by H. L. Wegley
With Daniels dead, Hannan could launch an offensive against the red states. A combination of threats and promises of rewards would bring them back into the fold. If that failed, he would be forced to take extreme measures to control the entire nation. A lot of people would die and history would brand him a ruthless tyrant, instead of the man who had ushered in a modern socialist utopia, ending capitalism in America.
“They're here.” Eli's voice startled Hannan.
He needed to focus. The meeting with his newly formed inner circle would start in a few minutes and they had a full agenda, one that, for the first time in over a month, might not include Brock Daniels or KC Banning.
The first person through the door was his new Secretary of Defense, Harrison Brown, whose primary qualification was his loyalty to Hannan, not his expertise with military operations. At this point, loyalty trumped expertise.
Harry Brown sat beside Eli on Hannan’s left.
Gregory Bell, Randall Washington's former subordinate, was an adequate Attorney General, though he didn't have Randy's efficiency or ruthlessness. But Randy had resigned and disappeared, while Greg had remained loyal.
Bell took the chair on Hannan's right.
Hannan had finally convinced Eli Vance to join the group. The old geezer had proven most useful in negotiating sensitive issues with unreliable allies like Iran. Eli had brokered the half-billion-dollar deal where Iran funded Hamas to kill Brock Daniels.
Hannan opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when a knock sounded on the study door. “Who is it?”
“Agent Belino with an urgent message for Secretary Vance.”
“Very well. Come in, Belino.”
The young Marine handed a folded sheet of paper to Eli, shot Hannan a curious glance, then excused himself.
Eli opened the page. As he read, his bushy eyebrows rose. Then his huge orbs focused on Hannan's face.
It couldn't be good news. “Well, Eli, would you mind sharing the news with the group?”
Eli grinned, but his large, luminous eyes staring at Hannan expressed anything but mirth. “Hamas launched an RPG 29 into the American’s suite while Brock Daniels and KC Banning were inside.” Eli stopped.
Maybe this would be good news after all. “You can continue. Anytime, Eli.”
The old man sighed loud and long, a raspy hissing from worn out lungs.
An RPG 29 would fill most of the apartment with fire. The fire, with the explosion, would—
“Daniels survived.” Eli coughed. It turned into a coughing fit.
“What the—how? How could anyone survive that?”
“All six Americans were inside, but they all survived,” Eli said. “Daniels went to a hospital for observation. Our spy thinks he’s going to marry KC Banning—maybe he already did—and then leave Israel.”
Hannan pounded his desk, stood, and cursed Brock Daniels, KC Banning, and their entire ancestry. “When does it ever end with these two? I want to know where they’re going, and this time I’ll kill them using my own men. No more unreliable—”
“You might want to rethink that, Abe.” Eli cleared his throat. “We know that the Israelis negotiated something with the Canadian Department of National Defense, maybe with the deputy minister. And we know there was a Public Safety person present at the meeting, you know, the Mounties.”
“And how do we know all this?”
“Abe, it's not like you don't have any supporters in the Canadian government. I know it’s hard to believe, but their far left is further out on the west end of the political spectrum than you.” Eli chuckled. “An underling in the Canadian DND has taken a personal interest in this matter. He’s taken steps to ensure we will be able to track our target.”
“So they're going to Canada. Where in Canada?”
“Don't worry, it's all under control.”
Abe leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. “But this involves Brock Daniels. He’s the one who needs to be under control. He needs to be dead.”
Eli studied Hannan's face for a moment. “All in good time. Our friend in Canada has other friends. We will soon know where Daniels and company will be staying.”
Hannan ruminated for a moment on the information Eli had given him. “Okay … we know they’re in Canada, but we can’t be caught violating Canada's sovereignty to kill them. So, what do you recommend, Eli?”
“By the time they arrive, the house will be bugged, so we’ll know what they’re planning. There's a US Army Ranger with them, a guy named Steve Bancroft. They also have a member of Israel’s Sayeret Matkal, Benjamin Levy.”
Where was Eli going with this? “And so …”
Eli chuckled again. It ended with more coughing. Finally, looking exhausted, he looked up at Hannan. “So, here’s how it will play out. The Israeli guy’s no slouch. He will discover the bugs within a few hours, realize they’ve been compromised, and they'll move.”
“Move? They don't have many options.”
The old diplomat nodded. “They really only have one option. To come back to the US … you know, to one of the areas where you don’t have your thumb on the people.”
“You mean the red areas?”
“Yes. Probably out west somewhere, where the dissidents and the insurgents are in control.”
How did they get a Ranger assigned to them? It had to be someone who was with them the night they took out the Apache near Crooked River Ranch. That’s when the Ranger detachment had first become involved.
If Hannan knew who the ranger was, perhaps he could identify the Ranger Captain C who said, in a Brock Daniels post, that he was coming to get Hannan. The bold threat had made him angry, but it had also given him nightmares. “I want to know everything about this Ranger Steve … what's his name—”
“Bancroft.” His new Secretary of Defense, Harry Brown, sat up in his chair. “I can have that information for you in about fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later Harry returned with a paper in his hand. “Mr. President, the Ranger with Brock Daniels is Sergeant Steve Bancroft. He’s assigned to a Ranger detachment commanded by a Captain David Craig, a man who seems to have gone AWOL.
So it was Captain C. Hannan recalled the threatening words in Brock Daniels’s blog post from the Ranger commander.
Some night you will awaken to fingers around your throat. They will be mine.
… Captain C. US Army Ranger
It had to be the same guy. If Hannan could capture Steve Bancroft when they went after Brock Daniels, maybe they could use Bancroft to flush out this Ranger Captain, or at least learn where Craig was. If Hannan could do this quickly, it could tear a huge hole in the insurgency. Maybe turn some red states back to true blue.
“I want all Israeli flights originating from Canada to be closely monitored for any Israeli aircraft that might be coming into the US. This group has to fly in. They can’t use a border crossing or they’d be arrested. And when they do re-enter, we need to pounce on them before the vermin can scatter and hide.” He paused. “Can you handle this, Harry?”
“I can handle it.” Harrison Brown smiled. “If we find them in the air, we will have Air Defense interceptors waiting to shoot them down. If they manage to land—”
“Land? Doesn’t NORAD track flights out to 200 miles?”
“Yes, Mr. President. If they approach from the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean, the Air Defense Identification Zone begins 200 miles out and sovereign airspace starts at twelve miles. But, like I was saying, if they land, I’ve got the best detachment of loyal Rangers ready to take them out.”
If he wanted Bancroft alive, their landing wouldn’t be a total loss. “And who’s commanding these Rangers?”
“Captain Deke.”
Hannan sat up in his chair. “Why Deke?”
Harry cocked his head. “Because, like I said, he’s the best we’ve got.”
Deke was also part of the contingent that would provide personal protection for Hannan should anyone make an assault on the Whi
te House. He hadn’t made that public knowledge and didn’t intend to.
Was it worth the risk of making POTUS a bit more vulnerable for the time it would take to rid himself of Daniels and KC Banning, the two thorns in Hannan’s flesh? Yes, more than worth it.
“Then Deke it is. Let me know the minute you’ve located them, Harry.”
“Yes, sir. Is that all, Mr. President?”
“No. Tell Deke that if those rebels manage to land and he captures any of them, make their death slow, make it hurt, and make sure they understand why no one should try to make Abe Hannan look like a fool. But I want Bancroft taken alive, if possible.”
Hannan would call Deke, personally, with a special set of instructions for interrogating Sergeant Steve Bancroft, techniques pulled from Deke’s considerable repertoire gleaned from the captain’s study of the Islamic State. Sergeant Bancroft would tell them everything he knew in order to end the pain. Then Deke could end the traitor’s pain, permanently.
Chapter 5
Julia scanned the long, dimly lit corridor ahead. How far underground were they? And where was all the security? Maybe it left with the Americans.
She had more questions about this gargantuan underground compound called Site 911, but she didn’t want to voice them and let Steve and KC know how clueless Julia was about things related to national security.
They already viewed her as someone who couldn’t pull her weight on the team and, now, a broken wrist only made matters worse.
Major Katz led them down the hallway and into a conference room. He flipped a switch on the wall and the ceiling glowed with some strange lighting system that lit the entire room.
The conference room could probably seat a hundred people. However, there were no seats in the middle of the room, only long padded benches, or very Spartan couches, lining the wall on the far side. The facility reflected Hannan’s relationship with Israel, vacated, nothing of substance left.
The major motioned toward the couches and all five Americans crossed the room and sat.
Julia glanced at the large digital wall clock. 11:00 a.m. She looked at KC who was also staring at the clock. Probably wondering when they would release Brock, her husband of nearly two hours.
Steve stood and tugged on Jeff’s arm. “Major, may Jeff and I check out that war room down the hall? Or is it classified?”
“Nothing in this part of the compound is classified. The US military made sure of that when they pulled all their people out of Israel. Yes, you may go exploring, but stay on this corridor and don’t start flipping power switches.” Katz gestured to the door where they entered and the two men were off like two boys on an exploring adventure.
KC shuffled her feet on the floor, wrung her hands, and stood to face the major. “How long are you going to wait before you check with the hospital?”
Katz blew out a sharp sigh. “KC, getting all six of you out of the country is my top priority. I told the hospital to contact me, immediately, when they had approval to discharge Brock.”
Julia had seen that frown on KC’s face before and, now her cheeks glowed red. She was either going to cry or explode. With her, one never knew.
Allie stood and hooked an arm around KC.
Julia did the same on KC’s other side. She was trembling. Julia prepared for an explosion.
“Major …” KC’s gaze bored into Katz. “…what happens when they discharge Brock? This is our wedding day, you know. I—” A sob choked off her voice. Tears flowed again. Too many tears for a wedding day.
Now tears threatened to spill from Julia’s eyes.
KC was like that. Whenever this striking young Irish woman walked into a room, her emotions seemed to go viral, infecting everyone in the place, sometimes inspiring them, other times driving them to anger … or to tears.
“After Brock is discharged …” Major Katz shook his head. “This is a very inconvenient thing to do to a newly married couple.” He paused. “We take you all to Ben Gurion and put you on an eleven-hour flight.”
Julia winced. Eleven hours on KC’s wedding night? It seemed cruel and Julia grew angry just thinking about it. She glanced at KC.
She had calmed, as if she was taking it all in stride, until the twin frown lines returned. “Does that mean Brock and I have to spend our wedding night strapped into ursa chairs on a Gulfstream?”
“Technically, it will still be your wedding day when you land in … uh …” Katz cleared his throat. “At your destination.”
“So we won’t actually miss—I guess that works.”
“But, KC, it will take favorable winds for you to get where you’re staying by midnight.” Katz pursed his lips.
Julia’s heart ached for KC. This young woman had come through unsurmountable obstacles and almost certain death to reach this point and marry the love of her life. It wasn’t fair. Julia stepped to the major’s side and gripped his arm.
Katz looked her way with surprise in his eyes.
She had invaded the personal space of this dignified man. Julia had never seen anyone do that. But it was too late to back down now. “Major Katz, will you please tell the pilot it's pedal to the metal, all the way. Brock and KC deserve it; don’t you think?”
Katz’s cell rang and he stepped out into the hallway as he answered it.
Saved by the bell.
Had the major’s frown been for her invasion of his space or the cell phone’s interruption?
Major Katz usually looked confident, a man in control of himself and every situation. But, when he returned, his military bearing had disappeared and he wouldn’t meet KC’s probing gaze. “I just talked with Benjamin and something's happening at the hospital. One of the doctors doesn't want to discharge Brock.”
“Is something else wrong with Brock?” KC moved toward the major, clenching her fists. “I should never have left him this morning, not until—”
“KC, we don't know that anything is wrong with Brock,” Katz said. “But one of the doctors is delaying his discharge until he checks out something from one of the tests they ran earlier.”
Katz's cell rang, again. “Excuse me while I take this. It's Benjamin.”
What did this mean? Julia studied Katz’s face, looking for answers. Could Brock have been injured more seriously than they first thought? He seemed to be okay except—
“Shots fired?” The major's body stiffened. “Get in there now, Benjamin!”
KC gasped. “What’s happening?”
The major waved her off and headed for the doorway.
Alarm sent Julia’s heart racing. She hooked KC’s arm and reached for Allie with her other hand. “Allie, KC, we need to pray. Now.”
KC turned toward Katz. “Not until I—”
He gave her the one-handed stop signal, then stepped out into the hallway with his cell planted in his ear.
The three women huddled and Julia prayed for Brock’s safety. Before she was two sentences into her prayer, Katz’s voice grew loud. “Sirens. It’s the police responding.”
Brock might be dead. At that thought, Julia's prayer intensified. But her fears turned to anger that burned like a shaft of white-hot steel had pierced her heart. The focus of her anger … Abe Hannan.
I want to kill him myself.
The uncontrollable urge to commit a violent act against another human being shocked Julia. It went against her deeply held convictions, and it came while she was supposed to be talking to God.
KC's and Allie's gazes had locked on Julia's face. Were her out-of-control emotions that evident?
“Julia?” KC looked frightened.
“What is it?”
“I… I… Just—”
The door flew open and Major Katz stepped in. He stopped when he saw the three women huddled together. The alarm on his face had been replaced by a squinting frown. “The shooter is down.”
KC whirled toward him. “What about Brock?”
Katz closed his cell and huffed a blast of air. “Brock …” He shook his head. “Bro
ck has disappeared.”
“What?” It was the second attack in less than twenty-four hours, both allowed by the man standing in front of Julia, the one supposedly in charge of their protection, Major Katz.
Julia opened her mouth, tempted to use words she never voluntarily allowed into her vocabulary, but KC beat her to the verbal attack.
In graphic language, KC called Hannan a monster from the pit, including a strong desire to send him back to that location. She glared at Katz and opened her mouth to continue, but words didn't come … only tears.
The major's cell lit up and played a ringtone, some vaguely familiar Jewish folk song.
Julia circled KC's shoulders with her good arm and studied Katz as he talked on the phone.
Allie tilted her head toward the floor, lips moving as she prayed softly.
Katz left the room with his cell still in his ear. He strode back and forth past the open door to the hallway at a furious pace, then stopped and closed his cell.
When he came in, Allie ended her prayer.
“It appears that one of the technicians processing Brock's MRI scans said that he saw something disturbing in the images.”
KC opened her mouth.
Katz raised an open hand. “Listen for a minute. The report was false. It was a ruse to hold Brock at the hospital longer than necessary to give Hamas time to get a shooter inside. But he didn't make it to Brock's room. The shooter was killed by one of my men as he emerged from the stairwell on Brock's floor. The technician, a deep cover operative working for Hamas, has been arrested.”
“Where is Brock?” KC's voice broke.
The room went silent.
Katz shook his head. “KC, we still don't know.”
“We've got to find him.” KC ran out the door into the hallway.
Katz chased her with Julia and Allie behind him.
KC stopped and looked both ways down the empty hallway as if confused.
The major caught her and cut her off.
