by Patrick Ford
Rashid donned the jacket; it was too big for him but it would have to do. He wheeled the trolley into the corridor and headed for the service elevator. He had almost reached the elevator when a female voice called out. “Hey, you with the basket, what are you doing?” He turned to see a young woman in a short skirt and yellow blazer. He examined her. She must be the floor manager, he thought. How decadent were these infidels? This woman was showing more leg than she was concealing. They are all harlots, he thought. No true follower of Islam would allow a woman to give orders to men.
“Hablo moy poco Ingles,” he said.
She looked at him. Stupid Mexican, she thought, shrugging her shoulders and walking away.
He entered the elevator and went up to the fifth floor where he stopped outside the Riordans’ door and knocked loudly. Susan came to the door. “Yes?” she asked. He looked stupid. “Housekeeping,” he said.
Susan opened the door. In a flash, Rashid was in the door, Colt in hand. Susan’s eyes widened in fright and her hands flew to her face. She did not scream at first, now it was too late for that.
“You will do as I tell you. Get your children! You will accompany me as a wife and children do a husband and father. Do not try anything. I am ready to die for Allah, and I do not care if I take your little girl with me. Your choice.”
Jacqui clung to her mother, sobbing. “He is a bad man, Mommy. Make him go away.”
“Shut her up or you will feel my hand,” said Rashid.
Jacqui continued to sob. Rashid backhanded Susan across the face, hurling mother and daughter onto the bed. A swelling began to rise under Susan’s left eye and blood trickled from her mouth and nose.
“Shut her up!”
Susan held the little girl. “Hush, now darling, don’t cry, Daddy will be here soon.” The child burrowed into Susan’s neck, trying to stifle her sobs.
“Now we go,” he said, “but first telephone the desk. Tell them your husband has sent for you and to have a cab ready.” She dialed and heard the clerk pick up. “Remember, she dies first,” growled Rashid.
Susan completed the call. Minutes later, he bundled her and the children into a cab and they drove away.
* * * *
Eddie Barnes had been a detective for the Washington Police for fourteen years. He sat in his car with Laura Mikos, a junior detective and his patrol partner. The radio crackled into life. “Lieutenant Barnes, we have a report of a possible homicide, Ambassador Hotel. Please attend.” He grabbed the microphone. “Roger that” he said. He looked at Laura but already she had lit up lights and siren and was accelerating hard. As they screamed to a halt outside the Ambassador, Eddie noticed there were already two uniformed men at the door. There would be more inside.
He raced up the stairs. A senior patrolman was talking to a group of hotel staff. He turned to Eddie. “We have a body, Ed, this lady found it in a laundry basket on level five.”
Eddie went straight to the witness. She was sobbing, “Oh Julio, poor Julio.” She looked stunned, incapable of moving.
“You can’t help Julio any more, Miss. Pull yourself together and tell us what you saw.”
“I found him in the laundry basket. He was on level five, near the Riordans’ door. The door was open but there was no one in the suite. I wondered why the basket was there on its own, so I opened it. There he was.” She started to sob again.
“Okay, Miss, that will do for now. You will have to sign a statement later on. Tomorrow maybe.” He returned to the uniforms. “Have you checked the register with the desk to establish who is unaccounted for?”
“Yeah, only Mrs Riordan and her two kids. She ordered a cab about half an hour ago. Said her husband had called her. He is that Aussie Colonel who is here for some meeting at the Pentagon. It was in the papers yesterday. I think it is funny she left without her tote and left the door open. The clerk said when she called down for the cab she thought she could hear a man’s voice in the background. Said he sounded foreign and upset.”
“Okay,” Eddie said, “this is how I read it. The perp somehow got into the hotel, killed this poor bastard for his laundry basket, swiped the woman and kids and got away.”
He and his partner took the elevator back down to the lobby to speak with the concierge at the desk. “Did you see Mrs. Riordan get into a cab with a man earlier who wasn’t her husband?”
“Sure, she’s got those two cute kids.”
“Description?”
“Tall, dark hair, she’s quite a doll.”
“The man, stupid!”
“Oh, I was looking at her mostly, great legs.”
“Think!”
“Oh, he was dark, like an Arab or maybe a Mexican. He had a backpack with him.”
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know, man, I couldn’t hear properly, with all the traffic.”
“Think…hard! Their lives may depend on it!”
“Well, he might have said Lincoln…I think.”
“Lincoln what?”
“That’s all I heard. Give me a break, man.”
Eddie left him. There was no more information behind those dull eyes. He turned to Laura, “Let’s move.”
“Where to?” she said when they were in the car.
“That guy said he heard the perp say Lincoln. Lincoln what, or where?”
“Shit, there’re a billion things in this city named after him. How can we find the right place? There’s the log cabin, the park, the memorial, there’s probably ten Lincoln Streets…”
“What is central, important, lots of people? I have a gut feeling about the memorial. What about you?”
“It’s as good a choice as we’ve got,” she said as she did an illegal U-turn, siren screaming and put down the pedal.
Eddie had a bad feeling about this. The explosion a couple of days ago had bought in the anti-terrorist guys. A gas leak, my ass!
* * * *
Rashid pulled Susan and the kids from the cab at the Lincoln Memorial and headed for the entrance to the central gallery. Pushing aside the protesting NPS Rangers, both women, he made for the rear of the chamber, waving the Colt. “I have a gun. I have a bomb. Everybody out!”
People began screaming and rushing through the entrance. Some fell and were almost trampled as they scrambled to safety.
Rashid pulled Susan and the children up behind the great statue of Lincoln. Here was protection from any snipers of the SWAT team he knew would come. “Get down. Stay here. Remember the little girl will die first!”
Eddie and Laura pulled into the memorial precinct as people began rushing down the steps, screaming. One woman grabbed Eddie’s sleeve and cried out, “He’s got a bomb in there. And hostages. A young woman and two little kids. One’s just a baby,” she sobbed.
They drew their pistols and ran up the stairs to the main entrance where two NPS Rangers met them. He just started babbling in a foreign language,” one of them said, “chanting like he’s praying.”
“Is the building clear?” Eddie asked, noticing four patrol cars had arrived. Laura must have called for backup, he thought.”
“I think the central chamber is clear,” the other ranger said. “There may be some people in the two side chambers still. There are emergency exits at the rear of all the chambers.”
Eddie turned to the sergeant who’d just charged up the stairs with his partner, the two of them standing at his back, guns drawn. “Get some men around back. Open the side galleries and let everyone out. Leave two guys to watch the central door.”
He turned to Laura, just as the SWAT truck pulled in. The back doors opened and SWAT guys poured out. “Looks like our job is finished here. I just hope the ant-terrorist guys didn’t bring that idiot hostage negotiator, Kopzki.”
* * * *
The phone on General Glover’s desk buzzed. He ignored it. It buzzed again and again. He picked it up scowling, “I said no calls Lieutenant. Has World War Three started?” He listened “I see…I see…thank you.” He looked
grim. “This meeting is postponed gentlemen. You are dismissed. Colonel Riordan, will you remain please?” The others made for the door. The General looked to Jack.
“Colonel, I have some disturbing news. The Police have contacted me, looking for you. I am sorry to say this, but it appears someone has abducted your family. The perpetrator has taken them to the Lincoln Memorial. He has made no demands yet, but he has been ranting in a language the police believe to be Arabic. Do you have any clue as to what this might mean?”
Jack felt sick. Not his Susan, his children, not after all they had endured. He was numb. Then his training kicked in.
“Sir, earlier this year my Regiment rescued a ship that had been taken for ransom by pirates. We believe they were Islamic fundamentalists. A Sergeant and I defused the charges they had left, foiling their attempt to destroy the ship.”
“I heard about that ship. I didn’t realise you were the hero of the whole thing.”
“Sergeant Pennini was the hero, sir, decorated for his bravery. Back in July, a man we now know as Pietro attacked him. We think this man, also known as Rashid, is an active terrorist. Pietro accused him of defusing the bombs and he intended to kill him for it; but he received a most unfriendly welcome. Ray Pennini broke his arm and smashed his head against a brick wall. However, in the confusion he managed to escape. There has been no word of him since then.”
The General said, “You are smart enough to know that explosion the other day was no gas leak. It is not public knowledge, but the anti-terrorist people are on the case. That building was under surveillance. They believe that the Quartermaster of a right wing militia group was accumulating arms there. Our boy might have given them a trial run.”
There was a knock on the door and two Military Police Sergeants entered. They saluted. “We’re all ready now, sir.” They turned to Jack. “We will escort you to the memorial Colonel.
A jeep was waiting for them and they set off for the city, siren blaring, lights flashing until they pulled up to the memorial. “This is about as far as we can go, sir. It is still a civil matter, outside of our jurisdiction; we can only offer you our personal protection.” Jack thanked them, jumped out, and headed for the steps.
* * * *
A tall thin man stood talking to the kidnapper/terrorist through a bullhorn. Kopzki had arrived. The Lieutenant from the SWAT Squad approached Jack. “You can’t proceed any further, sir. This is a hostage situation.”
Jack looked at him. “Get out of my way, mister. My wife and children are in there.” He brushed past and ran up the remaining steps to the entrance. The man with the bullhorn stopped his harangue and turned on Jack angrily. “Get this soldier away, Barnes. I’m in charge here.” Eddie came over and explained to Jack just what had happened.
“You can put that thing down,” he said to Kopzki, “it’s me he wants.”
“You can’t go in there, he has a bomb. We don’t even know what his demands are.”
“He has my family as well,” said Jack, “I think I know what he wants…me!”
Inside the memorial, Rashid had ceased his chanting. He had fused the block of Semtex he had bound around his waist and held the push button firing device in his left hand. In his right was the Colt. He looked at his hostages. The harlot was wearing another short skirt and a close fitting top. She is an abomination, he thought, a slap in the face of Islam. He had had some initial pity for the children, but they were innocent, they would enter Paradise. However, before they died, he would kill Riordan and avenge himself. Then he would detonate the bomb and enter the gates of Paradise, Allah Akbar.
There was some kind of commotion outside. Then the man with the bullhorn ceased his noise and a man approached the entrance. “Rashid” he called. He could not see the new man, but he knew it was Riordan. “Rashid,” he called again, “I’m coming in. I know you want me. I will come in and you will let my family go. They are innocent; they have done you no harm.” There was no reply. Cautiously, he moved into the chamber, walking past the huddled figures at the rear of the statue. Seeing no one, he turned to look down the barrel of a Colt 45. He saw his family. Susan held Jacqui tightly. There was fear in her eyes.
“So,” said Rashid, “My time has come. I will have the pleasure of killing you Colonel Riordan. Then I will set off my bomb and go to Paradise while your painted harlot will go to hell with you.” He looked at Susan, tried to show his love for her in his eyes. She knew. She gave him that special smile though her lips were trembling. She mouthed, ‘I love you, Jack’. He lifted his gaze to Rashid.
“You have failed, you bastard,” he said. “You couldn’t handle Ray Pennini, and you can’t handle me without a gun in your hand. You are lower than a snake’s belly, wanting to kill women and children.” He saw Rashid stiffen and raise the pistol. He saw the spittle at the corners of his mouth and he saw the mad eyes. He had gambled and lost.
“Die, infidel pig,” Rashid said, and squeezed the trigger.
* * * *
Those who had a need to know his name knew the big man in the gun store as ‘Sarge’. He had never been in the armed forces and the closest he ever got to a Sergeant had been the Vermont Highway Patrol Sergeant who had booked him for speeding. This Sergeant was diligent enough to give his vehicle a thorough search and to call in the plates. He found a gold mine. The vehicle was unlicensed, and was carrying, concealed under the rear seat, half a pound of a white powder later determined to be cocaine. The driver also had an unlicensed firearm, and sixteen outstanding warrants for offences ranging from drunk driving to assault with a deadly weapon.
Sarge got three to five in the Northern Correctional Facility in Newport. In American prisons, survival depends on having someone to watch your back. For most, this means becoming a member of one of the gangs that flourished in such establishments. His natural inclination led him to the white supremacists, hence the tattoos. He was a big man and he wanted to be bigger, stronger, so he haunted the prison gym, particularly the weights room. He consumed large quantities of steroids, freely available in the prison. He became a big, big man, one to be feared. One night, three members of a rival black gang accosted him. No one knows what really happened, for no one talks to the authorities while in prison, but daylight revealed three black men in an ablutions block. One had his neck broken. The other two were beaten to a pulp. One would never father children again.
This attracted the attention of some influential men. When his sentence was up, Sarge was given an address in Rutland, and told to ask for Colonel Walsh. The Colonel was the CO of the unofficial Vermont Citizen’s Militia. He took him on as a bodyguard. Soon he was known as an enforcer; you did not mess with Sarge. Eventually the Colonel became so concerned about the policies of his traitorous Federal Government that he began a vigorous recruitment campaign. He prepared fortified bunkers in the mountains near the Canadian border, and he appointed Sarge to be his Quartermaster, charged with assembling his arsenal.
With capital supplied by the Colonel, Sarge opened a gun store in Washington. D.C. It was a front for stolen weapons. In a couple of years, he developed a network of corrupt and venal military officers. They were men overlooked for promotion, men with gambling debts, bent Quartermasters, men who were just plain greedy. He began to collect large quantities of arms. Some were new or near new. Some were not. Some weapons came from sympathisers. In every shipment of good weapons, there were bad ones. The suppliers insisted; they wanted to get rid of them too; they would only ship good weapons if the Sarge agreed to take some of the old decrepit stock as well.
Sarge didn’t mind this. Some of the weapons could be repaired and the Colonel had a gunsmith in his ranks to do this. The others were sold under the counter like the one Rashid had purchased. If they didn’t work, who cared? The purchasers were unlikely to complain and want their money back. The last one to do so ended as fish feed in Chesapeake Bay more than a year ago.
* * * *
The pistol exploded in Rashid’s hand. There was a flash of fla
me and smoke. His hand exploded along with the pistol. Jack felt something soft and wet smack his face as bits of hand sprayed about.
In an uncontrollable reflex action, Rashid released the push button firing device and tried to grab his right hand. The hand was no longer there. Pieces of the Colt had struck him in the face and he was half-blind with blood. Jack had prayed for the opportunity. He shouted at Susan. “Run!”
Jack dived at Rashid in a classic Rugby tackle. He grasped the firing device. Semi-conscious, Rashid was flat on his back, gasping for air. Pinning him to the ground with his knees, Jack carefully withdrew the detonator from the block of Semtex and the trigger from the detonator. The bomb was safe.
Police were pouring into the chamber now. Jack looked at Rashid. He was gasping for air as his shattered hand pumped a steady spray of blood, but the hatred remained in the man’s maddened eyes.
“No Paradise for you, you bastard,” Jack said. Then he grabbed his head, twisted it and broke his neck.
Quickly, he turned to his family. Susan, cradling Patrick, ran to him. So did Jacqui. He knelt and gathered them in his arms, trying to shield the children from the grisly sight behind him, but it did not matter. The Police had already covered the corpse.
“Oh, Jack, I thought he shot you! You’re bleeding, you’re bleeding!” There was more than a trace of panic in her voice. “Darling, don’t worry,” he said, “It’s not my blood, it’s his.”