Swap Out!

by M. L. Buchman

  She answered the phone with, “Are you okay?”

  “For the moment. We’re under attack again. Definitely military.”

  Mandy’s voice was coming in short, fast gasps.

  “My friends are under attack again.”

  Eddie swore. “Where?”

  “In New Hampshire this time. Franconia Notch.” Mandy must have heard his question.

  Lindsey repeated the information for Eddie’s benefit.

  Another voice sounded in the background. “There’s a second helicopter.”

  “Helicopters.” She shot the word at Eddie who was shaking his head.

  “Not ours. I guarantee it. I shut down all US flights, even training, until this was straightened out.”

  “Then whose are they?”

  The answer came over the phone.

  “White Mountain HeliTours. But unless they’re arming tourists with night vision and machine guns, they’re doing a little freelancing.”

  She repeated the information to Eddie who jerked out his own cell phone and dialed quickly.

  “Frank. Ed here. You’ve got people on the ground in New Hampshire. And they’re involved.”

  A sharp rattle of gunfire sounded over Mandy’s phone. Lindsey held it to Eddie’s ear as it rattled again.

  CHAPTER 95

  “God damn it! It’s Anders you fucking idiots.” Anders shouted from behind the tree.

  There were two holes in his briefcase and he could feel a tear in the sleeve of his suit jacket. That close. He’d come that close to dying. In all his days of agent training, which had been hell, you at least knew it wasn’t lethal. They badgered, but they didn’t beat. They harassed, but didn’t harm. They scared the shit out of you, but they never aimed a dozen live rounds in your direction.

  He wanted to throw up, but never had the chance. Five seconds later Stenman was dragging him out from behind the tree.

  The man casually threw him to the ground in a cluster of juniper. Threw him hard enough that there’d probably be a permanent impression of his body in the soil. Stenman placed a foot on his back and drove him harder into the ground. The juniper groundcover that scratched his face was thick with the smell of ripe berries. He was drowning in the smell of gin and not a martini in sight.

  Stenman lifted his head from the soil by yanking on his hair. It hurt like hell.

  “Now stay still and shut the fuck up or the next round will go through that useless putty you call a brain.”

  Anders had trouble breathing against the weight of Stenman’s foot, but it was possible. The man was scanning the backyard, his rifle tucked under his arm and making slow sweeps back and forth.

  Men were coming out of the house, he was waving them toward the other structures on the property.

  The two helicopters flew upside down over the house. No, he was upside down. They were right-side up.

  One of them jerked in the air. As if someone grabbed it by the tail and twisted it hard.

  The first helicopter spun out of sight, doing that auto-rotation thing that happened when the rear rotor failed. It dropped out of sight behind the house even as the second helicopter was grabbed by the same invisible hand and it too twisted violently.

  It was then that Mark’s ears registered the gunfire that had shot them down.

  CHAPTER 96

  “One helicopter down,” Mandy reported into the phone.

  Jeff didn’t hear a crash from inside the well house. No ball of fire either, but the helicopter didn’t reappear.

  The second one twisted sickeningly. They saw a blaze of light as someone on it started shooting wildly. Bullets sliced through the wall just inches above their heads. They all dropped to the floor as Mandy shouted into her phone, “They’re shooting at us.”

  Clarice cried out even as the rain of bullets cut off abruptly.

  “My leg,” her voice was a groan.

  It was near enough daylight outside, but it was still dark in the well house. Jeff took one of the flashlights and aimed it down, close to the floor. That should be safe. It took only a moment to find the pool of blood spreading from beneath Clarice’s leg. A bullet had passed through. Just a meat shot. A phrase he wished he’d left in the jungle a lifetime ago. No arterial pumping, so it was more annoying than dangerous. He yanked off his t-shirt and wrapped it around her leg to stop the bleeding.

  A meat shot that could have been his head. Or Mandy’s. He was back in the war zone. Huddled back in the officer’s mess, with his friends from the lab dying in their dinners. There’d been no end to the blood. Two doctors killed with the others. Only one left in the area, and he was overwhelmed with the sheer numbers of the wounded. He and Phillip had done what they could, binding arms with dishtowels and leg stumps with the belts from their pants. It hadn’t been enough.

  He could feel the break in Clarice’s leg as he bound it, the angle was wrong. Not just a meat shot. The bullet broke the bone on its way through. She hissed sharply when he touched there, which was good. Meant she was still conscious. Best to keep her that way.

  “Talk to me, Clarice.”

  “It hurts something godawful.”

  “I’ll bet. Never been shot myself.”

  “I don’t recommend it.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Mandy was somewhere in the background, giving blow-by-blow reports of the mayhem out in the yard. The second helicopter had crashed almost on top of the two men in the backyard, apparently one was kneeling on the other.

  “It’s Shelley!”

  Then he heard it. Another helicopter. Two were down but he still heard another one. It sounded different than the others; deeper and softer, it was Shelley’s Comanche.

  “Well, kid,” he turned his attention back to Clarice. “I guess this is now some new shit you’ll know.”

  Her laugh was hoarse.

  “Could have done without this one.”

  CHAPTER 97

  “They’ve just shot my niece, in the leg.”

  Little Nell’s face was blank as she spoke. Her eyes wide and unseeing. General Edward Johns reached out and took her hand with his. It was ice cold. He wrapped it tight.

  Even as he reached, that last bit of news got the attention of the Secret Service detail. Tables were spilled to the floor. Silverware, fluttering napkins and placemats, little vases each with its own rose falling and shattering against the floor. The tables were quickly formed into a barricade around them, with a speed and efficiency that even his own men would have trouble matching. Impressive.

  “It’s not here, guys. Her niece is in New Hampshire.”

  They ignored him. He, Betsy, and Lindsey were shoved to the floor, their backs to a wall. One agent was swinging his wrist toward his mouth with that funny angle they had when using their microphones. He’d be calling for backup. Any threat to a member of the First Family was a threat to the whole family. But word would get out to the President about this meeting.

  He clamped a hand over the guy’s wrist mike. The other three pulled their semi-autos and aimed them at his face from inches away. He could feel the man pull against him. He was strong, damn strong. But Ed was no weakling either.

  Frank spoke in his ear. He still had his own cell phone clamped there.

  “We’re tracing it. The order did not go through this office.”

  “Well, you better get that trace moving, they just shot the First Lady’s niece, Frank. In New Hampshire,” he emphasized for the man in front of him.

  Face to face. Eye to eye.

  His arm was feeling the strain. He had twenty years on the agent, maybe thirty.

  “Brigadier General Edward Johns is asking you to wait.”

  The man glared at him, then slowly the pressure eased up. Eased up until he released the man’s hand. The three semi-autos still hovered inches away,
though he could see their trigger fingers were alongside the guard, not on the trigger until they meant to fire.

  “Two minutes,” the agent growled. “Two minutes and then I’m calling for a lockdown.”

  Ed nodded his thanks.

  Lindsey was curled up against his side. Shivering. He ran his hand up and down her arm. She was cold, colder than should be possible on the warm fall day. Betsy was clutching his other arm and he took a moment to kiss her on top of the head.

  “C’mon, Frank. Get a move on,” He muttered into the silent phone.

  CHAPTER 98

  Lieutenant Bobby Stenman cursed as the helicopter crashed in beside them. Kid could barely do an auto-rotate, clearly never done one for real. Another hundred feet up and he’d be dead instead of hunched in the seat of the ruined chopper, blood dribbling from his nose. That was one whirlybird that wouldn’t be leaving under its own power. He’d bet the other ship hadn’t gone down any softer.

  A third helicopter slid over the roof of the house. Different, half as loud as the tourist machines. He hadn’t even noticed it above the noise of the Bell LongRangers.

  It was also smaller, leaner, and much meaner looking.

  A mini-gun stuck out of the lower portion of the nose and was aimed right at his chest.

  Smart pilot. Could tell who was in charge even if he was crouched in the bushes.

  “Lieutenant Stenman.” The voice on his earbud radio speaker wasn’t a voice from his team, but it was familiar.

  “Stenman. I copy. Go ahead.”

  “Lieutenant. I am aware that this is outside channel protocol. But stand down. Immediately. This is General Frank Kowalski, commander Special Operations Forces. Do you understand?”

  He’d never talked to the man, but it was a distinctive, gravelly voice. One he remembered clearly from the graduation day speech to the troops the day he’d made Special Operations Forces after a year of testing.

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “You are to depart the area immediately. I am flying up for debrief and will meet you and your team at Hanscom Air Force Base.”

  Bobby transmitted the stand-down and hold-fast command to his team. The Comanche was bobbing and sliding about the sky, it would be damn hard to get a lock on it. And the mini-gun, it never left the center of his chest as it did so. Damn good team flying that machine, as good as any SOAR crew he’d ever seen.

  Very slowly Bobby lowered his weapon to the ground and raised both hands out to his side. He could see the other members of his team doing the same.

  The helicopter stilled, but did not descend. Damn! There was no helmet in the second seat. The pilot had done the dodge and gun swivel on his own. That was his kind of pilot.

  “Sir. We are currently,” he glanced over at the team members who’d been in the crashed helicopter still sitting dazedly on the ground, “without transport.”

  “There will be a Chinook arriving within the hour. Offer any assistance necessary until that time. This has been an illegal action, though apparently not your fault. We’re working on why you were ordered to the area. Until then, no orders are to be followed except from me directly. Voice only. You got me, soldier?”

  “Loud and clear, sir.” Shit! He was drenched in sweat and it had nothing to do with the cool morning or the damned helicopter that hadn’t moved its mini-gun from bull’s-eye on his chest. The old man sounded pissed but good. Someone was going to be hurting, and soon.

  He passed on the signal to safety and stow all weapons. Still the helicopter didn’t come to land. Smart, he wouldn’t either.

  It was morning now, almost full daylight.

  And there it was, clear as an arrow. From the back door of the house, two, three sets of footprints had darkened the dew-laden grass toward the old shack at the forest’s edge. They’d been close behind him the whole time.

  The suit, Anders, was trying to wiggle free from beneath Bobby’s foot.

  He keyed his mike. “Sir?”

  “Yes, soldier.”

  The general had said that he didn’t know why the operation had been instigated.

  “I believe I’m standing on part of your answer.”

  CHAPTER 99

  Simon Donovan was very unhappy.

  “I have my reasons for not reporting this incident. I appreciate your concern on my behalf.” The First Lady’s voice was calm, soothing, professional. Five minutes ago, she’d been a shivering wreck. Now she was her usual pillar of strength. Her transformation downward had scared the shit out of Simon. He’d never seen it in her, not once since he took over her personal protection detail.

  He had served as the head of the First Lady’s Secret Service team ever since the day her husband had received his party’s nomination. Knew, knew for a fact, that this administration would be a tenth what it had been if not for her.

  He also knew that there was some connection between the girl at her side and a pen cup on the First Lady’s desk. And knew about the sudden urge the First Lady found to take a solo swim after the cup was turned. But he’d never found where either side of that trail led. Other than to assure himself it did not endanger herself or the President.

  He had not reported that one activity to his superiors and wrestled with himself over his omission on sleepless nights.

  This was different. This was an attack on the First Lady’s niece and he was being asked by the First Lady and a Brigadier General to ignore it.

  The other agents were resetting the tables. Returning the café to its normal condition before the report of the shooting.

  “Simon.” She took his arm and led him away from the others. Led him back to the ladies room which had the door chocked open.

  “You’ve been watching over me for four years now.”

  She left the door open, but stepped inside. She rinsed her hands at the lone sink with cold water. The mirror allowed him to see that the rest of the room was empty.

  He knew her every move and mood, better than his wife’s. And he had enjoyed it. She was always polite and respectful, often went out of her way to be nice to him and his detail. She’d acquiesced easily when he’d said there were safety issues involved, made sure they were fed during their long watches.

  “I’m going to call in a favor on this one.” She looked his reflection square in the eye.

  She had amazing blue eyes, open and honest. Never any question that she wasn’t telling the truth. Four years and she’d never played any games except the swimming pool nonsense.

  “I need this kept quiet. For at least a day for my sake, though I expect General Kowalski would prefer it was much longer than that.” She patted her hands across her face, clearly enjoying the fresh, cool feel. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and patted her face dry.

  He knew he wouldn’t refuse her. And he knew why. She’d spent four years building trust with him, and not once had she betrayed that.

  “I’ll do what I can to keep the rest of the detail quiet.”

  “Thank you, Simon.”

  He nodded, but she was no longer looking at his reflection.

  Now she was inspecting her own. He did as well. Gone was the shivering wreck. He knew it was terrifying when the first bullet strikes someone you care about. Most didn’t get back on their feet very quickly after that. He remembered when his second partner had dropped as if he’d been hit with an axe. There one moment, left behind a wife and two kids the next. He’d had the satisfaction of taking down the shooter himself, which helped. But he’d seen men never make it back from that.

  The First Lady was up to the plate within three minutes of knowing everyone was okay, despite a shooting injury to her niece’s leg. Lindsey Grant was incredibly strong.

  By her soft smile, apparently she liked the woman in the mirror, too.

  “If you’ll pardon my language, ma’am, you’d make a hell of a good Pr
esident.”

  CHAPTER 100

  Amanda Peterson slid down on the sofa and leaned back against the arm. Jeff lay back against the other arm, his freshly-bandaged feet propped on the coffee table. It was both strange and wonderful being back in the familiar old spots. As if they’d never left, just quietly aged, right here in this place. She stretched her feet out sideways and rested them against his thigh. His hand slid down to her foot and began to massage the arch, right in the tight spot no one else had ever found.

  Shelley paced the room like a caged cat.

  Amanda wished Clarice was here instead of in the hospital in Plymouth, they’d knocked her out to put steel plates where the bullet had removed bone. Clarice would know how to make the situation okay. She’d smoothed things out for Mandy a thousand other times.

  But now there was just her. Her, her daughter who hadn’t spoken to her willingly in fifteen years, and the man she’d said “No” to twenty- seven years and four months ago. And six days, but she wasn’t counting, it was just how her brain handled facts. The same processes that let her keep EMS running so smoothly.

  Three years ago, Zack Tyler, then a brilliant graduate student had published a thesis quantifying the effects of chemical pollutants, specifically carbon and sulfur upon DNA. Last year, Mack Johansen had devised a computer program that could take satellite infrared imaging and track the course of various individual pollution sources. Seven years before either of them, Phillip had headed a team that developed the epidemiology tracking system that was now in use by the CDC to track major disease outbreaks in worldwide patterns. She’d put the three pieces together and the disastrous coal plants emissions of China were traced back to their origins. China was finally reacting to this data with a sense of alarm that had yet to enthuse them to action, but at least she had their attention.

  That mode of thinking didn’t work in her private life and had certainly never worked with Shelley.

  One thing was sure, this was family and Amanda the scientific administrator was out of her depth.