by Eric Meyer
“I guess he had some help, Salazar. You know you’re as crazy as a coot, don’t you?”
“You think I’m crazy? Let me show you something, Mr. Nolan.”
There was a security cabinet set into the wall. He opened the door and took out an envelope. He took out the contents only inches from Nolan’s eyes. They were photographs, photographs of his children, walking into school, and playing on the front lawn outside the house. Nolan strained at his bonds. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take the Colombian apart piece by piece.
“You leave my fucking children alone, Salazar! This is nothing to do with them. It’s between you and me. You’re dead, and whatever it takes, I’ll make sure that you’re hunted down and killed!”
The Colombian sighed. “In Colombia, we always take care of the children. If they grow up, there is always the chance they may take revenge for their parents’ death. It is much safer if they never have the chance.” He grinned. “Either to grow up or to take revenge. So I spit on your stupid threats. They are worthless, as is your own life.” His face lost the cruel smile, and he reddened with anger. “You think you can insult me and play stupid games, Mr. Nolan? You are nothing to me, nothing!” He nodded at the two bodyguards. “Break one of his arms. He needs to learn some manners.”
One of the men took out his pistol, a heavy old American Colt .45, and smashed it repeatedly against the wrist bones of Nolan’s left arm. He felt the bones breaking, and waves of pain welled through him, but he steeled his mind to ignore them, as much as he could. He knew the arm would be useless until he could get it treated, even if he ever got out of there. But for the time being, he had to stay alert and watch for any opportunity to stop Salazar. And save his children. He had one chance, and one only, the blade. They hadn’t found it in his collar when they searched him. The bodyguards made one last check of his ropes, and Salazar tossed the photos on the table. He walked to the end of the room and began fussing with the video camera, making it ready for his show. The bodyguards left Nolan and Jacks to join their master.
“Can you use the arm at all?” Jacks murmured to him when they were out of earshot.
Nolan shook his head.
Jacks grimaced. “You’ll need to get it treated as soon as our people get here, otherwise you could use the use of it altogether.”
“If we’re still alive.”
“It’s not looking great, Chief, but we’ll come out of it,” Jacks said tersely. “I’m sorry about your children. Are they anywhere he can get near them? I assume the photos are recent.”
“Yeah, they’re staying with their grandparents upstate. Somehow, Salazar found them.”
“Money talks. If you pay enough, you can find out anything.”
Nolan heard despair in his voice, and he looked across at the old man. He looked tired and beaten, and there were the signs of near-exhaustion in his eyes. But there was no fear. He knew that Jacks would be ready to go down fighting, if that was possible. They had to try, and Nolan had one last throw of the dice.
“We’re not finished yet, Admiral. How are your hands, do you have any movement in them?”
“Not a bit, sorry, Son. You got a plan?” The Admiral had become alert as he scented a chance to cheat death.
“I’m working on it, Sir. We’re not done for yet.”
“If you get us out of this, you deserve a commissioned rank, Chief. I’ll make sure you get one, too.”
“If you want to thank me, make sure I don’t receive a commission.”
“You don’t want to be an officer?”
“No, Sir. We Chiefs are too busy running the Service. Besides, I have the best job in the world, why would I want to change it?”
Jacks smiled. “I can’t argue with that. What can I do to help?”
Before he could reply, they both looked up. Salazar and his men were still at the other end of the Situation Room, and one of them shouted at his boss.
“Sir, the fighting has spread into the house. There’s a gun battle going on in the lobby. We haven’t much time.”
Salazar pondered. “We need to make sure they hold out for a little longer. I’ll go up there and give them some encouragement. They’re not in the West Wing yet?”
“No.”
“Very well, come with me. Are those two secure?”
“As the American Fort Knox, Mr. Salazar.”
“Yes, I’d like to mount a raid on that place one day and relieve them of their gold, and another lesson for the Americans. Come, we need to check on our men. They need some help.”
Nolan and Jacks watched them run out of the room to go up the stairs to encourage the defenders.
“He’s leaving his people to die,” Nolan muttered in disbelief. “Either our people will kill them, or his explosives will.”
Jacks nodded. “He’s a drug trafficker. Death is his business. By the way, we were talking about a way out of here. Any ideas?”
“You mean like the blade hidden in my shirt collar, Admiral.”
His eyes gleamed. “Yeah, something like that. If you shuffle your chair with its back to mine, I reckon I might be able to reach it.”
They moved their chairs around, and Jacks felt for Nolan’s shirt collar, but his hands were tied to firmly to the arms of the chair.
“I can’t reach it, damn. Can you get closer?”
“I’ll have to tip back against you. Ready?”
“As I ever will be, Chief.”
Nolan rocked his chair backwards and forwards, and it tipped at an increasing angle until his head literally fell into Jacks’ lap. The Admiral struggled to reach his collar.
“I’ve got it, Chief. Just give me a minute, and I’ll twist it around and cut the line holding my right hand.”
Nolan heard him grunting with effort as he tried to cut through the first bond. It took three minutes by his calculation, but he saw Jacks’ hand lift into the air.
“Got it. A few seconds, and I’ll be able to free you.”
Less than a minute later, both men stood at the foot of the stairs that led up into the Oval Office and out into the foyer where the fighting was at its heaviest. The sounds of gunfire were loud, and there was the occasional ‘crump’ of an explosion as someone used a grenade.
“Salazar, he’ll be back down here shortly,” Jacks reminded him. “He’ll want to attend my execution and make his escape. We could so with a couple of weapons.”
Nolan looked around the room, but there was nothing.
“I’ll go to the top of the staircase. There’s any number of weapons up there from the men who’ve been shot. I’ll be back in a few seconds.”
“If you meet him coming down, he’ll kill you.”
Nolan nodded. “I’ll just have to hope he’s otherwise engaged.”
He sprinted to the top of the stairs and into the West Wing. The fighting had spread into the interior of the building, and bullets zipped past his head as he looked out of the door. There was no way out, not until the battle had ended. In front of him a body lay on the floor, clutching an A4-M1. An identical rifle lay at their side. He rushed over to pick up the rifles one handed, wincing as raw pain lanced through his left arm. Then he looked down at the casualty. It was Gracia, her stomach drenched in blood.
Chapter Eleven
“Gracia, what happened, how bad is it?”
Her eyes opened. “Chief Nolan. I knew you would come. Did you find the Admiral?”
“Yes, he’s fine. We need to get you a medic.”
Her eyes looked into his, and he saw the pain. “It hurts bad. I think I’m going to die, Chief Nolan.”
“No, you’re not going to die.”
He looked around, but the hallway was empty of any fighting. It had swept past Gracia and past the doorway to the Situation Room. Of course, Salazar! He’d rallied his men and was ordering them to clear the West Wing of the enemy so that he could make his escape.
Where can I take Gracia?
There was only one place. He slung both M
4s on his shoulder, picked her up under his good arm, and carried her back down the stairs. Jacks stared at her as he staggered into the room.
“Who is she?”
“One of ours, Admiral. She’s been shot.”
“Put her on the table, and we’ll take a look at her. I’ve handled a few gunshot wounds in my time. I’ll do my best.”
“She means a lot to me, Sir.”
He glanced up. “Like that, is it?”
“Yes, it is. She was guarding the entrance so I could get down here. We can’t let her die.”
“As I said, I’ll do what I can. Watch the door, and leave the other M4 near the girl. If the fighting comes down here, I’ll be ready to use it.”
Nolan unslung one of the assault rifles for Jacks and went to guard the doorway, ready to kill any enemy who came down the stairs. He hoped Salazar would come into his sights. The thought of that man ordering the death of his children had seared through him.
No matter how long it takes, Salazar has to die!
Since Grace’s death, the children were all he had left to remind him of her. He would give everything to protect them, his life if necessary. He looked over at Jacks. The man had found some water in the bathroom, cleaned her stomach, and cut away her dress. The gunshot wound was clearly visible, still leaking blood.
“How is she?”
“Not good. I’ll do my best to stop the bleeding, but she needs the bullet removed and a course of antibiotics to prevent any blood poisoning. She needs blood, too, and some morphine if we can find any.”
“When our Seals fight their way through to us, they’ll have a medical kit.”
Jacks looked up. “It’s a start, but she needs an ER room, and quick. And you’re forgetting something. Even if they do fight there way through, Salazar will blow the place once he’s made his escape.”
“Do your best with her, Admiral. We’ll deal with the problems one at a time.”
He listened to the sounds of gunfire. They were getting nearer and nearer. Bravo Platoon and Castro’s Special Forces were pushing Salazar’s men back, and it wouldn’t be long before they were all over the West Wing. And then Salazar would come back down to execute the Admiral and make his escape. Unless the fighting got too hot, in which case he would almost certainly make his escape and blow the building. The Admiral would still be dead, and he’d only miss out on his plans to broadcast an execution.
Where is the tunnel?
That was the big question. He’d said it was in the basement, but did he mean the Situation Room, or somewhere else in this rambling building? He heard a shout of pain and looked back at the table. Jacks had gone for more fresh water from the bathroom, and Gracia had picked up one of the photos and stared at it. She recognized them as obviously surveillance photos of potential targets for murder or kidnap, and she sat up to look at the others. The pain had caused her to cry out. He shouted for Jacks, but the Admiral was already running to help her.
“Your kids, Chief Nolan?” she asked him, her voice a hoarse murmur.
He couldn’t lie to her. “Yeah, they’re mine, Daniel and Mary.”
“So they’re the targets for Salazar?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must kill him. You cannot fail.”
“I won’t, Gracia. But first we must get your wound treated. Try and hang in there. Our people will be here soon.”
“Yes.”
She lay back on the table, and her eyes closed briefly, then opened wide and stared at him. He understood the question in them. There was no need for words.
“We’re doing everything we can. You should be fine. We don’t believe the wound is fatal.”
She nodded and closed her eyes again.
Jacks had come out of the bathroom, seen him with Gracia, and picked up his M4 to guard the entrance. He shouted over to Nolan from his position just inside the doorway.
“We’ve got company.”
He grabbed his own M4 and rushed to join the Admiral. He could hear Spanish voices at the top of the stairway, Salazar with his bodyguards. They both started down the stairs. Nolan leaned close to Gracia.
“I have to go. They’re coming.”
She nodded slightly, but her eyes were tight shut as she did her utmost to cope with the pain. He picked up his M4-A1 one-handed and rushed to join Jacks. The footsteps were loud on the stairs, no more than twenty feet away. He raised his eyebrows at Jacks, who nodded. Both men stepped through the opening, stood at the foot of the stairwell, and loosed a long burst at Salazar and his men. They were both lucky and unlucky. Three of the bodyguards went down, killed or seriously wounded, yet Salazar survived. He shouted at his remaining man to shoot back, but it was unnecessary, the man had lifted his assault rifle and was firing as the two Seals jumped back behind cover. Bullets spattered all around them, and they waited for the fire to end. There was a loud ‘click’. The two men needed no explanation; the gun jammed. They leapt back through the doorway and fired again. The sole surviving bodyguard screamed as several bullets ripped into him, but Salazar had ducked out of sight. They heard his voice, loud and mocking.
“You think you have upset my plans, Mr. Nolan, but it will be the last time. Goodbye. Manuel, do it!”
They looked up and saw Rivera’s head appear over the top of the staircase. Then he started throwing grenades down the stairwell. They heard Salazar laughing insanely as bomb after bomb rolled around their feet. Both men shouted at the same moment.
“Grenade!”
Nolan dived one side of the door, grunting in pain as his injured arm made contact with hard concrete, and Jacks went the other way. The grenades went off, one after the other. There were six in all, and they produced a rolling thunder of explosions and hot shards of metal that slashed through the room. When the explosions ended, Nolan jumped up. He shouted to Jacks, but couldn’t hear his voice. His eardrums had been savaged by the violent detonations, but there was only one priority uppermost in his mind. Salazar.
“Look after Gracia,” he shouted at Jacks, hoping he could hear. Then he powered up the stairs, but there was no sign of the trafficker. He saw a movement in the corner of his eye and whipped up his rifle, but he recognized the figure of Will Bryce just in time.
“Will, have you seen Salazar?”
The big black PO1 shook his head. “No, we’re still mopping up. There’s no time to hunt him down until we’ve finished off the defenders.”
“He’s rigged the place to blow. There are explosives everywhere. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Jesus Christ! What about Jacks?”
“He’s safe, downstairs. One of ours is wounded, Gracia. She needs a medic badly.”
“I’ll get Castro’s medics onto it. He has a couple of good people.”
“Is the Captain okay?”
“He is, just a couple of scratches, but he’s lost over half his command.”
Nolan looked around the destroyed and smoking West Wing, but there was no movement; everyone was either dead or had run. Then he heard the distinct sound of a door closing. He looked at Will.
“It could be Salazar. Can you cover me? We have to get this guy. He’s trying to escape through some kind of secret tunnel.”
“I’m with you, Chief.”
They ran through the deserted building. When they came to the room where they thought they’d heard the noise, there was nothing to be seen. A dead body lay on the floor, one of Salazar’s men, and the walls were pockmarked with bullet holes. The door to the room had been blasted off its hinges, but there was nothing to indicate a door that led to an escape route.
“Where are we?” Will asked.
Nolan shook his head. “I’ve no idea, but it must be something pretty important. It looks as if it’s fitted for high level conferences.” Then it he recognized it, the huge, dark mahogany table; he remembered seeing it in pictures. “It’s the Roosevelt Room.”
“It doesn’t seem likely, Chief. If I was building a bolt hole, this is the last place I�
�d put it.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants people to think. Help me search this room, see if we can find anything. We both heard that click, and it sure sounded like a door or hatch closing.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Will nodded gloomily. But he took one side of the room while Nolan took the other. They tapped along the walls, then looked underneath the big conference table, nothing. “I don’t think it’s here,” Will continued. “We’ve searched everywhere. All that’s left is the fireplace, and I doubt he went up the chimney. Shouldn’t we be clearing out of here and warning the others?”
Something rang a bell in Nolan’s mind.
The chimney! Is it possible?
It sounded like something from an adventure film. And yet, Salazar had billions to spend in the most outrageous fantasies, of which the replica White House was one.
“Help me look around the fireplace. There could be some kind of a secret door.”
They searched around the huge, marble structure, Nolan knew that time was running out if there was to be any chance of stopping Salazar.
“Chief, there’s something here.”
He joined Will on the other side of the big fireplace where the marble uprights should have been cemented flush to the wall, and there was a tiny gap.
“Look around for something to open it with, Will. If this is it, there’ll be a hidden button or lever. There must be something.”
They tapped all around the ill-fitting marble, without finding anything unusual, or anything that could be used to open a hidden door. Nolan feverishly searched around the ornate marble structure, but there was nothing.”
“Maybe we’re in the wrong place,” Will murmured. “We could try out in the hallway.”
“Maybe, but something tells me we’re real close.”
“You stay here and keep looking. I’ll search outside.”
“Okay,” Nolan replied, his mind still searching for what they’d missed. He was sure it was there; it had to be. They heard a noise outside in the hallway, and both Seals turned quickly, their rifles raised, but it was Talley with Roscoe Bremmer. As they moved, Will caught his boot on the fire irons, the ornate, wrought iron implements that stood on the hearth. But they didn’t fall across the floor. Instead, there was a ‘click’ as the base that held the tools tipped over, and the fireplace moved at one end, revealing an opening about two feet wide.
