by Rex Fuller
Sandoval quietly commanded, “Cut the power. Cut the phone.”
“This is Jean Charboneaux.”
Corrigan leaped in.
“Senator, John Corrigan, this has to be very fast. You know Kelly Hawkins. We’re going to patch you to her because the Pierces don’t trust us…”
Kelly nearly jumped out of her skin when the cell phone rang in her hand.
She did drop it.
Horton was watching the vehicles close in.
…Sandoval…you cannot let them turn down the road to the house…you might never get in front of them…stop them Santos…stop them Santos…
Fitzgerald panicked a moment.
…GOT TO GET THE JACK PLATE OFF THE WALL…calm down… there’s probably all manner of tools and knives about this house and grounds… there is no rush…
For the first time Horton started tapping the tips of his fingers on the surface in front of him, at a rate of about 400 taps a minute.
…get out in the middle of the road Santos…answer the phone Hawkins…
Kelly managed to keep her eyes on the vehicles in front. The phone ringing in her lap didn’t weigh enough to register through the folds of her trench coat. She reached down blindly and felt around for it.
As Fitzgerald was walking to the kitchen to search for tools, the outside lights went off.
…power failure…?
He ducked around trying to find a view through a window to see if lights were on somewhere else in the vicinity.
Kelly found the phone in her lap and on the sixth ring…
Up ahead in the lead truck, Harlan turned on his blinker to turn right toward the house, more than a little disturbed to notice the power go off. It rarely went off and for it to happen when a guest was coming…
All eyes of the action team watched the three vehicles approach the intersection to turn. Horton was nearly beside himself with frustration with Sandoval for waiting so long. The price of failure haunted them all as in a single mind.
Media coverage will not say, “Despite impossible time constraints, and incomplete intelligence, a spy for China was captured”…
Instead, it will say “Despite high tech surveillance aircraft warning of their approach, three innocent people who government agents sought to protect, were killed in a battle between the FBI and one of their own rogue agents…”
In his soft steady voice, Sandoval commanded, “House Team, Go…
Without turning their lights on, because the drivers were wearing night vision goggles, the trucks bearing the remainder of the Hostage Rescue members roared to life and dashed into the intersection while the oncoming vehicles were just yards away, preparing to turn.
The members who cut the power and phone had already started running to their assigned locations around the perimeter.
Sandoval, as if ordering maple syrup with his pancakes, intoned, “Car Team, Go…”
Fitzgerald rummaged through kitchen drawers for a screwdriver or thin bladed knife.
…everyone has a junk drawer, where is it…worse comes to worst pry the plastic jack plate until it breaks right off of the screws…
“Hello, Kelly Hawkins.”
Horton was still tapping and involuntarily whispered, “Please, God, let the Senator stop them.”
“Kelly, where y’at, cher?”
“Senator, believe it or not, I was about to call you.”
“My friend, trust me now, hear? If that’s you and the Pierces in three cars near their house, stop. Honk you’ horn. Flash you’ lights. Just do stop right in the road!”
The State Patrol Swat Team vans pulled into the intersection without their lights on, just ahead of Harlan getting there, spun gravel and accelerated down the road in front of the house.
Finding no screwdriver right away, Fitzgerald took an assortment of knives with him back to the living room.
The HRT trucks pulled into the driveway, killed their engines and glided to a stop. The members from the first trucks spread in a circle around the house on the side from which Fitzgerald approached. The members from the second circled around opposite. The members from the third split into two groups. One with Sandoval in the lead went to the back door. The other went to the front door.
Fitzgerald was so intent on the jack plate he paid no heed to the sound of cars passing in front.
“What, Senator?”
“You be honkin’, flashin,’ and stoppin’ my friend?”
“No…I mean, all right.”
The Senator and the Situation Room heard the honking through his phone. The action team barely made out the brightening and dimming lights on the satellite display.
Fitzgerald heard it too.
…lunatic local beer swillers…
Harlan had seen the vehicles pass in front of him at the intersection and slowed involuntarily, wary of the haywire goings on with five trucks and vans zipping around with their lights off and the crazy thump music clumping throughout the country side.
Captain Schneider’s lead van sailed past the driveway, on to the intersection of the road where Fitzgerald’s car sat with its lights ablaze, slowed and turned toward it.
The second van slowed at the driveway. The rear door opened, one man stepped out and stationed himself in the driveway, just feet away from the road. The door shut, the van proceeded on to the intersection, slowed, and turned.
The first van arrived at the car and angled to a stop blocking an escape to the rear. The door opened and four members spilled out and spread down the road, then crossed the ditch and advanced toward the house.
The driver of the first van opened the door, jumped out and punctured the tires on the passenger side only with a knife, to force it into the ditch if driven, then crossed the road and took a station at the fence just north of the tree line, where Fitzgerald had minutes before crossed over.
“Okay, Senator I’m stopping them. They’ve slowed down enough for me to pass.”
The honking irritated Fitzgerald.
…so close to getting the jack plate off…
The second State Patrol van slid to an angled stop blocking the front of the Fitzgerald’s car.
The three members in the back and the driver raced to catch up with the previous cadre.
Harlan and Kathy were stopped in the road. Kelly pulled up along-side.
“Okay, Senator, we’re all stopped. How did you know…”
“Bless you, my friend. I got a good story to tell you.”
The teams at the front and back doors stared at the second hands sweeping around the dial faces of their watches. The State Patrol members had taken positions and stopped. It was eerily quiet. Twenty five seconds after the last truck stopped, gloved hands on both doorknobs turned and eased the doors open.
Fitzgerald heard the squeak of the back door, then a creak at the front door, and turned his flashlight and his head to look.
…the sun…?
BAMM
The flash blinded, and the concussion blasted Fitzgerald. He pitched sideways head first against the wall.
BA-BAMM SSS—SS
The tear gas canisters went off and in moments Fitzgerald was unable to see or breathe properly.
He wiggled to the floor hoping to get under the cloud. He reached back with one arm for the Mack 10. He was caught by that arm and slammed down to the floor.
Hands gripped his other arm and dragged it behind him. Others fastened on his legs pinning him under the weight of their owner. A knee crashed on his head and neck. Cuffs clicked around his wrists and ankles. Someone shoved his head to one side. Tape hit his mouth and eyes. Knife-sawn, the strap parted and his weapon went away. Team members frisked him for other weapons, brought him upright and carried him along. His feet dragged on the floor, across the front door threshold, over the porch, down the steps, onto the grass. He was dropped. Dazed, blinded, shackled, silenced, breathless, and harmless.
He could hear footsteps. No one spoke.
Two team members re-entered the hou
se. One picked up the four grenade canisters. The other raced up the stairs, checked each of the rooms for fire. They cleared the house for occupants and casualties and found none.
Kelly, Harlan, and Kathy jumped with the explosions.
“My gosh.”
“What…”
“The house…”
Sandoval pulled out his picture of Fitzgerald, shined a flashlight in his face and ripped off the eye tape.
He nodded, it’s him. A team member quickly sloshed Fitzgerald’s face with canteen water and daubed his nostrils with moistened Q-tips to remove the tear gas and any threat to Fitzgerald’s ability to breathe.
Fresh tape smacked across his eyes. The tape from his mouth was ripped off to insure he was breathing normally. He was. Fresh tape whacked across his mouth again and a slit was cut for an air passage through his mouth. He was boosted up again, dragged to a truck and half-thrown in the back. The tailgate slammed shut behind him. Two team members clambered into the back. A driver jumped in and the truck wheeled around, drove out the driveway, turned right, went up to the intersection, turned right again, whipped down the road to where the State Patrol vans were parked and slid to a stop.
The team leaped out, clanged down the tailgate, grabbed Fitzgerald’s feet and pulled him out the back. The driver went and opened the rear door of the van in front of the car. The team hustled Fitzgerald to the van and shoved him in, pushed his feet out of the way, slammed the door and locked it.
The man who had stayed at the car took a new position at the rear of the van. The others got back in the truck, and it swung around and pulled away.
Sandoval heard, “Target secure. Ready for re-launch in five zero seconds.”
32
Kimberly Burke heard a message in her phone and announced, “FBI has secured a device from the law office in Washington.”
The Senator finished the short and narrow gauge version of the story he knew for Kelly, Harlan, and Kathy now huddled around Kelly’s phone.
“That be it from me, my friend. God speed, cher.”
“Thank you, Senator.”
Horton took the Charboneaux-Hawkins call off the speakerphone when the Pierce vehicles stopped.
All eyes watched the vehicles and figures play across the screen in silence.
Finally, Sandoval’s quiet voice announced the status.
“Target secure. A device remains in the wall where the phone jack plate was. Zero casualties. Ready for re-launch, now.”
Horton clicked the White House switch board button for the speakerphone.
“White House.”
“Horton for the President.”
“Progress, Craig?”
“Sir, a total of three devices have been recovered, one each at NSA, the Washington office of the Pierces’ lawyer, and one at the Pierce home. The Pierces are safe and unharmed near their home. Fitzgerald has been apprehended. There are no casualties. The possibility remains that accomplices will turn up at FBI, NSA, or even at the Pierce farm. We have no indications of that, however. Additional devices may be out there somewhere. If so, they are most likely in places where Fitzgerald had access and will probably be discovered. FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team, the Nebraska State Patrol, and the crew of Joint Stars One Niner captured Fitzgerald. Attorney General Corrigan personally provided timely information to insure the safety of the Pierces.”
He paused confirming his own thinking, “I recommend that you authorize this operation to stand down to normal alert status.”
The briefest of pauses ensued.
“Craig, I have State and Defense with me now. Come on up to help us with the China angle. My deepest thanks to all. Fine, fine work. Stand down.”
The disconnecting ping was welcomed with a few quiet fists in the air but Horton still had the floor.
“Did you hear that, Santos?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Pass the word to everyone there. Then we’ll get you back to Chicago in time to slip into your own bed.”
“No hurry.”
“You, HRT, and the State Patrol are released once the FBI secures Fitzgerald and the scene for criminal investigation.”
“Good working with you, sir. Sandoval out.”
“Joint Stars?”
“Here, sir.”
“Did you hear the President?”
“All of us here did, sir.”
“I have to add my own congratulations. Superb station-keeping and surveillance. We never lost the picture, even for a blink. Tell Maintenance they put up fine equipment.”
“We all heard that too, sir. I’ll feed your words to Maintenance now. Thank you.”
“You’re released, Colonel.”
“Joint Stars out.”
The ping of the secure speakerphone brought everyone to the crisp realization that now, only those present were listening.
“FBI, pick up Fitzgerald, get the scene secure, and the investigators out there as soon as possible to give those people a break.”
“They’ve been on the way since we picked up the Chinese. Initial ETA eight minutes.”
“Very well, good work, as soon as they lock on, you’re released.”
“Attorney General?”
Corrigan braced.
…he doesn’t ask when addressing someone in the room…
“Here, sir.”
“You spoke up when you needed too, when the pressure was against it. You did the right thing. You have my respect, sir.”
“Thank you…”
His throat gurgled, and despite himself, relief surged through his heart.
“All of you…you came through flawlessly. Great work. With the previously stated exceptions, you are released.”
The reactions varied wildly. Horton lifted his eyes toward the heavens and his lips moved in unmistakable thanksgiving. Several pairs, including John Corrigan and Kimberly Burke, warmly embraced. Some clenched fists. Some bowed their heads.
None would ever forget it.
Kelly, Harlan, and Kathy again huddled around Kelly’s cell phone for a brief description of the operation from Attorney General Corrigan indicating the involvement of the NSA, CIA and Justice Department since that morning, spurred by the Kelly’s motion. Trucks began approaching from the house and Kelly said those on her end of the call should be excused to resume later.
Harlan, Kathy and Kelly stood in the road watching as much of the activities as they could make out, somewhat put off by the continuing blare of what Harlan called “Boom-Boom” music.
They saw a truck pass in Harlan’s lights, on the way back to the original launch site. Moments later the hip-hop blast stopped. As the truck was returning, another came up from the house and turned toward them.
Just before it stopped, its lights went off to prevent them from shining in the eyes of the group standing in the road.
A man emerged from the truck wearing a black jump suit, and an unfastened protective vest. His hair was jet black and thick. He had a broad nose and full lips. His eyes softly spoke of kindness and his smile fairly warmed the space around him. He was carrying a phone in each hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, Ms. Hawkins?”
“Yes.”
“Let me introduce myself. I am Santos Sandoval of the FBI and I have a phone call for Mr. and Mrs. Pierce.”
“Well.”
He handed each of them a phone. Sandoval shook Kelly’s hand and motioned for her to follow him down the road. He whispered to Kelly.
“The President wanted to have a private conversation with them.”
Kelly glanced back. They were listening very intently.
“Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, this is Claxton Martin. Can you hear me well?”
“Just fine, Mr. President.”
“May I have a few minutes here with you privately?”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“First, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for what has happened to your family…”
Kathy’s eyes began to glisten. H
arlan put his free arm around her shoulder.
“…what happened to your daughter should never have happened at all. Although the precise chain of events is not yet clear, I promise you that we will find out what happened and when we do, we will let you know. In the meantime, we will certainly keep you informed as best we can, through your attorney if you wish.
“Second, and more importantly, what your daughter did will not only help us find out what happened, it will help us do what we need to do to prevent the like from happening again.”
Kathy was unable to speak the words she intended to say and mouthed “Thank you,” to Harlan.
Harlan was only marginally in better control of his voice.
“Mr. President…that means so very much to us…my wife says to tell you ‘thank you’ because she is crying and can’t…it is just a great relief to know Samantha’s memory won’t be stained the way it was…”
“Mr. Pierce, your honesty and sincerity humble me. If you would kindly agree, I would feel greatly privileged if you would come and see me in the White House.”
“Sir, thank you for the kind invite…as you know we have some chores here now…”
