The Third Trumpet

by Anthony R. DiVerniero

  Richardson stared at the cocky wimp of a man. “Who are you—you little pissant?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Jer. I thought you knew.” Dean’s voice squeaked as he spoke. “I’m your boss.”

  Richardson laughed. “My boss? I work for the American people, not you.”

  “Interesting. How are your wife and children? Recovered from that accident?”

  “You little shit.”

  “I’ve been called worse. Senator, you’ll be contacted when you’re in Paris. Give the contact this book. Notice the seal and don’t break it. You understand?”

  “Get out of my office.”

  Essex turned on his heels. “By the way, don’t screw up or your family might not be saved next time.”

  * * *

  “So, you had my father’s original journal?”

  “Yes. I took it to the economic summit in Paris the following week. The maid at the hotel ended up being the contact. I gave it to her.”

  “How did you become the VP?”

  “No idea. Waldron and I detested each other. We often battled on the Senate floor. Our ideologies were so different. One day, Arthur called and asked me. The chairman of the party recommended it. The next thing you know, I’m his running mate. When I remembered what that bitch told me on September 11—that I would be president of the United States . . .” Richardson lowered his head as a wave of regret swept over him.

  “These people are evil, Giacomo. I became their accomplice because I didn’t have the guts to fight. My contempt for Trivette and Essex fueled the anger within me. When I commanded you to come back to the States, I wasn’t angry with you—I was mad at me. I hated myself. I’m tired of pretending, of always watching my step and making sure that when I speak, I don’t betray my true feelings.”

  “What caused you to change?”

  “My wife died . . . she became an alcoholic. She never recovered from the accident. The knowledge that her children almost died destroyed her. I want revenge. One day last week, Essex—”

  “Slapped you.”

  “How did you know?”

  “We had Tom’s staff under surveillance. One of the drones recorded your conversation with Essex.” Giacomo didn’t feel the need to tell him he was also under the watchful eye of the remote flying machines.

  The SUV made a quick jerk to the left followed by one to the right, throwing the occupants from one side than the other.

  “What the . . .”

  “Sorry, gentlemen—a deer in the road,” the Secret Service agent said.

  “Damn. Scared the hell out of me.” Arnaud muttered words in French that nobody understood.

  They laughed. It released the tension in the vehicle. A moment of intense silence accompanied the purr of the engine. The SUV came to a stop at a red light on Massachusetts Avenue.

  “When did you find out Bil changed his name to Trivette?”

  “Years later. After Payne died, Bil and Nava vanished. When the EU announced it had purchased the Iranian pipeline and introduced its new president, Eten Trivette, as the master architect . . . well, all I had to do was look at those hideous blue eyes. The rest is history.”

  “Do you want to make things right, Mr. President?”

  “I do. I want to destroy them, but I’m fearful for my children. I’m president of the United States, and I’m scared shitless. I can’t be protected forever. I’ve done enough harm.”

  “Tom, any objection that when you take office, BOET can protect the president and his family?”

  “Not an issue.”

  Richardson’s head bowed. “Thank you, Tom. I’m willing to accept the consequences of my actions. I wanna get these sons of bitches.”

  “We will. I have an idea.” Giacomo explained his plan to Maro and Richardson.

  “Will it work, Giacomo?”

  “Yes, to a point, Mr. President. Will we be able to stop Trivette and his plans, whatever they are? Possibly. As for Essex—we’ve got the bastard red-handed.”

  “We have company, gentlemen,” the Secret Service agent informed them as he unclipped his holster and pulled out his gun, placing it on his lap.

  A squad car flashed its red, white, and blue lights. An obnoxious siren sounded, stopped, then sounded again. The SUV came to a stop prior to Observatory Circle. The police vehicle parked twenty feet behind.

  Chapter 99

  The police officer stepped out of the squad car, his hand on his holster. He approached the right side of the SUV. The president rolled down his window. A second black SUV pulled up behind the police car.

  “Yes, Officer?”

  “Kindly step out . . .” He recognized the passenger and stepped back. “Are you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  The officer stuttered, “I’m sorry, Mr. President.” He began to run back to his patrol vehicle.

  Arnaud opened the left passenger door, his 9-mm drawn, and said something in French. The officer froze and turned, his gun drawn. Arnaud fired five shots into the cop’s chest.

  “What the hell! Arnaud?”

  Giacomo jumped out, followed by Jason. They ran to the downed man. Members of BOET jolted out of the second Chevy. They aimed their automatic rifles with laser sights as they scanned the perimeter. “Stand down, gentlemen.”

  Arnaud followed “He’s not police—he’s an imposter.”

  “I popped the trunk—there are two dead cops inside! Come on, we need to go!” Giacomo said.

  The three men ran back to the SUV and jumped in the vehicle.

  “Come on, move—move!” Jason shouted to the driver.

  The SUV came alive—lights flashed, sirens blared. The second SUV followed in close pursuit.

  Arnaud commanded, “Turn those off. He’s not here for your president. He’s here for us. He’s an assassin.”

  “Turn that off,” Jason commanded. “Arnaud, how did you . . .”

  “I recognized his face from Interpol.”

  “As expected, our enemies knew Arnaud and I are in the States, and they want us dead.”

  “And apparently they know you’re not at the Vatican embassy,” Maro said.

  “True. Jason, call our cleanup team. Keep the bodies hidden until tomorrow after I leave. Our prime responsibility now is to protect the president and Tom. Driver, stop the car. This vehicle is dirty goods. Some type of a GPS tracker must have told them where we were. Tell the backup POTUS is coming on board.” Giacomo leaned forward, his hand on Richardson’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jerry. Essex will disappear from your life tomorrow.”

  “Your words to God’s ears, Giacomo.”

  “Time is short now, gentlemen. Our window of opportunity is closing fast. If Essex finds out that we’re alive, we’re screwed. How far are we from the Vatican embassy?”

  “Less than two minutes, sir.”

  By the time Richardson cracked the door open, two BOET members were there to escort him to the waiting SUV.

  “Jason, did you scan this vehicle for tracking devices?”

  “Yes, earlier today.”

  “Guess that didn’t work.”

  Giacomo pondered for a moment. “Gentlemen, do you feel like taking a walk?”

  “Sure. Where to?” Maro asked.

  “Vatican embassy.”

  “Why not? I can use a bit of fresh air,” Maro said.

  “Tom, when we arrive at the embassy, Vatican security will take you home. Jason, go directly to the maintenance garage and tear this thing apart. Find that tracking device.”

  “Will do.”

  “Dave and Don are still in place?”

  “Yes. I spoke with them earlier.”

  “The three of us will meet you back at the base. I want to review the video footage at the facility. Jason, remember, the night’s not over. They want us dead.”

&nbs
p; Giacomo, Tom, and Arnaud exited the SUV. Two BOET soldiers sandwiched the men as they walked. One in front, the other trailed the three. An unmarked military vehicle hugged the curb thirty feet behind. As they trekked up Massachusetts Avenue to the embassy, Giacomo processed the story President Richardson had told.

  “Nava had the same gift as my father. That second journal your man discovered is likely hers. Do you think I can get a copy of it, Dad?”

  “I’m one step ahead of you. I emailed our janitor friend. Should have it tomorrow.”

  “Janitor friend?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about, Tom.”

  They arrived five minutes later. President-elect Maro departed in a Vatican diplomatic limousine followed by the BOET military vehicle. Arnaud stayed at the embassy under the protection of the Swiss Guard. Giacomo, Dave, and Don borrowed an embassy car from one of the service people and drove the Subaru to the BOET facility.

  Chapter 100

  The men arrived at the security gates of the BOET base in McLean, Virginia, at 10:39. The base housed seven buildings. A square-jawed, pug-nosed army sergeant approached the light blue Subaru Outback, an M20 carbine slung over his shoulder—his right index finger rested on the trigger. The muzzle of the gun faced downward. Yellow-orange lights illuminated the parking lot. A bright silver moon played hide-and-seek with the clouds.

  The driver’s window rolled down, and Giacomo flashed his credentials to the guard.

  “General, sir.” The sergeant saluted, his voice raspy and emotionless. With his left hand, he unclasped a holster and pulled out a retina scan gun.

  “At ease, Sergeant.”

  “Sir, kindly step out of the car, sir.” The no-nonsense soldier stepped back—his rifle loaded and ready.

  The men exited the car as a black armored Chevy Trailblazer pulled up to the inside gate. The right passenger door swung open, and Jason exited the vehicle.

  “Where are you from, soldier?”

  “Sir, step forward.”

  His name tag was pinned upside down.

  “Sergeant, I asked you a question.”

  “Sorry, sir. I have my orders.”

  Giacomo leaned forward—his eyes scanned. “So, Sergeant, where are you from?”

  “Sir, New York City, sir!”

  “You can relax, son.”

  “Sir, yes, sir!”

  “Yankees fan?”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s eyes surveyed the area.

  “They got a new pitcher. His name is Augustine.”

  “Sorry, sir. His name is Augliera—traded from the Red Sox.”

  “Correct, Sergeant. Fix your name tag, will ya? For a minute there, I thought you were one of the bad guys.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  The three men entered the guardhouse while the sergeant inspected the car. Giacomo approached Jason. “What?”

  “A little paranoid?”

  “Well, maybe a little. Where the hell did you find him?”

  “Gaines is an exemplary soldier, explosives expert. Two tours in the Middle East—Purple Heart, Medal of Honor on his last stint. He saved seven men in a border skirmish. He was stationed in San Antonio after the terrorist attacks, where he captured the two remaining members of the brigade. He plays by the rules—takes no chances. Be assured, he will place his life on the line.”

  “Glad he’s on our side. Now if only he knew how to put on his name tag.”

  “Man—you are so anal retentive.”

  “Thanks.”

  The steel and cement-block maintenance building was five hundred feet from the guardhouse. A snowbank lay against one side. The minimum-security structure was isolated from the elite military headquarters by a concrete wall and fortified gate topped with razor barbed wire.

  “Surprising . . . it’s not cold.”

  “Outside of the snowstorm we had last week, December’s been mild.”

  “Yeah, the same in Italy. Are we ready for tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be at the White House at three in the morning. The other men by six.”

  They approached the entrance to the building. Jason punched a series of numbers onto a keypad. A green light illuminated, and the door unlocked. The four men stepped over a jamb into the twenty-thousand-square-foot building. In the center of what could be a warehouse sat the SUV. The vehicle was on jacks. On the back wall, a staircase led to a second-floor office. From there, one could observe the inside of the facility through a picture window. Opposite the door was a group of wooden crates stamped “United States Army.” Throughout the structure were security cameras.

  “New facility?”

  “Nine months old. All incoming materials are delivered here for screening before entering the base. We also do our final staging here prior to mission deployment.”

  “Great idea. Did you find the tracker?”

  “Yes, hidden in the exhaust. It’s been destroyed.”

  “Anybody follow you here?”

  “No.”

  “Any idea how it got there?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Where’s your man?”

  “Inspecting the scanning equipment to see what went wrong. Come on—we’ll go upstairs and review the security video of the last twenty-four hours. Dave, you and Don go help Clovis.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Giacomo and Jason climbed the steps. An orange rotating light came on, followed a few seconds later by a blast of an air horn.

  Giacomo jumped. “What the hell was that?”

  “A warning. Low-level security personnel just entered the building. It’s the cleaning crew. They arrive at twenty-three hundred hours—eleven p.m.”

  Jason placed his right hand on a fingerprint scanner next to the door. After a few seconds, the office door clicked open. The men entered. The lights came on. Giacomo went to the window. He watched as the maintenance crew swept the floor below. To the left, a woman proceeded to go into the restrooms with mop and bucket.

  “How do they gain access to the building?”

  “A private entrance on the far side. We came in on the other side.”

  Jason crouched over a computer monitor, turned it on, and logged in. “We’ll be able to access video from here.”

  “What the hell? Jason, come here.”

  Jason walked over to the window where Giacomo still stood.

  “The second crate. Look!” As the general pointed, three men exited the wooden box.

  “Holy shit. How’d they . . .” Jason reached over to sound the alarm.

  “No alarm. We’ll surprise them. Come on, let’s go.”

  The men ran down the carpeted stairs. They rounded the flight of steps as gunfire erupted. Two assailants met them. Giacomo made a quick assessment, dropped to the floor, and kicked out the legs of one attacker. Jason did the same to the other one. With a sharp turn to his right, he used his forearm to crush the aggressor’s esophagus. The man lost consciousness.

  “This guy is done.”

  “Yeah. This guy too. They’ll be asleep for a while.”

  They seized the guns from the enemy as bullets ricocheted off the steel walls.

  “How many?”

  “At least three more.”

  There was a muffled explosion, and suddenly a five-foot hole appeared in the side of the building near the SUV. A rapid-fire machine gun opened fire. Tracer bullets could be seen coming through the new emergency exit.

  The two men hunkered down by the stairs. “What the hell, Jason?”

  “We need to leave—and now. We have to get you out of here.”

  “No, we’ll stay and fight.” Giacomo tilted his head to the right. “Don, Dave, and Clovis are pinned down by the car.”

  “I’ll cover you.”

  Crouching, the two men ran toward th
e vehicle, Giacomo first as Jason covered his back. Arms outstretched, they shot at the intruders by the wooden boxes. Giacomo dove headfirst while Jason slid feet first as he fired his 9-mm, killing one of the attackers by the crates. Their bodies came to a stop against the side of the truck.

  “Gentlemen, how are you doin’?”

  “Fine, General. Sir, I found this on one of them.”

  The soldier handed Giacomo a torn piece of paper. He read the words “Et Tu Spiritu Sanctus, protect the prophecy.” He placed it in his pocket as a rapid-fire machine gun released a storm of .50-caliber rounds. A man groaned—then silence.

  “General, General!” a loud voice echoed.

  Dave peered around the bullet-ridden front bumper. “Shit, General. That’s Sergeant Gaines from the guardhouse. Damn, he looks like frickin’ Rambo.”

  “General, the area is safe!” the no-nonsense soldier screamed.

  The five men behind the SUV counted seven dead bodies on the floor. Gaines swung around as he scanned for more insurgents. A cell phone rang in the distance.

  Gaines shouted. “Bomb! Bomb!”

  Giacomo saw the flash, then felt the heat of the incendiary explosive as it swept through the building. A wall of flame cascaded across the ceiling. The sprinkler heads unleashed a torrent of water. Thick black smoke and soot filled the air. Giacomo was stunned; his ears rang from the concussion.

  “General, are you hurt?”

  A whispered voice reverberated in his head. He yelled, “No!”

  The five men coughed and gasped as they escaped. The sirens of fire engines traveled through the air as they approached the base.

  “Clovis, go to the guardhouse. Shoot anybody who tries to enter,” Jason ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” said a six-foot soldier with blackened soot on his face.

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “My leg is burned. Other than that, I’m ready to go, General.”

  “You, Dave?”

  “Just a little ringing in my head—reminds me of when I played football.”

  “Jason?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “Dave, you and Don stay here. Meet with the authorities. The colonel and I were not here.”