the explosion at Reagan over his left shoulder. In his imagination he could hear gunfire behind him and to his right. At the Capitol.

  He searched the Arlington skyline. No helicopter.

  He texted Samms. Then Tom. Then May.

  Nothing back.

  Traffic stopped in all directions on every artery he could see.

  Nothing but the sound of sirens coming from every direction. He looked over his right shoulder and could see smoke coming from the direction of the Capitol. If there was gunfire, the sirens made it impossible to hear.

  One last look. No helicopter.

  He closed up shop and headed to their agreed upon rendezvous. Hoping they were all safe.

  Hoping disaster had been avoided.

  One last look.

  No helicopter.

  So these guys weren’t totally crazy after all.

  Chapter 48

  That night, actually two a.m., May had just finished explaining why she had had to shoot the third bomber.

  “But the plan was to let them plant the bombs, then call in the Feds,” Cheese said. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just stepped aside, May? Let him go. Call it in.”

  “There was simply too little time. I had told Samms the general area, but not the precise train. I was sure I hadn’t seen a single undercover agent on that platform. And I had no idea what was happening to Samm’s two bombers. There was maybe twenty minutes left until their detonation schedule, and he hadn’t yet planted it. I couldn’t count on his planting it right in front of me, then leaving, then getting a chance to text Samms, then the Feds responding to her. Too much room for the damn thing blowing before the bomb guys could get there. There were dozens of civilians all over that platform heading into that train.”

  Tom looked at Samms. “We did everything we could. There were simply too many of them for us to handle alone.”

  “And,” she said, “Eisenhower said it best. ‘Planning is everything. Plans are nothing’. You did good, May.”

  “Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?” Tom asked.

  May shrugged. “I capped his knee. He wasn’t going anywhere. Even the Feds could figure out when they
got there that he was one of the bad guys. They had a description and Samms would give them the location. He was worthless to them dead. Maybe they’re competent enough to get something out of him alive.”

  “Not after they read him his rights,” Samms said.

  May just shook her head.

  “Any news on the chopper, May?”

  “No, there was no contact among any of the terrorists after the shooting started at the Capitol.”

  “Just the first alert when the first two were put down.”

  “Right.”

  Samms shook her head. “In the end, the Feds just wouldn’t wait like we’d told them. Couldn’t wait for all the jihadists to be in place. They couldn’t even wait at the airport. No response to the alert on the ground from those in the chopper?”

  “No. Not even acknowledgement.”

  “The Feds fucked up.”

  “No surprise there,” Tom said. “Are we leaking the story to the Post tomorrow?”

  “I might’ve waited if they’d pulled off the operation like we laid it out. But now? Unless someone objects, I run with the Paladins article tomorrow.”

  She looked at them. Got three nods.

  “Then it’s a go.”

  Cheese looked over at Tom. Said, “You look like shit, Tom.”

  “You should see the other guys.”

  “You gonna be okay,” May asked.

  “I’m told the burns’ll heal nicely and the hair’ll grow back.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Flesh wounds.”

  *

  Two hours later, the President was meeting with the National Security Council. He had invited Moose, Linda Simmons, Nancy Moffett, and Tom Edwards to join.

  He had not invited Licht. Licht was watching from his office in the Eisenhower building.

  “Does anybody yet have a final tally?”

  “There are still eleven officers in critical condition,” the FBI Director said. “But the known dead include forty-seven intelligence agents and Metropolitan police. There were forty-one civilians killed at the Capitol and in passing cars, and seventy-three more at the airport from flying plane parts. There were multiples of that wounded and in hospitals still. There were eight dead terrorists when the shooting stopped. We have one of the bombers in custody.”

  “And the remaining two terrorists?” the President asked.

  “We’re reviewing the dozen videos that were set up, sir,” the NSA Director replied. “If there were, in fact eleven of these guys, we’re hoping to be able to start tracking down the other two with the aid of those videos.”

  “Where’s the captive?” the President asked. “How was he captured?”

  “He’s at GW Hospital, sir. Our men found him unconscious, shot in the knee. About ten feet from the bomb on the platform.”

  “Any idea who the shooter was?” Moose asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Is he cooperating?” the President asked.

  “No, sir,” the FBI Director said. “His lawyer was already with him when he regained consciousness.”

  Of course he was. Welcome to your anti-terrorism world, Mr. President.

  “This was not a man suspected of speeding,” said the CIA Director. “Mr. President, we are at war. These people have declared war on us, and you are sending in the local cops. Declared war on us right here. A few blocks from where you live and where we all work. This is a battlefield prisoner, not a misdemeanor traffic stop.”

  “Yes, I know that. We thought the Metropolitan Police force would tip the balance. I know we are at war with these people.”

  “But that’s not how you behave. With all due respect, sir. Yesterday, the U.S. Capitol was a battle zone in a declared war. A man trying to bomb innocent civilians caught on a battlefield of his own choosing should not have any rights.”

  “Or a lawyer,” Colonel Edwards said.

  “Tom’s right,” the JSOC Commander said. “This is a war. We are being sent into a war with our hands tied behind our backs.”

  “Or,” said the National Security Advisor, “with lawyers between us and the enemy.”

  “Okay, everybody,” the President said, holding his hands out. “Let’s deal with the issues at hand, not theoretical philosophy. We all know the facts here. This is America. We’re a republic, not a police state. We are a nation of laws. I’m an elected President, not a dictator.”

  “And we’re a nation at war,” the CIA Director said. “Right here. Not in Europe or Asia or the Middle East. But a mile from this room. The rules have to reflect that. Or we could lose this war. Right here in America.”

  “I think we need to reopen the issue of declaring martial law, Mr. President,” the Director of the FBI said. “Or a state of national emergency. Or accept the Attorney General’s proposal on how to circumvent the Fourth and Fourteenth Amendments. We need more aggressive surveillance at the very least.”

  “We’ve discussed all this before.”

  “Yes, but we weren’t in the middle of a battle zone before.”

  “Yes, I’ll concede we are at war,” the President said. “We are all now in agreement on that. I am planning to work with Congress. But first I need a Cabinet Meeting. I am exploring our options, and I would appreciate your continued support. I had hoped that you would have come up with other alternatives.”

  “I don’t think any of us in this room see other alternatives, sir,” the Director of the NSA said.

  The President looked around the room at every member of his National Security team. All either nodding or fixed his gaze in silence. His eyes finally rested on Tom Edwards. “What happened to you, Colonel?”

  “I wish I could say that I received this in action yesterday during the fire fight, sir. But no. My gas grill exploded in my face when I started to cook dinner last night. Innocent accident at home just after I got back from the scene, I’m afraid. Nothing heroic.”

  “You would have been better off working late into the night with the rest of us,” the Chairman of the JCS said.

  Tom grimaced through his bandages. “That would’ve been worse. Then my wife would’ve taken this hit.”

  The President nodded sympathetically. “You going to be all right?”

  “So I’m told. Minor burns. Hair will grow back. I’m good. What are our next steps?”

  The President looked to Moose.

  “I’m afraid there’s more bad news that we need to share,” Moose said. “The press smells blood now. We think Samms has leaked the story of the Paladins and what actually happened yesterday to the Washington Post.”

  “What took her this long?” the CIA Director said.

  *

  Licht sat behind his desk. Watched as the three of them settled into their chairs.

  “You watch the meeting?” Linda asked.

  Licht shrugged. “I got the gist.”

  “Let me guess,” Tom said. “Today we don’t get to play any games, right?”

  “Right.”

  He took a card off his desk. Handed it over to Nancy.

  She looked at it. Turned it over. Smiled, and passed it on to Tom.

  He glanced at both sides, hesitated, looked again, and passed it on to Linda.

  She took it, and repeated the process.

  Linda looked up at Licht. “Can I keep this as a souvenir, or do I have to give it back?”

  He smiled and gestured for her to hand it back.

  She flicked it over to him. It bounced off his chest and into his lap.

  He picked it up, looking at it theatrically as if it was the first time he had seen it.

  “None of us has any idea what HCI means, right?”

  He got three looks back that would have made the finalists in the World Series of Poker proud when looking at a hundred thousand dollar raise on the flop.

  “Where’d we get that?” Linda asked.

  “A Washington Post reporter claims he found it in an envelope left for him at the front desk of the National Museum of the Amer
ican Indian.”

  “Ah,” Tom said. “The reporter that Samms leaked the story to.”

  “Right,” Licht said. “By the way, Colonel, you look like shit.”

  “So I hear. Although the President was more diplomatic.”

  “That’s how he got to be President and we got to be undercover agents and bureaucrats.”

  “When was it left?” Nancy asked.

  “About a half hour after the museum reopened. Maybe two hours after the shooting stopped.”

  “I thought the museums on the mall were shut down all day,” Tom said.

  “No. Initially, they left it to each museum’s discretion. It was only later that all government services were shut down and asked to keep skeleton staffs.”

  “Any description of the person who left it?” Linda asked.

  “A young black kid on a bicycle said it was an Asian woman gave him twenty bucks to deliver it. But before we get too excited, the guard behind the desk was an Indian and he asked the kid if he was sure it wasn’t an Indian.”

  “And?”

  “And the black kid said he had no idea.”

  Licht looked around. “It doesn’t go anywhere.”

  “What’s the reporter say?” Nancy asked.

  “It’s his source. He’s not talking about anything but what Samms told him to say.”

  “He only talk to Samms?” Linda asked. “Nobody else?”

  “He’s not saying.”

  Only Samms. There wouldn’t need to be anybody else. The story couldn’t be simpler.

  “What’s the story say,” Tom asked. “When are they running it?”

  “It runs tomorrow morning. They had the courtesy to run it by the President for any errors. There were none. Our choices are to claim that the Paladins don’t exist or aren’t the source for the story.”

  “But those would be lies,” Nancy said.

  “Right.”

  And then Licht laid the Post’s story out for them.

  *

  When he had finished, he asked, “Any questions?”

  “Sure,” Nancy said. “Why are we here?”

  “That’s the only good question you could have asked. The President has changed the game. He wants the four of us to bring the Paladins in. Now. Period. No discussion.”

  “On what terms?” Linda asked.

  “That’s what changed. He’s now left that to us. On whatever terms the four of us decide, and they and we agree to.”