by Chase Austin
“We should surrender,” Omar yelled amidst the firing. “We are the only ones left.” He was right. It was only Khalid and Omar in the battle now.
In the Situation Room, the mood was changing. Watching what was happening in the dark corridors of the hospital, Hancock and the others had started to feel that the battle was already in their favor. It would be a big victory for Hancock, going against the experienced General. He was already thinking of how he would be able to free Houston soon after this and maybe in two hours he could be boasting about his acumen in front of the international media. General Shelton would be the scapegoat. It was after all he who had suggested delaying the operation to the night.
Khalid wanted to tell Omar that they would keep fighting, but by the time he could say anything, Omar’s body was already riddled with bullets.
Khalid was now the only one against an army.
Soon, Luke realized the absence of opposing fire and ordered his men to stop.
“I’m ready to surrender,” Khalid yelled from his place.
“Throw down your weapon,” Luke shouted, in no mood to take chances.
Khalid threw his gun and the haversack in the hallway.
“Come out slowly. Hands in the air.”
“I’m American. Don’t shoot me,” Khalid yelled.
“Come out slowly. Your hands in the air,” Luke repeated.
“I’m coming out.”
Luke and his remaining men waited patiently for the shooter to appear in the open. Everyone in the Situation Room waited too.
Khalid appeared in the hallway, his hands in the air. Multiple flashlights on him had almost blinded him. His eyes were closed. He was completely at the mercy of his enemies.
“I’m American. Do not shoot. I surrender,” he yelled again.
“On your knees. Now!” Luke yelled.
Khalid followed orders. “I’m American.” He repeated the phrase again.
“On the floor. Now.”
Khalid followed orders like an obedient student.
Luke and one other officer moved forward, keeping their shields in front, their guns trained on Khalid. Luke signaled the other officer to handcuff Khalid. The officer moved as per orders and immediately saw the detonator in Khalid’s hand.
“Shit.”
Lying on his back, Khalid smiled and pressed the detonator while Luke’s bullets razed through his body. The RDX Khalid’s men had laid out on the third floor went berserk.
In the Situation Room, the screen went blank.
“What happened?” Hancock asked.
“We lost the connection.”
They checked the news. There was a huge explosion on the third floor of the hospital. Huge bubbles of fire emanated out of that floor.
Hancock looked pale. He didn’t know what to do now. He had hugely underestimated the shooters and now had multiple casualties on his head. He collapsed on his chair, his eyes staring blankly at nothing at all. An almost similar reaction was happening all across the room and across the nation.
Chapter 43
Helms had received the call on his personal number from Riley, Sam Wick’s handler, half an hour ago. She apprised him of the situation with Wick and Eddie. They were already airborne and now it was Helms’ responsibility to clear the obstacles for them to help them enter American airspace.
Sam Wick kept a watch on the first officer as he sat strapped to his seat. Eddie was in the first officer’s seat, keeping an eye on the Captain. His instructions were to reach Houston as soon as possible.
He hoped that after nine hours of journey he would get the good news that the attacks had been contained, but he knew he had a streak of facing the worst of situations whenever he hoped for anything good.
Since the time he read those news reports, he had been analyzing the modus operandi of the attack. And he had come to an understanding that these men had arrived with extensive training and planning. Hitting six cities in broad daylight showed that.
Basit was still unconscious. The medicines might have been wearing off, but his hands and legs were cuffed, and he was strapped to a seat.
“We are in the US Airspace and heading to Houston now,” the captain announced on the microphone. He had reluctantly agreed to fly the plane on the condition that his yes would save his crew.
Wick didn’t react to the announcement. His eyes focused steadily on the three others. He had checked his watch for the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes. Sitting idle in the aircraft was no less than a torture, but at the same time, Wick was constantly planning what he had to do once they landed. Back home, the FBI and CIA had the prerogative to handle any terrorist threats. TF-77’s role was curtailed once the message was delivered but Wick knew he might be needed.
‘Couple of hours more,’ Wick whispered to himself in the false hope of normalizing his nerves.
Chapter 44
White House, DC
General Ronald Neller was staring at the door of the Situation Room with every inch of focus that he had in his body. He expected the door to open anytime soon, but he was surprised at the delay. He checked the time. It was nine pm. Almost eleven hours since the attack began, and it was still continuing. The reports from Manhattan were devastating. They had lost brave men and several innocent people in that raid. The terrorists were dead but the hospital building was completely aflame. He didn’t know how long it would take to douse the fire.
“What the fuck are they waiting for?” General Neller muttered under his breath.
Master Sergeant David Blake was pacing back and forth in the hangar. Fifteen commandos, standing in a group at the far end of the hangar, waited for his orders. These men belonged to the United States Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command (MARSOC). This was a component command of the United States Special Operations Command that comprised the Marine Corps’ contribution to SOCOM. Its core capabilities were direct action, special reconnaissance and foreign internal defense along with conducting counterterrorism, and information operations.
David Blake, the stocky thirty-two-year-old, was a ten-year veteran of the Marines and one of the most respected and decorated noncommissioned officers in the entire MARSOC.
He and his team had arrived in Houston five hours ago, but they had orders not to leave the hangar without General Neller’s order. Whatever was happening in Houston was their area of expertise, yet no one had called them. So, all they could do was wait and watch the news.
It was almost eleven at night when Blake got a call from General Neller, “Blake, we’ve been called. Make us proud.”
“We will, sir,” Blake said it with absolute sincerity.
“I’m waiting for the good news. All the best.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Blake looked at his men. They all were ready and raring to go. Not even one of them looked unsure or tired. This was what he wanted from his men, that was why he had personally been involved in their selection to his team. It wasn’t as if someone gave these men to him and asked him to lead them. It was his team, and he had been the reason why these fifteen men were there. Looking at them, he felt responsible and proud.
They were stationed just eight miles off the city. He signaled the drivers to ready the SUVs.
“Team,” Blake shouted. The fifteen men instantly looked at him. “Its time,” he said.
The team ran onto the concrete road towards the vehicles. Each commando was carrying over thirty pounds of gear. For each of the commandos, this was the most important mission of his life. His trial by fire. They were armed with 9 mm semi-automatic Glocks holstered on their thighs. Heckler and Koch MP5 sub-machine guns and HK 416 completed the rest of the ensemble. Stun and fragmentation grenades bulged in the pouches of their bulletproof Kevlar vests over army combat fatigues. The Kevlar had two hard armor panels in the sleeves both in the front and the back of the jacket to protect against Kalashnikov bullets. Night vision goggles rested on their helmets.
Blake looked at his men as they settled in th
e vehicles. The information was still scarce and trickling in painfully slowly. The team only knew that there were seven to eight terrorists in the hotel but there was no information on the number of hostages. All they knew that it was on American soil and it was the biggest reason to act now, more than anything else.
Chapter 45
Wick and Eddie rushed to the door as soon as the plane touched the runway. Outside, two black Suburban SUVs were already waiting for them. Jessica and Mac stood in somber silence near the first SUV, waiting for the jet to come to a halt. Three suits stood near the second Suburban, waiting to take Basit into their custody.
“Thank you, officers,” Jessica said as soon as the suits put Basit in the Suburban. The men nodded their heads and without saying a word turned around. Jessica then looked at Wick, and as soon as his eyes met hers, he knew something was wrong.
“We need to go,” Jessica said, before he could ask anything.
Inside the SUV, Wick found a new face alongside Mac. Stan was missing, but he said nothing. He wanted to know more before asking any questions. As soon as the SUV rolled on the concrete, Jessica took the onus on herself to explain what had happened in the last ten hours.
“Your information was correct,” she said. “Six cities were hit this morning between 10 and 11 am. More than five thousand are dead, and the number is still rising with every hour as more and more bodies are being recovered from the debris. The attack on Philadelphia is neutralized, Manhattan is also free after a bloody fight. Houston is a different story. Terrorists have taken over the Onyx at the Marina and have been inside for more than nine hours.”
“Where are we going?” Wick asked.
“Helms has a plan, but it will not fly without you.”
“Does the President know about this?”
“No, he had shut Helms out from the proceedings in the Situation Room.”
“What the hell? Has he gone mad?” Eddie said.
“I don’t know what’s in his mind. He still thinks that he is dealing with amateurs. His indecision had cost us a lot of time and now we are far behind in our response.”
“Do you have a blueprint of the hotel?” Wick asked.
Mac knew this would come up. He rolled out multiple landscape-sized printouts in the cramped space of the SUV. They all peered over the pages for the next ten minutes while Mac explained the various entry points of the hotel.
“What’s the current situation of the target?” Wick asked.
“The terrorists have set afire the hotel roof and its top two floors. The fire department is not able to do anything about it due to the fear of getting shot at. The building is completely shut down.”
“What about their demands?”
“None so far.”
“Where’s Stan?” Wick finally asked.
Jessica and Mac looked at each other. They didn’t know how to say this. Mac finally decided to tell him. Wick’s reaction was of pure shock and sadness. He and Stan had worked together on more than one occasion. He was a good soldier and a great man. No one spoke for a long time. Wick stared out of the window. His teeth clenched.
Helms was waiting for the team a block away from the American General Center. As soon as the SUV came to a stop near him, Helms got in.
Wick looked at him. Helms looked tired, with bags under his eyes. He seemed genuinely relieved at finding Wick and Eddie in one piece. The SUV moved towards the American General Center.
“Sam and Eddie, thank you.” Helms started with the one thing he wanted to say in person from the moment Wick and Eddie had agreed to go ahead with the suicide mission of getting Josh Fletcher out of the Taliban stronghold.
“Thank you, sir, but yesterday is old news. Why are we here?” Eddie said.
Wick just kept a straight face, hiding the storm brewing inside him since he heard about Stan.
“What I am going to ask you is dangerous and will have long-term repercussions, but we are left with no other choices. So, if any of you do not want to go ahead with what I am going to ask you to do, you can just open the door and leave.”
“No matter what, I’m in, sir,” Jessica spoke before anyone else. She had decided to go ahead with whatever hair-brained plan Helms had to kill those bastards. This was personal for her, more than others.
“Thank you, Jessica, but I’d still prefer it if you would hear what’s ahead for you. As per my sources in the White House, the terrorists have not put forth any demands. That could only mean two things. Either they are waiting for something before they tell us what they intend to do with the hostages, or they simply don’t have any demands. In the second scenario, the situation is more terrifying. No demands mean they probably will kill everyone and may take the whole building down with them. I tried to explain this to Hancock, but he is not listening to anyone except Walter Raborn, and Raborn is somehow convinced that they will call. With me telling you all this, we are already in grey territory and if we proceed to take things into our hands, then this will definitely be considered as a crime of the highest degree. I’m already at my retirement age and I can live with this blot for the rest of my life but all of you have a long career and life ahead so asking you to sacrifice everything on my wish is selfish and wrong.”
He paused and spoke again, “Now I ask again, think about your options and if you want to leave it from here, you are welcome. No hard feelings.” Helms looked at them, evaluating the five faces.
“I’m in,” Jessica repeated her stance.
“Me too.” Mac was second.
“Count me in too.” Eddie was third.
“I’m in, sir.” The guy whom Wick was not yet introduced to, was the fourth.
They all looked at Wick, who was still silent. “I need to talk to you in private,” he said, looking at Helms. He opened his side of the door and got out. Helms looked uneasily at the rest of the crew and then followed Wick’s lead.
Wick walked till he was at a respectable distance from the SUV. He turned around and found the NSA Director walking behind him. In the bright street light, Wick observed Helms carefully. His shoulders slouched, his walk was slow, and his face lacked its usual charisma. This was not the Helms Wick had known all these years.
“What’s going on?” Wick directly cut to the chase when Helms was a comfortable distance from him.
“What do you mean?”
“I can understand your frustration with Hancock and Raborn but there is something that you are not telling us.”
Helms stared at Wick for a moment longer. His face was blank. Helms didn’t know how his own face looked right now. Was he so obvious? Was he losing his grip? Maybe he was getting too old that people could now read him like an open book.
“Where is Olivia?” Wick asked. He knew Olivia was doing an internship in the Onyx. He didn’t know which division of the Onyx.
“How do you…?” Helms let the question disappear in the air. He was surprised at Wick’s awareness. How did he know this? All he understood was that it was futile to hide his situation from Wick. “She is in the hotel.”
“Onyx?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Not sure. Her number is not reachable.”
“Last contact?”
“Eight hours ago.”
“Is this why you want this crack team?”
“No,” Helms retorted.
“What if she’s dead?”
“It’s a possibility.” Helms was slowly finding his composure. The steely determination in Wick’s eyes was giving him strength too. From the moment he had heard Olivia’s and Martha’s voices on the phone, he had been emotionally unhinged. Now he felt as if he was getting back into his element.
“What if she is alive but dies in the skirmish?”
“I have thought about it. The priority is to save most of the hostages.”
“You know, no one can guarantee a win here,” Wick said.
“I know.”
“What’s the plan?”
Helms signaled
at the American General Center. “There is a chopper waiting at the top of this building. I have pulled some strings to get special permission for it to fly despite restrictions in air traffic. It will take you to the top of the Onyx. Because of the fire, that is probably the only place where the terrorists are not looking. You will find five bags with the required ammo, Kevlar vests and fireproof clothes at the helipad.”
