Voice of Freedom

by H. L. Wegley

  Allie dropped Jeff’s load down to him, then her things. She climbed down the ladder and waited beside him.

  Jeff motioned for Julia to toss her things down.

  Julia tossed the blankets, but lowered her heavy pack as far as she could before dropping it to Jeff. She backed halfway down the ladder then stopped when she saw KC's face peering down at her from above. “KC, do you see the skylight?”

  What had happened to Julia's voice? She spoke in normal tones but her words came out much deeper, richer, and louder.

  “That's pretty cool,” KC said. “We have our own sound studio without any electronics. Echo chamber, too.”

  Brock's head appeared beside KC. “The cave opening’s like the hole in the box of a guitar. It amplifies the sound.”

  Benjamin's head appeared beside Brock's. “I could hear Julia's voice like she was standing beside me, and I was almost fifty yards away. It's a good thing we discovered the cave's acoustics, now. We need to speak softly.”

  “And carry a big stick.” Brock raised his M4.

  Benjamin pointed at Brock's rifle. “And pray we don't have to use it. This is a good hiding place, but if we were attacked here, I don't see how we could defend it.”

  A thought hit Julia like a blow to her head. A video played showing fire from an invisible flame thrower blasting through the cave, from one end to the other.

  One thermal bear and everyone in the cave is dead.

  Chapter 30

  Captain David Craig and his ten men, dressed in tac gear and fully armed, rolled down K Street and turned onto 17th Street NW, which would take them to their destination, the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, where their assault on the West Wing and President Abe Hannan would begin.

  This route had been carefully planned to avoid as many security checkpoints as possible. However, the checkpoints guarding the entrances to Washington Center Northwest could not be avoided on the way to K Street. Craig and his men had left the van near 26th Street and evaded the military and police by circling south of Washington Center and rendezvousing with the van at the corner of K Street and 19th.

  Only three blocks to go. Craig turned from his shotgun seat in the van and faced his men. “Any questions before we do this?”

  Blaine cleared his throat and shifted his feet. “Sir, remind me again how we're justifying killing armed security guards.”

  It was understandable that killing a man for doing his duty would raise moral issues. Craig expected every Ranger to consider the morality of his actions before performing them. “Blaine, at this point in Hannan's power-play and, after Brock Daniels exposed Hannan's crimes to the entire nation, any man bearing arms for Hannan, displaying an intent to use such arms against Americans, must be considered our enemy. If an armed person looks like they might use their weapon, shoot to kill. We have no other choice. Besides, Belino said everyone on the evening shift at the West Wing tonight is a Hannan supporter.”

  “Any other questions?” Craig looked into ten faces painted with eagerness and exuding confidence. If they succeeded today, their efforts should return the government of the USA to the people and restore constitutional rule. If not, Craig feared the nation would split and there would be war.

  “You all know your assignments.” Craig raised his M4 above his head. “For America, for freedom, and for the Constitution. May God be with us.” He pointed toward the door of the van. “Rangers lead the way!”

  He paused and shot a silent prayer into another realm, knowing his prayer was heard. Craig had already opened his heart to the answer he would receive, whatever that answer might be.

  Time to focus on his men and their mission. “Fifteen seconds, then we bail out and hit the west entry to the building on the run. I'll take the lead and make the announcements. If all goes well, there won’t be any resistance. But, should you detect any armed resistance, eliminate it and move ahead.”

  The van jerked to a stop. The side door slid open and eleven Rangers ran to the entry door of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building.

  Two armed guards whirled toward Craig, eyes wide. They raised their weapons part way, then stopped.

  They had seen military personnel operating in the DC area daily over the past six weeks and Craig counted on their hesitation. “Security threat, east end first floor. We've got it, but you need to lock down the building.” Craig used his best voice of authority and tried to avoid any sign of hesitation.

  The guards lowered their weapons.

  One of the two froze in obvious confusion.

  The other guard, a sergeant, kept his weapon in a ready position. The man met Craig's gaze. “Identify yourselves!”

  Craig held his sat phone in his left hand and his rifle in his right. Time to bluff. Leaving his weapon pointed toward the ground, he trotted up to the guard, “No time, Sergeant. People are going to die in there in about thirty seconds.” Craig raised his phone to his mouth. “Entering the building, Mr. President. Engaging terrorist suspect in thirty seconds.”

  The guard drew a sharp breath.

  Craig pushed the man out of his way with a forearm and glanced back at his men. “He's moving to the east entrance.”

  The Rangers covered and moved as they cleared the central hallway.

  Craig paused for a second. He never tired of watching the mesmerizing sequence of moves as some covered those advancing while two men in the rear scanned the entire area for threats.

  While eleven Rangers continued through the central hallway, Craig repeated his announcement to the building’s occupants, “Locking down the building. Go into the nearest office and lock your door!”

  Sixty seconds later, Craig's detachment exited the building. As expected, this entrance had no guards. But across the narrow street, West Executive Avenue NW, lay the West Wing of the White House complex. The lobby door would be guarded.

  As soon as the first shots were fired, the race would be on to catch Abe Hannan before he made it to the DUCC elevators or the stairwell.

  Now, with less than fifty yards to go, the success of their mission depended upon boldness and surprise. If Craig stopped Hannan before he reached the DUCC, Hannan was their prisoner. If not, Craig's men had to breach the DUCC, taking out any security forces they encountered. And, though KC had given him the access codes and all known security camera locations, it was a long walk down a stairwell to reach a bunker hardened to withstand a direct nuclear hit.

  Craig's men crowded around him on the steps at the east entrance to the Executive Office Building. “We go in two rows of five with a rear guard. I'll be in the first row that rounds the corner of the West Wing. Everyone in the first row rounds it, simultaneously. Allocate targets by your position and eliminate any perceived threat. Let's go, men.”

  Craig, Cutter, Daddy-O, Blaine, and Meyer sprinted hard toward the West Wing lobby entrance. In unison, with their free hands, Daddy-O and Blaine yanked on Velcro flaps opening the pouches from which each pulled out a flashbang grenade.

  Chapter 31

  Eli Vance sat at the end of Hannan's desk in the president’s private study, waiting for a reply.

  Hannan wasn't going to give him one. After all, the Middle East going to blazes in a handbasket was just as much Eli's fault as it was Hannan's. Besides, he had much bigger problems than some stone age tribes with 20th century weapons trying to impose their jihadist ideology on their neighbors.

  “Abe, if you don't do something, you'll have jihadists storming the West Wing to kill you, the great Satan.”

  A knock sounded on the study door. The door flew open. Secret Service Agent Williams stuck his head in. “Mr. President, the Joint Operation Center says security was breached in the Executive Office Building sixty seconds ago by a group of men in tac gear. The intruders might already be on the White House grounds. You are to follow me to the DUCC, sir.”

  “Told you so.” Eli's mustache twitched in what looked like a smirk. “Like I said, someone is going to shoot you someday, Abe.”

 
; The message from Agent Williams brought to mind another message, the threat made six weeks ago by Captain Craig, the Ranger commander.

  … know this, Mr. President, we are coming for you. Not just my detachment of highly trained men, but Navy SEALs and other Rangers, all trained to move into any area on the planet, without being detected, and carry out our mission.

  No one can stop us. Certainly not the gutless wonders you have placed in command. Some night you will awaken to fingers around your throat. They will be mine.

  Hannan swallowed hard, but the constriction in his throat wouldn’t go away. Surely Special Forces wouldn’t make an assault on the White House in broad daylight, would they?

  Williams’s voice yanked Hannan back to the present. “Mr. President, we're out of time.”

  Hannan unplugged his laptop, shoved it and some writing materials into the laptop case and slung the case over his shoulder. Sandwiched between two secret service agents, he scurried toward the elevators to the DUCC.

  Somewhere behind Hannan, Eli Vance's cane thumped on the floor at a surprising pace for the old goat.

  With the acute shortage of security personnel in the White House complex, Eli would have to fend for himself.

  Williams led Hannan to elevator number two and pushed the down button. The door slid open.

  A loud bang slammed Hannan’s head and a bright flash stabbed his eyes. The light had come from the far end of the hallway, near the lobby.

  The two agents shoved Hannan into the elevator, closed the door, and pressed the button for a high-speed descent to the DUCC.

  Hannan’s stomach flip-flopped as the elevator dropped like a rock. When they passed level 2, a grinding sound came from the back side of the cabin. Their descent slowed and the grinding noise grew louder.

  “We've got a problem,” Williams said. “We're nearly to level 4. If we make it to—”

  “If we make it?” He had Hannan's attention now. “Agent Williams, it's your job to ensure that we do make it.”

  Williams pulled on a red emergency handle and the elevator ground to a stop as it announced level 4. “We made it, sir, but this elevator is out of commission.”

  The doors opened.

  “We'll have to take the stairwell down to level 5, the DUCC.”

  “How far is that, Williams?”

  “One hundred twenty-five steps, if I remember correctly, sir.”

  “Williams … that flash and the explosion—what happened in the lobby?”

  “I heard gunshots just before the explosion. Though I couldn't see anything, if I had to hazard a guess, Mr. President, I'd say the guard outside is wounded or dead. ROTUS and Agent Brown got flash banged. They will probably be okay. And, whoever the attackers are, they’re in the West Wing, right now.”

  Hannan and the two agents scampered down the stairwell for about thirty seconds before reaching level 5.

  They exited the stairwell and hurried to the DUCC’s doorway. Williams pushed his face up to the retinal scanner. The bulky door opened with a loud click. Air hissed from the crack around the opening door. When it swung open, the hiss turned into a wind, blowing into Hannan's face.

  The three stepped through the door and into the intermediate chamber, where they would wait for the DUCC door to close and the pressure to stabilize in the chamber.

  A few seconds later, the final entry door to the DUCC opened. Hannan stepped through it to what he hoped was safety.

  He moved to a worktable and pulled his laptop from its case, along with a pen and a pad, and set them on the table. “Williams, how safe am I down here?”

  “Mr. President, even if the intruders get to the elevators, they have three security doors to get through, including the nuclear hardened door we just came through. Each door requires a person’s biometric information to be in the system or they don’t get access. You’re safe here, sir.”

  But what if someone actually made it to the DUCC? Hannan scanned the room containing a few rows of chairs, work tables lining the left wall, a large conference table in the center of the room, and several wall-mounted monitors on the front wall. The back side of the room had five doors on it, two for private workrooms, two for restrooms, and one for the hallway to the geek work room, home of the network monitors.

  Network monitors. He thought of KC Banning. If there was one traitor among the geeks, might there be more? “Agent Williams, who do we have on this level, right now?” Hannan sat at the worktable.

  “For your protection, Mr. President, we have myself and Agent Logan. Two military guards are covering the communication center down the hall. It’s swing shift now, so only two unarmed network security analysts are on duty there. On level 4, above, we have two security guards watching the video monitors. They’re armed, too.”

  “Are you sure the geeks are unarmed?”

  “Yes, sir. They’ve never been armed.”

  Was he being paranoid? No. There had been an attack on the West Wing and the attackers had probably gained a foothold there. Soon security forces would gather and either drive them out, or call the military to do that.

  But the DUCC seemed to be safe. No weapon—nuclear, thermobaric, human, or cyber—could reach Hannan here. But he needed to reach that thorn in his side, the brash blogger with delusions of grandeur, Brock Daniels. And no one could be allowed to hear Hannan's plans to make that happen.

  He looked up at Williams. “I need some privacy.”

  “Mr. President, that's what the workrooms are for. You need to—”

  “No, Williams. You and Agent Logan need to guard the door to the DUCC … from the outside. I'll call you when I need you.”

  Williams's frown brought his thick black eyebrows together. “But, we are responsible for your—”

  “You are responsible for obeying my orders. Leave. Now!”

  Logan opened the door and Williams shot Hannan an angry glance as the two men left Hannan alone in the room.

  He started the military comm software and placed a call to John Wiley, the lead NSA analyst tracking Brock Daniels.

  “Mr. President, I was about to call you, sir.”

  So Wiley knew who was calling. He had probably recognized Hannan through use of the computer program that Hannan was not supposed to be using. Eventually, there would be fallout from his violations of chain of command, but he wasn't going to dwell on that. It would only result in a massive headache. “Wiley, do you have any news for me?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Satellite tracking data showed us that a vehicle, we believe is the white van spotted near Happy Camp, arrived at the house of Julia Weiss about daybreak this morning. It parked in the garage. A few hours later, someone drove a black SUV from the garage to a remote location south of the small town of Sisters, Oregon.”

  Sisters? Six weeks ago, Blanchard had fought forces supporting Daniels near Sisters. “Do you know what's at that remote location?”

  “Yes, sir. Something called the Skylight Cave. It appears that our targets are trying to hide from satellite detection by going underground, literally.”

  Hannan picked up his pen. “Do you have the GPS coordinates of that cave?”

  “I do, Sir. But, isn't Harrison Brown handling—”

  “No, Wiley. I'm handling this one.”

  Hannan wrote down the coordinates and ended the conversation.

  He retrieved the info for the 75th Ranger Regiment, second Battalion, and located the contact information for one of the company commanders, Captain Scott. Hannan placed a call via the comm software to Scott's secure phone.

  “Captain Scott, here.”

  “Scott, this is the Commander-in-Chief. I spoke to your commander a short time ago. Are your men ready?”

  “Yes, sir. We have eight Chinooks fueled and ready. We’re awaiting your orders.”

  Hannan read the GPS coordinates to Scott. “It's a cave called the Skylight Cave. And here are my orders. Do whatever you have to do to make absolutely certain that none of the terrorists escape, even if it mea
ns blowing them to Hades, where they belong.”

  “Question, sir?”

  What was Scott thinking now? “Go ahead.”

  “If we can capture any of them without anyone escaping, should we—”

  “Only if you’re sure none of these treasonous little …” Hannan finished with a graphic vilification of these friends of Brock Daniels. “Do you understand, Captain Scott?”

  “I understand, Mr. President. No one will escape, even if we have to hit the cave with our SMAW and kill them all.”

  Chapter 32

  Julia wandered through their campsite in the cave, looking for something to do—anything that would get her mind off from Steve. She stopped beside Allie, who pulled a propane burner and a small canister from her backpack. In less than two hours, three hungry men would expect dinner and Allie, filling the mother role, was determined to prepare it for them.

  Allie stopped and read the back of a sealed package. “Stew for six people requires a half gallon of water.”

  “Allie,” Julia waited for Allie to look her way. “Don't use up all our drinking water. I'll go to the spring and get a gallon of water.”

  Brock looked up from the air mattress he planned to inflate. “All the comforts of home, except running water.”

  “And no bathroom.,” KC added.

  Jeff stepped off the ladder at the cave’s entrance. “Oh, there's running water. It's just a hundred yards away. But Benjamin dug us a latrine. It's not far from the entrance.”

  “It had better be far enough,” Brock said.

  “You got that right.” Jeff chuckled. “Because, after the inversion sets up in the evening, smells become concentrated near the ground and, in this cave, they'll come right down—”

  “Enough little boy humor from the little boys.” As she approached, Allie shot a disapproving glance at Jeff. “And don’t try to tell us it’s just meteorology, Mr. Weatherman.”