Levi uttered a silent oath. Kruger had told him that a presidential look-alike would step aboard one of the helicopters as a component of the shell game. That was the decoy. But Kruger had said nothing about a decoy truck. As Levi glanced about for the real truck he realized that time had run out. He had to take Kruger down. Levi touched his .45—then froze as the wind shifted. He sniffed the air. Vanilla pipe tobacco. The wind was coming from the Mack truck. Swiveling his head he squinted and saw Baker, Tucker and Monica talking to the SWAT team leader not more than fifty yards away—but if they saw him, then they must be keeping it a state secret.
At least they’d known to be here. Avwatch’s SAR must have worked. But only Levi knew of the second truck—and that Kruger knew about the decoy president. He also had no facts regarding the third leg of Kruger’s triad—Amahl’s whereabouts, and his role. Nor did he know how many local soldiers were involved.
Kruger slapped Levi’s shoulder. “This is where we shove their vulnerabilities right down their liberal throats.”
As Levi turned to reply he caught Monica from the corner of his eye speaking into a portable radio. “So where’s the real truck, or do I gotta hold my breath?”
“It’s already in place,” Kruger mumbled. He watched the police activity around the dump truck, then pointed idly at the southwest corner of the White House grounds. “It’s on the far side of 17th, behind the Corcoran Art Gallery…” His body stiffened.
A tall, angry black man stepped into view from Kruger’s far side and glared at Levi with clenched fists. “Punk, you’d best be gettin’ your Nazi ass outta my ’hood.”
Levi brushed past Kruger and confronted him. “Kiss my Nazi ass.” He pointed at the dump truck and growled, “Or I’ll get me another truck and run your black ass over.” Then he jerked his thumb in the general direction of the Corcoran. “Now move, ’cause I don’t got no time for you.”
“You wait, white boy. I’m gonna get you.” He strode off muttering obscenities.
When he was far enough away, Tom Sawyer whispered into a hidden mic, “Levi hinted at another truck, and gestured toward a location west of the White House.”
The Secret Service had issued PDAs with state-of-the-art ground information software to select personnel. The ultra-private system provided inter-communications via real-time situational displays on the PDA screen. All friendly personnel and their vehicles were depicted—including the photo Monica took of Levi and his Swastika. She held the PDA entrusted to Dragon Team. She also carried a portable radio with Secret Service and Metro Police frequencies, along with the team’s own comm system. She was consulting her PDA as the sound of rotor blades began filling the air again.
At the moment, her screen portrayed an aerial view of the immediate area. The mansion was to the north, Treasury to the east and the Old Executive Building, aka the OEB, was to the west. The Corcoran Art Gallery sat cattycorner across the street from the OEB, placing it west of the South Lawn. Michael, Hacksaw and Dentz were at the northwest segment of the chess board, at 17th and Pennsylvania. They’d been the first to see Levi and Kruger. Tucker’s split stood guard at the southeast corner, with the White House centered between the two splits. They had all been in place when the SWAT team stormed the dump truck. Now as the rotors grew closer Monica turned to Baker. “Are they nuts? Someone should call them off.”
Heath Baker puffed calmly at his pipe. “No. We want them to continue.”
When Amahl heard the stun grenade’s muffled explosion near the White House, he looked over his shoulder. He doubted that casual observers would notice him as he hid in plain sight. At the moment, “plain sight” had him standing in the shadow of a sandwich shop, just across the street from the Corcoran. Still, he wondered if he’d pushed too far by coming here. But then he heard the helicopters returning, and felt a mixture of relief and disdain for the arrogance in allowing them to land.
Now he would enter history as the sole person to participate in the assassinations of two American presidents—and no one could ever dispute his power. Even the Arab world would tremble at his approach, as they now quivered in fear of global economic collapse. He scoffed at them. They had wished for this collapse, and now Cohen’s death would turn it into a reality.
He would take them all into the Abyss.
For the time being he took comfort in his hiding place, and watched the green dumpster truck idling in the Corcoran’s parking lot, a mere thirty yards away.
Levi couldn’t believe it—the helicopters were coming in despite the obvious hazards. He wanted to choke someone. As they made their final approach he turned on Kruger. “Where the hell are the others?”
Kruger said as he held the binoculars to his eyes, “Pete’s driving the truck. Potts and Bronk are manning the mortar.”
“What about Amahl?”
“He’s nearby,” Kruger replied, as the first helicopter threatened to drown his words. He waited until it flared to land and added, “Close to the truck.”
“Who else do we have on the ground? I should know.”
Kruger waited for the second helicopter to pass over. “They’re around.” An artery in his temple pulsed as he gave Levi a onceover, his eyes dark and bottomless. “How is it that you do not trust me?” Then he put the binoculars to his eyes and said, “You and I will walk, not run, to the Corcoran once Cohen’s been blown to bits. Amahl will meet us on the corner. A car will take us away.”
“And the truck?”
“Damn it. I told you already. It’s in place.”
Levi knew he would get nothing else, so he checked his six, glanced at the South Lawn as the third helicopter’s engine began winding down, then turned toward the dump truck. When Tucker looked his way, Levi touched a finger to his nose.
Kruger still had the binoculars to his eyes. “There’s Cohen number one, walking toward Marine One.” He panned to the right. “And here comes Cohen number two.”
Levi said, “And here I come.” He drew his .45, cocked its hammer and pointed it at Kruger’s startled face. “Federal agent. You’re under arrest.”
Monica was already notifying everyone of the existence of a second truck, but it takes time for alerts to filter through the various agencies. Meanwhile, Tucker sprinted across E Street with two Secret Service uniforms in tow.
Levi told Tucker and the officers, “He’s armed. Cuff him and get his radio. There’s another truck behind the Corcoran. Amahl’s somewhere near it. Get some units there. Now.”
Tucker grabbed Levi’s arm and slapped a portable radio into his open palm. He opened his mouth, shut it, then blurted, “You’re a good man, Levi.”
At mention of the name, Kruger roared, “Levi, is it? Humph. Levi, Biblical son of Jacob. How fitting…you and your deception, your false garments.” Then he quoted further, but this time with contempt, “Are you really my son Esau?”
Ignoring him, Levi grabbed a knit cap from his jacket and pulled it low over the Swastika, then spoke into his hidden mic. “Bronk. Hold fire. Repeat, hold fire.” He thought fast and added, “The Man’s going by limo. Repeat, he’s going by car. Correct fire. Traverse thirty degrees right.” He wanted a safety factor in case Bronk fired anyway. The Ellipse was a broad field—the rounds could go there.
An urgent voice broke in. “It’s a trick. They got Kruger…and Eric’s a cop!”
Levi cursed. He should have known. Kruger believed in layered protection. His own men had them under surveillance. Levi broke into a run toward the Corcoran.
Monica said over the air, “Michael? Have you seen a truck at the Corcoran?”
“A green dumpster truck went by just before traffic was halted. It turned onto New York Avenue. That’s near the Corcoran.”
She said excitedly, “That’s it. Michael—the dumpster truck tattoo on Brian’s stomach. Remember?”
He sounded dubious. “You sure?”
“Positive. Now haul ass while I put out the word.” There was a brief pause, and then her worried voice said,“I’l
l tell them there are undercovers, but be careful guys.”
Michael, Hacksaw and Dentz raced toward the Corcoran from the north, while Levi and Sawyer converged from the south. Tucker left Kruger with the officers and took off in pursuit. Monica and a surprisingly agile Heath Baker brought up the rear. They, along with Federal agents, local officers and Park Police mounted units, closed in on 17th and New York from all directions.
But by the time the presidential detail received the warning, they were already moving across the South Lawn toward Marine One. Levi ran full out. Was the protectee nearing the choppers the Man, or his double? Then he heard the sickening fooomp of a mortar launch and realized that no matter who he was, people were about to die.
Potts yelled again, “Fire! Fire for effect.” They were on a wooden platform inside the rear of the huge dumpster truck, just beneath the top hatch where trash is dumped. He covered his ears as Bronk dropped another round down the tube. It launched with a sharp fooomp, then arced over the Corcoran toward the South Lawn.
Pete was behind the wheel, engine running, prepared to charge toward their E Street escape route. He sensed rather then saw that they were about to be surrounded. His foot jerked toward the accelerator.
The first mortar round landed between the helicopters on the South Lawn with a dull whomp. The lead agent in Cohen’s detail yelled, “Attack on Principal.” Agents surrounded their man and hustled him toward the White House.
Another round ripped the air and landed with a crump, sending geysers of turf skyward. Chopper engines whined. A third round tore off the lead chopper’s tail rotor.
Meanwhile, Cohen’s decoy—it had to be the decoy—walked calmly toward the White House, trailed by a single agent.
Levi’s earpiece came alive. One of Kruger’s concealed spotters yelled, “Go for the one running!”
Amahl didn’t have a radio but sensed something amiss. Too many people were converging on the Corcoran. He huddled in the shadows of a doorway while stunned civilians turned toward the explosions. Amahl had no interest in the noise. He watched to see who turned toward the truck. They would be the enemy.
Pete caught a flash of movement in his mirror. “Screw this,” he yelled, and pulled the air brake knob as another round whooshed from the tube. The brakes released. He shoved the transmission into gear and stomped down on the accelerator. The overhead stacks vomited black smoke as the 871 Detroit Diesel kicked in. He was turning toward the exit when a black Suburban swept in from E Street. It shuddered to a stop, blocking his way. Two officers leapt out. They aimed P-90 submachine guns at the truck. Pete cursed, stood on the brakes, and put his hands on top of his head.
Levi saw Michael turn the corner from 17th onto New York. Hack and Dentz were right behind him. Another round erupted from the truck. Its explosion echoed against the OEB—and masked the sound of a pistol being fired from across the street. Its bullet tore through Michael’s neck. He collapsed instantly. Bright red blood spurted from a nicked carotid artery.
Dentz swept past Michael and charged after the terrorists.
Hack keyed his mic and yelled, “Man down,” but didn’t stop.
Sawyer fell in behind the Suburban and aimed at Pete. Monica and Baker brought up the rear. Tucker was hard on Levi’s heels as Levi turned onto New York Avenue.
Levi saw Michael’s wound and died inside. He dropped to a knee, shoved a finger inside the bullet hole, and shouted, “Stay alive.” He felt Michael’s blood pulsing against his finger. Levi needed help. And, he could not remove his finger.
Then he spotted movement to his right. He aimed his .45 at a shadow. Amahl bolted from it, running west. Levi yelled, “Amahl!” The terrorist whirled. Levi leveled his sights. He tightened his finger on the trigger. A frightened citizen fleeing the area collided with Amahl. Levi held fire. When he looked again, Amahl was gone.
Potts put his hands in the air and yelled, “Don’t shoot,” and moved to the side of the truck where officers could see him. Hack and Dentz closed in. Sawyer approached from the other direction. But none of them saw Bronk until too late. He’d already slipped over the blind side with his MAC-10. Gunfire erupted from two directions.
Levi heard the submachine gun chatter. He saw bits of pavement fly as rounds bracketed Hack and Dentz. Bronk was behind the truck. Where was Amahl?
Bronk called out. “You’re dead, Eric. You hear? Dead.” He unleashed rounds at Levi but they sprayed helter-skelter.
Hack and Dentz dove for cover.
Levi, trapped with Michael, needed to flush Bronk from his cover. He yelled, “Bronk. I hear you can’t get it up.”
Bronk stepped from behind the truck, and leveled the MAC-10 at Levi. At the same time, Amahl popped up from behind a brick planter.
The MAC-10’s heavy slugs chewed the pavement. Levi fell across Michael to shield him. He saw Amahl taking careful aim.
Tucker yelled, “Levi! I’m at your six.”
A heavy slug tore the pavement near Michael’s leg. Levi made a snap decision. He swung left and squeezed the trigger. The .45 barked. He swung right. But Amahl pulled his trigger first.
Tucker leaped forward. Amahl’s bullet tore into his armpit. He dropped to the pavement in front of Levi. Levi reared back, finger still in the dike. He got Amahl in his sights again, but too late—he’d dropped behind the planter. Then Levi heard rapid footsteps. From behind.
“It’s us,” Baker shouted. “We’ve got your back.”
Levi glanced at Bronk. He lay in a pool of blood. He could see Hack and Dentz advancing on the truck with pistols at the high-ready.
Baker reached his side. “How’s Michael?”
Levi watched the planter. “I don’t know.”
A cacophony of sirens erupted. Screams. Running people.
All at once Baker yelled, “Watch it!” He spun and drew his pistol. A breeze fanned his jacket. Then…
BANG.
A round tore through Baker’s coat tail. He fired twice. Loud reports.
Levi heard a grunt. A body hit the pavement with a thud. He caught Baker in his peripheral vision—knew he was unhurt. “I’ve got Michael,” Levi said. “Amahl’s at my twelve. Send Monica against him in a pincer attack.”
Amahl popped up. An officer closed in from behind him. Monica barred Amahl’s only escape. He turned cruel eyes on her. “You are a woman. Stand aside.”
Monica took aim from feet away. “Freeze, or I’ll take your head off.”
Amahl whirled and shot from the hip.
Monica fired. Double-tap to the chest. One to the head. Amahl crumpled. She advanced on him, pistol trained on his head. The officer rushed forward, and cuffed Amahl’s lifeless hands behind his back.
“You sick Jihadist bastard,” Monica said. Then she holstered her weapon and sagged against a tree as the shakes began.
A Metro officer appeared at Levi’s side. “I’m a tactical medic,” she said while edging him away. As she went to work on Michael, Baker pressed a linen handkerchief against Tucker’s rib cage, an inch below his armpit. Levi saw an officer hovering over the body of a local skinhead. A Browning Hi-Power lay on the street next to him. Baker’s two rounds had slammed into his throat and exploded out the back of his neck.
A Secret Service uniform sergeant bent over Baker. “We’ve captured two more of the guys that were shooting at you from behind.” Then he whispered something that caused Baker’s eyebrows to shoot up.
Baker got Levi’s attention. “Kruger’s escaped.”
Levi felt his jaw drop open. “What?”
As an ambulance turned the corner and ground to a stop with squealing brakes, Baker explained. “The uniforms turned him over to a Secret Service agent. The agent said he could handle things on his own. Kruger overpowered him. He vanished.”
Levi leaped to his feet and uttered an oath. “There are a million places he could go now.” He watched Michael’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall. The police paramedic had staunched the blood, and now Levi bent down and grasped Mic
hael’s hand. He said into his ear, “I’m here, Michael. I’m taking you home.” He thought he felt Michael’s hand tighten, but couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he still had duties to attend to.
He went to Tucker. “Michael’s gonna make it.”
Tucker’s lips formed a word. “Good.”
“What were you thinking, Tuck? Amahl was firing wild. That round would’ve missed me.”
Joe Tucker tapped his finger against the ballistic vest beneath his shirt. Then he drew an audible breath. “Had vest. Took the…” he coughed, “…risk.”
Levi squeezed Tucker’s shoulder, then moved aside as a paramedic stepped in. Next, he embraced Monica. But he knew she was tough and had it together. After a few private words he released her and turned away.
Joining Hacksaw at Bronk’s body, Levi gestured at the neat round hole that had once been Bronk’s Swastika. “Perfect aiming point. It’s as if he opened his front door to me. As if…” His body went rigid. Front door. Oh, hell. He pushed past Sawyer and confronted Potts with a cold stare.
Potts had a cornered animal look. “I’ll cooperate fully. You want info on other cells? I’ll give them up.” He licked his lips. “Listen, there’s this SAC in California…”
“Shut up.” Levi leveled him with his eyes. “You ran Michael Bailey’s prints. I have two questions. One: did you obtain his home address? Two: did you give it to Kruger?”
Potts looked down and nodded.
Levi returned to his fallen comrades and said to Baker, “I’ve gotta go.”
Baker stood over Tucker. “Forget it. You can’t go anywhere. This is a homicide scene. The Bureau has to debrief you.”
“You’re wrong. This is a fresh pursuit. I know Kruger. He needs to take control. I know where he needs to go—Michael’s residence. I’m taking Hack and Dentz there now. Kruger won’t attack until dark. I’m sure of it. But I’ll call Maryland State Police. They have a barracks nearby. They’ll make sure Nadia and the boys are safe.” He pressed his lips together, then told Baker, “I’m outta here. I’ll call your cell in a few.” With that, Levi turned on his heel and took off running.
Cobra Clearance Page 27
