Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent

by Joe Nobody

  His eyes never leaving Terri’s face, the man across from her paused for a moment. With a completely different tone of voice, he asked, “Are you cold?”

  “Yes.”

  Turning to one of the guards, the questioner said, “This young lady is cooperating so far. Please provide her with a blanket.”

  Without acknowledging the command, the man left immediately and returned a short time later with a plain wool blanket. The guard unceremoniously handed over the cover and returned to his position beside the wall. Terri wasted no time draping the wool cloth around her shoulders. She looked at her interrogator and said, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet, young woman. We have a lot to talk about, and I can just as easily have that luxury taken away. Now, back to our business. How long before he was killed did you find our cowering chief executive?”

  “It was approximately 30 minutes . . . maybe a few more . . . maybe a few less.”

  “And was the Commander in Chief in your presence the entire time between his discovery and eventual death?”

  “Yes . . . as far as I can remember. I’ve already answered all these questions for the Army and Agent Powell. Why don’t you just. . . .”

  “Guard! Remove the blanket and this woman’s blouse.”

  In a flash, the blanket was ripped away, and then Terri’s shirt was literally torn from her body. She sat breathing heavily, her arms crossing in modesty to cover her underwear. Terri’s fright was soon replaced with anger, the pressure building in her throat. The man across from her seemed to sense her reaction and spoke before Terri could erupt.

  “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I can have you bound naked on the cold floor and use any number of pain inducing devices on your body. We can play with extreme heat, electrical shock, and simple blunt-force trauma—the options are practically endless. I’d prefer not to invest the time, but I will utilize those measures if you don’t cooperate.”

  Terri nodded, icy fingers of fear spreading through her chest.

  “Besides you, did anyone else speak with the president before his was shot?”

  Terri replayed that fateful afternoon in her mind. After a bit, she responded, “No, not that I can recall. He spoke with my husband and Powell after he fell, but before that I think I was the only one.”

  “If I asked you to repeat your entire conversation with the president, would you be able to do so?”

  It took some effort for Terri to focus. The room was very cold, and she hadn’t eaten since the night before. The potential violence in the man across from her had filled her mind, and it was difficult to concentrate.

  “I think I could . . . at least most of it.”

  Her captor must have noticed Terri shivering. He motioned for the guard to return the blanket.

  Waiting while Terri adorned herself in the cover, the man rubbed his chin.

  “This is a very common interrogation technique called positive reinforcement. Rewards are easy when you do as instructed. Punishment will be harsh when you don’t. Now, tell me everything you can remember about the time you spent with the president. Start at the beginning and leave out no details—no matter how small or insignificant.”

  It suddenly dawned on Terri that she wasn’t going to survive. The man across from her was well dressed and powerful. Obviously, he was either wealthy or influential. There was no other explanation for his command of the men around him, regardless if they were sworn or hired. Given his line of questioning, his genre was most likely political and that meant one thing—he wouldn’t leave any witness to his crime alive. Dead pregnant women tell no tales.

  Given the realization of eventual death, her panicking mind could form only one strategy—stall for time. She had to drag this out in hope that Bishop or someone would locate her. Time was her only weapon. The man wanted to know details. He wanted her to talk, so talk she would. Conversation ate time.

  “Before I begin, I need to tell you what was going on that day; otherwise my conversation with the president won’t be clear.”

  The interrogator smiled, “Providing a context makes sense, please proceed.”

  “The town of Alpha was divided into two camps. A group of escaped criminals controlled most of the town and a church congregation trying to hold out. The leader of the church was. . . .”

  The gentle knock on the door had the desired effect, bringing Moreland out of his deep sleep. The shades had been drawn over the row of windows lining the executive cabin aboard Air Force One, denying the sleepy man any reference to the time of day. Despite a moment of not knowing where he was, Moreland answered, “Yes?”

  “Mr. President, good morning, sir. This is your wake up call,” sounded Agent Powell’s voice through the thin door.

  “Thank you, Special Agent. I’m awake.”

  The door opened and a young Air Force steward pushed past the Secret Service man, opening two of the shades, while Moreland rubbed his eyes. “Would coffee, eggs, and toast be agreeable this morning, sir?”

  Moreland took a moment to sort out the question. “Well, thank you for the offer young man, but I typically like fruit in the morning. Where’s Wayne? He should fill you in on all of my odd personal habits.”

  The steward looked at Powell, expressing perplexity over the question. Powell scowled, his brow knotting tightly. “Mr. President, Wayne left the base early this morning. He said you had given him the day off to visit his sister. He had an authorization bearing your signature to requisition two vehicles.”

  Moreland’s head came up, a questioning look on his face. “That doesn’t make any sense. Wayne’s sister died almost a week ago. It was the first vacation he’d taken in years. I wonder if he means to visit her grave.”

  Powell didn’t like what he was hearing. When a new administration came to Washington, it wasn’t uncommon for friends, family, and political allies to abuse the power of the office and their relationship to it. Most of these instances were minor infringements, such as inviting friends to the White House without informing the Secret Service, or showing up at Andrews and demanding a tour of Air Force One. Powell had learned a long time ago to gently but firmly squash any such activity or it would get completely out of hand. Signing the president’s name, however, was a serious breach.

  “Mr. President, did you sign an authorization for Wayne to use those assets?”

  Moreland waved off the question. “No, I didn’t. Wayne can sign my name so well that I can’t even tell the difference. He’s been with me a long, long time, Agent Powell. I’ll remind him my John Henry is a more sensitive matter from now on.”

  The soon-to-be chief executive seemed to be pondering his conversation with his aide when he stopped and looked at Agent Powell, “Did you say he requisitioned two cars?”

  “Yes, sir. He stated that he needed two because he was taking half of your former security force with him in case there was trouble while he visited his sister.”

  Moreland chuckled, “Well that’s odd. We only brought two of those large young men with us on the flight. Why would he need two vehicles?”

  Powell suddenly found himself on the balls of his feet, his instincts sounding an alarm. “Sir, I was there. He had seven heavily armed men with him. Are you sure you only brought two security men with you?”

  Moreland frowned, “I know I’m old, Agent Powell, but I’m not senile. Besides, the plane we flew only holds six passengers. How could Wayne, seven others, and me all fit?”

  Powell had to admit the senator had a good point. His mind started replaying the encounter this morning, trying to piece together the puzzle. Was Wayne being kidnapped? Clearly, the man had been nervous, but Powell had written that off to concern over leaving the confines of the base. The agent then remembered the equipment the security force was carrying. Thermal imagers, night vision, Infrared lasers, and weapons even he couldn’t identify. I need to brush up on my hardware, he thought. I’m supposed to know what’s available. This is the second time in the last fi
ve days I’ve seen something new out here in the middle of nowhere.

  A streak of understanding flashed through the agent’s mind as he connected the dots. He engaged the radio on his wrist, “This is one. Condition Yellow … I repeat … Condition Yellow. I need General Westfield to immediately lock down the base. No one in or out. Secondly, I need the general to meet me at Air Force One as soon as possible. Out.”

  Moreland gave Powell an expression of concern. “What’s going on, Agent Powell?”

  “I believe your Chief of Staff has been kidnapped, sir. I think there is a strong possibility it was the same people who attempted to assassinate your predecessor.”

  Terri did her best to ramble about every detail she could recall from the president’s last day. The weather, the battle for Alpha, and the military clothing the man had been wearing were all verbalized in gory detail. Whenever possible, she would divert to a background story and then pretend to lose her place.

  The man across from her sat quietly, absorbing every detail and occasionally interrupting with a question. As time went on, she could tell he was becoming more and more impatient. Twice in the last 20 minutes, he stood to stretch and strode around the room while she continued with the narrative.

  After over an hour of describing what was less than 30 minutes with the now-dead Commander in Chief, Terri rubbed her stomach and said, “I’m hungry,” which was absolutely true. Her captor looked at one of the guards and nodded, the man leaving the room immediately.

  Eating the MRE wasted another 20 minutes, Terri chewing each bite like it was her last. More than once, the thought occurred to her that this might indeed be her final meal. She wasn’t going to be able to continue this stall tactic much longer.

  When she had finished every last crumb of the food, Terri pushed at the empty container on the floor next to her chair. “I would like to stand for a little bit, please.”

  “As long as you keep talking, I have no issue with it. But that does bring me to a point. I know you’re stalling, young lady, and it’s not going to do you a bit of good. There are 10 professional security men here. Even if your husband did find us, a rescue would be out of the question.”

  The man’s statement struck a nerve with Terri. The energy being digested by her body was emboldening her spirit, and a little bit of sassy crept into her voice. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you want to know? Why are we playing this game?”

  The interrogator spun on his heels, a look of disdain glowing in his eyes. “Okay, maybe your method will expedite my goals. I want to know anything the president said about his assassins. Any detail at all.”

  The question seemed odd to Terri. She had been trying to figure this all out since the beginning, her theories floating between another coup attempt and some deep-seated hatred of Bishop for spoiling the first one. Now that she faced the person who was clearly driving all this craziness, she didn’t think either was his motivation.

  “Let me see,” she began. “As he and I walked back to the church compound, he mentioned how frightened he had been during the shootout. He talked about being embarrassed over begging for his life when it looked like it was all over.”

  The man crossed his arms and took a menacing step closer to Terri. His voice was practically a hiss, “Did he say anything about who the assassins were?”

  Strain wrinkled Terri’s brow as she desperately tried to remember the president’s words. “Yes, as a matter of fact he did say something right before he was shot … I’m trying to remember his exact phrasing . . . but. . . .”

  The man sprung, unleashing a violent shove that slammed Terri against the wall. He was on her before she could even protest the attack, drawing back his hand and slapping her face.

  “This is important! Stop delaying!” he screamed.

  The impact against the wall had pushed the air out of Terri’s lungs. She couldn’t have answered to save her life. Again and again and again, the man slapped her, the blows stinging unlike anything she had ever felt before. She tried to move away, but he had her pinned. The open-handed strikes stopped for a moment, and she thought the attack was over. The next impact wasn’t a slap. A tight-fisted full punch jarred Terri’s head, her vision darkening to blackness, and sounds of bells rung in the recesses of her mind.

  The interrogator stepped away, watching Terri slide down the wall, her body crumpling on the floor. The woman’s face was bright red and blood dribbled from her nose and lip.

  Straightening his jacket, the man looked at the nearest guard and ordered, “Come get me after she wakes up,” and then promptly left the room.

  After he was gone, the guard looked at his two comrades and whispered, “What the hell is this all about? This is off-the-fucking scale insane, man. This woman isn’t any threat to anybody. What are we doing here?”

  One of his peers agreed. “I’m with him, Deke . . . this isn’t what I signed up for. Who tortures a pregnant woman who hasn’t done shit? I was told this whole setup was a matter of national security. This woman is as much a threat to national security as my 90-year-old Aunt Helen. Why is he asking her about all this crap? Who gives a rat’s ass what the dead prez said?”

  Both men looked at Deke, who was clearly as confused as they were. “I don’t know either, guys. Let’s get her a blanket and do what we’re told until I can figure this all out.”

  The sound of pounding boots, warming turbines, and shouted orders filled the tarmac at Briggs Field. Agent Powell watched the Army troopers board the three Blackhawk helicopters, the scene reminding him of a similar event just a few days prior—that episode in preparation to rescue a missing president.

  Powell turned to Moreland, yelling over the rising cascade of men and machines preparing to launch. “Sir, again, I must protest your coming along. You are the next President of the United States and far too valuable to our country to risk going on a mission like this.”

  Moreland smiled at his protector, “I’m going, Special Agent Powell. That is my best friend and most loyal supporter who has gone missing under some very dubious circumstances. I’m going to see with my own eyes exactly what’s going on. I don’t think the nation would be in the same place right now, if more of my predecessors had gotten their hands dirty. Besides, there seems to be more than enough men to protect me on this little jaunt.”

  Powell gave up the argument, mumbling to himself that the man was stubborn and secretly praying he wouldn’t be so rash once he was sworn in.

  Looking around at the men comprising his security detail, Powell did have to agree that Moreland would be well protected. In addition to the Army assault teams, he had five fully fortified agents to keep the next president safe.

  The co-pilot waved through the bubble shaped glass, indicating their aircraft was ready to be designated Army One, pro tem. Patting Moreland on the shoulder and motioning toward the bird, the executive detail all ducked their heads and jogged toward the aircraft.

  Two minutes later all four Blackhawks lifted off, the formation heading east into the bright sun.

  Bishop’s radio crackled before he heard the distant hum of car engines. “Bishop, we’re here.”

  Keying the push-to-talk button, Bishop acknowledged he was listening.

  “I’ve got over 20 men with me, and we are about 10 minutes out. Everything still status quo?”

  “No, two SUVs, full of armed men, arrived a few hours ago. Since then, everything’s been quiet. There are at least 10 shooters inside that building now.”

  Nick seemed unconcerned, “We’ll be there shortly.”

  Just as the engine noise reached Bishop’s ear, it stopped. Fifteen minutes later, he could observe the large group of rescuers gathering at the base of the knoll.

  Bishop joined Nick’s posse and found a flat area of soft sand. Using his finger, Bishop drew a map in the earth while onlookers gathered around.

  “We’ll split into four teams. Nick will take out the sentry . . . here. Once he does that, I’ll approach from here and disa
ble the two SUVs. After that, each team will take a corner of the building and form a skirmish line behind the best cover available. I want our numbers to be visible, but not easy targets. I don’t think they’ll shoot, but I can’t be 100% certain. Once all four sides of the building are covered, I’ll approach and call them out.”

  Bishop looked around the group, noting that all heads were nodding. Focusing back on the map, he continued. “The ATVs are most likely stored in this bay behind the closed overhead door. Some of them might make a run for it on those units. Job one, and this is incredibly important, job one is to not allow anyone out of that building. If they try to use Terri as a shield, leave it up to me. I’m the one that has to live with the results—good or bad.”

  No one had any questions, and within a few minutes, Nick moved off into the desert, his critical phase of the plan dominating his thoughts.

  Nick’s mission required approaching the guard’s hide from the rear. Looping wide through the desert, he made good progress through the open terrain using distance rather than cover to conceal his approach. Bishop watched his friend from the hilltop using his rifle optic, and after 30 minutes he could see Nick was ready to spring on the guard’s hide.

  Zooming his optic slightly, Bishop watched Nick stalk the hidden sentry, each step carefully placed and measured. When the big man was within a few feet of the hide, he lunged. Bishop shivered—a passing sympathy for the poor soul who had just been surprised by the ex-Green Beret. Within seconds a single arm appeared out of the brush pile and waved toward the hill—the signal that Nick now held the sentry’s post.

  Bishop was next, taking a route down the hillside he had studied during the wait for reinforcements. Taking his time to detect any tripwires, Bishop eventually ran across the open parking lot and to the first SUV. His thought on the hill had been to use his knife on the tires, but as he approached closer to the vehicles, he noted the front plates said “POTUS.” Shit, he thought. These are Secret Service units. They’ll have run-flat tires.