Hell's Choir (NICHOLAS SHARP THRILLER SERIES Book 3)

by Mark Mannock

  “So, we walk away,” said Greatrex. “The trouble with that is that we’d still cop the publicity. Although you’d do well on the talk-show circuit, don’t forget we’d also have a death sentence looming over our heads from our friends the Shararaa.”

  “You make a fair point.”

  “Besides…”

  “When did we ever walk away from anything just because we were out of our depth?”

  “My case rests,” said Greatrex.

  We sat sipping our beers. An idea formed in my mind, a way out. It must have been the alcohol.

  “What if…” I began. “What if we spoke to Abe Peterson and did a deal? Give Connors the full story… under certain conditions?”

  “What conditions?”

  “He only publishes after the state dinner, and he leaves ours and Jumaa’s names out of it. We’ll then give him the entire thing from our arrival in Sudan to the very end. He can write a damn book if he wants.”

  Greatrex paused. “It’s worth a try.”

  Our hunger reappeared, and we tore into our lunch.

  Georgetown was bustling, late lunches turning into evening drinks. Small groups of the Washington ambitious, coming and going. Did anyone ever do any work around here? It was midafternoon by the time we left the crowds and returned to our car. We had parked it well off the main drag down a small laneway just off Potomac Street.

  I was considering our plan. We’d have a chance. It would mean we would have to get White House approval. I’d be spending the afternoon on the phone…

  “Nicholas.”

  “Jack, I reckon…” I looked up as I spoke. I wished I hadn’t.

  There were six of them. They were huge, of African descent, possibly Sudanese. More pointedly, they were armed. I saw no Kalashnikovs, but they didn’t need more than the handguns they were aiming at us. I mentally kicked myself for our lack of caution.

  “The Riek family sends their regards,” said the man closest to me. As he smiled his broken and uneven teeth lent an evil menace to his grin. I held no doubt he was a fighter.

  “You won’t get away with kidnapping us here in broad daylight,” replied Greatrex, standing his ground.

  From where I was standing, it looked like they would. They’d parked a large black van with blocked out windows two spaces in front of ours. Its rear doors were open.

  “Who said anything about kidnapping?” declared the fighter, his Sudanese accent unmistakable. “The street crime in Washington is terrible. Two more victims won’t crack a headline.”

  For a brief moment, I considered other times I’d faced down an enemy, both in the Marines and since. I’d always found a way out. It was my sniper’s training, kicking in with a plan, even if it was impromptu.

  But there was no plan in sight.

  Each man was at least two yards from Greatrex and I, too great a distance to bridge without being shot. If we each took out one man, that would leave four more.

  Still no plan.

  Greatrex’s agitation began to show. He kicked the ground, fists balled and forearms tensed. I knew what followed that. He would go down fighting. While I respected his intention, he’d still end up going down. We both would.

  “All right,” I said, putting my mouth into gear, having no idea what words were about to come out. “How about a deal?”

  No response.

  I continued. “I understand you people want us dead—can’t blame you—but what if we could offer you the bigger prize? We are close to President Blake. We can give him to you.”

  Greatrex stopped his work-up. He knew I was lying through my teeth, but we needed our assailants to think otherwise.

  “Nicholas, don’t be stupid,” he said. “I get you hate politicians, but he’s the president.”

  “Shut up, Jack,” I hissed.

  “Nice little show,” observed the fighter, “but why would you help us when you know we’d kill you later, anyway?”

  “Show some backbone, Nicholas,” said Greatrex.

  The two men closest to the big fella appeared nervous. They repeatedly changed their weight from foot to foot. I needed to distract them before they pulled their triggers.

  “Blake has done nothing for us. We risked our lives to get him out of Sudan for naught. Reluctant heroes who fade back into obscurity is his plan. You heard his press conference. That left us with nothing, and we’re pissed.”

  For a split second, I saw hesitation on the fighter’s face. I pressed my case.

  “If you’ve been following us today, you would have noted that we met with a journalist. Joe Connors, he was the one who blew this entire Sudan thing wide open. You’d have seen him on the news.”

  No reaction, but no bullets.

  “We met to tell him we’d provide the full story, every goddamn part of it. We’ll let the world understand who the heroes are here. That self-obsessed, condescending dickhead Blake can go to hell.”

  The fighter put up a palm, calming his men.

  “If we allow you to help us, what are you offering?” he asked.

  “We can get you into the dinner,” I said.

  “We are already in,” replied one of the other men.

  I glanced at Greatrex.

  “If your plan fails, you will have two more people to aid you. Surely you can’t get that many bodies into the White House?” I paused. “Or better still hold my friend here with you. That way you have guaranteed my help.” I hoped that would stop them shooting Greatrex on the spot.

  The fighter seemed to hesitate. “There may be merit in what you say, although you would only delay your own deaths. Our leader, however, does not enjoy deviating from plans. I must make a call.”

  “You better make it quick,” I said. “Any minute now a police patrol might pass here, and all bets will be off.”

  The fighter hesitated, just for a second. “Grab them and put them in the van.”

  That was all we needed.

  The two men closest to Greatrex came up to him, clasping an arm each. They’d put their guns away so they could use two hands. The two men closest to me did the same. We didn’t resist, we wanted them relaxed.

  The fighter led the way toward the van as the last man, still armed, brought up the rear.

  As we reached the vehicle, Greatrex and I each lunged toward a captor. I didn’t have time to look after that. I shoved the man on my right, slipped my hand inside his jacket and wheeled him sideways, placing him between me and the guard whose grasp I’d shaken free. I figured I had less than two seconds to make this work. My fingers wrapped around the icy steel grip of his gun as I squeezed the trigger, the weapon still in its holster. It was a risk to assume that the safety was still off. It was.

  The man grunted in pain but didn’t go down. The other guard was now coming around him to get at me. In two quick movements, I elbowed the approaching guard in the face and pulled the gun out of the first man’s holster. The second guard reached under his jacket, and I fired a round into his chest before he could get to his weapon. My original guard then slugged me hard in the side of the face. I felt dazed but held the man tight.

  Another three gunshots. The man I held collapsed in my arms. I looked up to see the rear guard had fired in my direction but hit his colleague by mistake. Before I could raise my gun toward him, a red stain appeared on his chest. Greatrex had shot him.

  I whirled around toward the fighter. He’d leaped behind one of the open van doors and was now taking aim at Greatrex, his gun arm protruding around the door. Raising my weapon, I fired through the blacked-out window where I figured his head would be. As the glass shattered, he fell to the ground.

  Greatrex. I turned just as the big fella put a shot through the head of the man whose gun he had taken.

  Twenty seconds and it was over.

  I looked over at Greatrex. “Show some backbone, you say.”

  Chapter 31

  We were again sitting around the general’s lavish lounge room. I was on my third Scotch and reliving the day f
or the benefit of Kaitlin, Jumaa and the general himself.

  “So, the FBI took over the scene of the shooting in no time at all. Along with Homeland Security, they immediately labeled it as a terrorist act and brought down a media blackout on the entire affair.”

  “What about the journalist… Connors?” asked Kaitlin.

  “Abe Peterson spoke to the president on our behalf. Blake was fine with our proposed deal, so I called Joe Connors half an hour ago to confirm it,” I replied.

  “Will this man honor the arrangement?” inquired Jumaa.

  “A fair question and we can’t know the answer with absolute certainty. He says he will, and he’s reputed to be a straight shooter,” I responded.

  “Speaking of being a straight shooter, you two are very lucky to have made it out of that alleyway alive today,” said Kaitlin.

  A slight quiver laced her voice, exposing her concern. I just wasn’t sure how deep the disquiet ran, or, in fact, how deep I wanted it to run.

  “Yes, we were fortunate,” chipped in Greatrex. “Who thought Nicholas could be such a convincing sniveling rat?”

  “Thank you… I think.”

  “What we need to focus on here is that brief conversation between you two and the Shararaa assassins.” The general, straight to the point as ever. “Nicholas, you mentioned that you offered to get them into the state dinner.”

  “Yes, sir, I did. They said they were already in.”

  “That is concerning,” replied the general. “These terrorists must be sure of their plan if they didn’t jump at your proposition.”

  “It’s a worry,” I responded.

  “And nothing came of your visit to the apartment in Montgomery County?” asked Kaitlin.

  “No, it was a false alarm,” said Greatrex. “It had nothing to do with our search for Sua’d Bahri, although the FBI is running some tests on some materials found there.

  “So, we’re back to square one,” declared the general.

  “Not square one,” I replied. “We’re now certain the Shararaa are feeling confident in their plan to assassinate both the presidents. We can also assume from their response to my offer it is more than likely the state dinner will be the event they target.”

  “Don’t forget we know that Jumaa, you, and I have been added to the Shararaa’s list of people to kill,” added the big fella.

  “Thanks for the reminder, but there is one other thing. The Shararaa are now down six of their men because of this afternoon’s efforts.” I almost sounded proud.

  Jumaa got up from his chair and shuffled over to join the general at the fireplace. Once again, he showed signs of discomfort; shoulders tensed, brow crinkled.

  “Nicholas, with all due respect to the resourcefulness that you and Jack displayed this afternoon, I would warn you, never, ever, underestimate the ability of the Shararaa to surprise you,” he declared.

  So much for pride.

  “You will need to be careful in your movements,” instructed the general.

  “I don’t think they’ll try to take us out again before the state dinner, in case we disrupt their plans further,” I said. “But after the dinner, everything changes.”

  “I will talk some sense into Jefferson Blake and his people,” announced the general. “He should cancel this damn dinner until we can sort this out.”

  “With due respect, sir, I disagree,” I replied.

  The general looked surprised at my comment. He wasn’t used to being disagreed with.

  I continued. “President Blake knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s bringing the game onto his turf and with his timing. If we can’t put an end to this plot now, he, the country, and, for that matter, Jack, Jumaa, and I, will all be under threat from these bastards from here until eternity.”

  “Hmph,” responded the general.

  The room then faded to an uneasy silence.

  “Are you saying, Nicholas, that in the meantime, there is nothing we can do?” asked Kaitlin.

  There was no painless way to put it. “We have no choice. It’s game on.”

  Chapter 32

  But it wasn’t a game.

  Abe Peterson ushered me through the doors at the White House visitors’ entrance on East Executive Avenue. The black rings under his eyes spoke of too much lost sleep.

  “I’m convinced this is the worst idea in the history of presidential protection,” he said.

  I shook his hand, but I couldn’t allay his fears.

  “I’m sorry, Abe, the weight of the democratic world seems to be sitting on your shoulders.”

  The special agent led me across the vast East Wing lobby. We passed several security personnel. Each one stood down with a nod from Abe. We were walking through the garden room before he spoke again.

  “I’ve tried everything I can to persuade the president to cancel this event tonight, but he won’t budge.”

  “You’re not alone there. General Devlin-Waters attempted the same approach. He told me that Jefferson Blake wouldn’t even entertain the idea,” I replied.

  “I can’t help but respect the man for his courage, the same goes with the Sudanese president, but it doesn’t make my job any easier.”

  I nodded.

  We walked along the east colonnade. The area was closed in, but through the windows the view across the White House gardens, was spectacular.

  “This part of the complex is usually accessible to the public when viewing the building. We’ve canceled all tours for the last week. There are a lot of unhappy tourists out there.”

  “The price you pay,” I said.

  We entered the main White House structure through another large foyer. Once again, the gravitas of the situation hit me. We were in one of the most famous buildings on the planet, and we were here to protect the leader of the free world. I felt my shoulders slump at the thought. I could only imagine the burden playing on the mind of the Secret Service agent beside me.

  Abe Peterson led me down a wide center hall at a cracking pace. I had to work hard to keep up. Glancing to my left, I looked through a doorway to see the famed China Room. They had made history in this building for centuries; I worried about the history that may be made in the next twelve hours.

  Peterson pushed through another doorway, this one leading to the famous western colonnade, the president’s route to work in the Oval Office each day. As we walked past the Rose Garden, it was a hive of activity. This is where the state dinner would take place, and where I would perform with P.D. Bailey and his band later in the evening.

  “Most state dinners are held in the State Dining Room,” announced the agent. “Although there is precedence, our security hasn’t been helped by this event being held outdoors.”

  Ten minutes afterward, we were sitting in a sizable room scattered with desks, massive screens and a crowd of agents.

  “Welcome to our command center,” Peterson said, waving an arm across the space. “This is where we monitor everything that happens in the White House complex. Tonight, this place will be our ‘eyes on’.”

  It was impressive. I was sitting in the company of some of the world’s best security operators.

  “Jack Greatrex is up at the stage area completing your equipment set up, Nicholas. I wanted to take this opportunity to talk things through with you.”

  I nodded.

  “This is a more than unusual situation. Civilians rarely find themselves here. In your case, President Blake insisted, and I agreed, that you be in on our detail’s communication loop this evening. I think we all understand that you and Jack have more than proved your loyalty to POTUS.” The agent paused. “I would add, however, that if the shit hits the fan, don’t get in our way.”

  Again, I just nodded.

  “Without going into all the specifics, know that every available special agent and special officer in the protective detail will be here tonight. Personal leave and less important assignments are playing second fiddle to tonight’s dinner. We’ve also tripled the uniformed office
rs on duty.”

  Many people think the uniformed security personnel that protect the White House are Marines. In fact, they’re members of the Secret Service Uniformed Division.

  “Nicholas, our Investigative Division, along with all the other investigating agencies involved have come up with no fresh information. We cannot locate Atha Riek’s brother.”

  “It’s hard to imagine how someone embedded in such a dangerous organization could stay off the radar so long, but somehow he’s done it,” I responded.

  “And, to be honest, that scares the hell out of me,” said Peterson.

  The special agent paused again. He looked like he was searching for the right words.

  “It’s because of this monster’s ability to disappear that I agreed to you and Jack Greatrex being part of our security here tonight, Nicholas.”

  That was perplexing.

  “The Secret Service can protect, and we can investigate. We do both damn well. The trouble is, we do not understand who we are protecting the president from. I’m aware you haven’t laid eyes on the brother, but you have seen Riek up close.”

  I saw where this was going.

  “They are twins, if not identical. Should you see any man who bears even the slightest resemblance to Atha Riek in any way—eyes, chin, mannerisms—I want you to inform us immediately. I don’t care how many security credentials they hold, I want to know.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, “but what about Sua’d Bahri?”

  Abe Peterson shrugged his shoulders, briefly casting his eyes down.

  “That one has us beat. We’re confident she was bound for Washington—you figured that out. We can only assume that she is part of the Shararaa’s plan to assassinate the president, but apart from that, we’ve got nothing. To be honest, we don’t even have a working theory as to what her role is. She may be the blunt weapon, she may function as a support person, or she may be dead.”

  Peterson sat back in his chair.