The helicopter rose above the rooftops of the school and the surrounding neighborhood. When they reached one hundred fifty meters above the earth, the helo pulled forward. Moose spoke on the radio, but Chris couldn’t hear what she said. The helo freely flew northward and passed over vehicles and flashing police lights clogging the streets below.
Hannah’s phone buzzed. She answered it, and when she finished her call, she thanked Young. Then she gave Moose an address: “They’re near Rock Creek Park.”
Within a few minutes, Hannah was on her phone again. “Young says Mordet just moved to Sixteenth Northwest Street and Aspen,” Hannah said. “Young thinks he’s using a van or a truck to carry his equipment.”
Chris checked his GPS then peered outside. He pointed to an open area between a forest on the left and the city on the right. “Moose, can you put us down on that golf course?”
“Sure,” Moose said.
“If you could just stay in the area for about thirty minutes, I’d appreciate it,” Chris said.
“Roger, wilco,” she said.
When the helo skids reached a couple feet above the golf course, Chris, Hannah and Sonny un-assed the helo. Chris led them in a run north across the green, and he didn’t slow until he reached the trees. Once there, he stopped and developed a hasty plan. He pointed to a spot on his GPS. “Sonny, I need you to post inside the tree line just south of the target. If the target starts shooting, stick it to him.”
Sonny gave a thumbs-up. “On it.”
“I’ll approach the vehicle from the side and tell the tangos we’re police,” Chris explained. “Hannah, I need you to stay inside the trees and cover north of the vehicle, so we don’t get a squirter—or worse, so somebody doesn’t pop out of the back and get the jump on me.”
“Got it,” she said.
“Sonny, when you’re in position,” Chris said, “if you could break squelch once, I’ll know you’re ready. Hannah, I’ll be able to see you. Sonny, you’ll have eyes on the target, so you’ll see me move in on them. Questions?”
Hannah and Sonny shook their heads.
Chris’s experience told him they should remain in place for about fifteen minutes, to make sure no one had followed them after their insertion, but they didn’t have the luxury of time. He adjusted the sling of his carbine. “Okay, let’s roll.”
Chris resumed the trek north. The trees, roots, and uneven terrain slowed him down, but the forest concealed his movement from the tangos.
Minutes later, after crossing a trail and small road, Chris arrived near his intended destination. He stalked east until he reached the edge of the park where the trees ended. There were two separate lanes in the street with a patch of grass running down the middle. Near the intersection sat a black van facing south. In the driver’s seat was a man with a square-shaped head and a Frankenstein haircut—instead of scanning the whole area around him, he stared at the road ahead.
Chris started to signal Sonny to move into position, but Sonny knew where to go and was already backtracking south. While Chris waited, he glanced at Hannah. She looked good to go. Sonny keyed his mic once.
Showtime.
Chris aimed his rifle and calmly walked toward the driver. The driver must have noticed Chris in his peripheral vision.
The man turned and faced him.
“Police,” Chris shouted. “Put your hands up where I can see them!”
The driver shouted in Arabic, and others in the back of the van yelled. There didn’t appear to be a weapon, but a shot blew out the driver’s window, and something scraped across Chris’s cheek. “Where’d the shot come from?”
Sonny returned fire, unloading into the front passenger side of the van.
Chris stepped sideways, so he wouldn’t present a stationary target and shouted in Arabic for the driver to put his hands up, but the engine roared, and the van leaped forward.
Sonny fired into the driver. The van veered off the road near Sonny and continued until a tree stopped it. Four men hopped out of the back, one of them shooting in Hannah’s direction. Chris and Hannah popped the shooting tango in the chest and laid him out on the asphalt flat on his face. The Nasrallah cousins and one other tango fled into the woods. Chris, Hannah, and Sonny fired at them and missed.
Sonny assaulted the front of the van, shooting more holes in the driver and passenger. “Front, clear!” he shouted.
As Chris neared the back of the vehicle, he edged around the open back door, weapon at the ready. All the terrorists inside had fled. “Back, clear!” he reported.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Chris and Sonny turned and hurriedly entered the woods to the west. Hannah followed close behind. The terrorists crashed through the forest, moving fast. Chris picked up speed, and Hannah and Sonny kept up with him. They crossed a park road then a trail. Chris tried to shoot, but the tangos’ weaving in and out of tree trunks blocked his line of fire. Soon slivers of moonlight stabbed low through the trees—the tangos neared an opening in the forest. The trees gave way to a rock-reinforced bank that dropped one meter into a creek. Jawwad and Lateef crossed the creek and ascended the opposite bank, not looking back as their buddy’s legs bogged down in the water. His upper body moved faster than his legs, and he fell on his stomach. He stood, but before he could regain forward momentum, Chris shot him twice in the back, and his body arched before it came down with a splash. Chris hopped down into the creek to find the tango face down in the water—dead.
He ran out in the open and maneuvered to the other side of the creek. He trusted that Sonny and Hannah were covering him. When he reached the trees, he turned to see Hannah and Sonny still on his six, and he continued the chase west through the woods.
They traversed more trails, a smaller creek, and then even more trails. The tangos crossed Oregon Avenue and passed in front of a parked vehicle. Chris aimed over the vehicle, tracked Jawwad in his sights, and fired, but the man spun around an oak tree, and Chris’s shot sank harmlessly into the wood. He dodged a truck on the road before racing across into the woods on the other side. But by the time he got there, he’d lost sight of the cousins.
Just as Chris stepped out of the trees and onto the north lawn of a private residence, an AK flashed from around the corner of the house. The bullet chipped off a chunk of bark from the tree beside Chris. He dodged the AK’s line of fire and took cover behind a tree. Then he shifted directions and ran around the south side of the house.
He circled around to the west side, but the Nasrallah cousins weren’t in sight. He stopped to listen. Tree branches and leaves snapped and crackled to the north—Lateef and Jawwad were still moving fast.
Chris ran across a concrete driveway and an asphalt street as he followed the noise into another copse of trees. After he and his teammates exited the grove of trees, he spotted the cousins dashing through a neighborhood of houses that stretched to the northeast. Lights came on and curtains parted, and Chris knew the neighbors must be watching.
Chris took aim at Jawwad, but he crossed in front of a house. Chris held off on shooting. He didn’t want to accidentally hit an innocent homeowner. Jawwad turned around to check behind him and ducked behind a large car parked in a driveway. Chris crouched behind a station wagon parked in the street, went prone, and put the side of his head to the pavement. He peeked out from under the car. He could only see one person’s feet below the large sedan. The other brother was probably standing behind a tire. Chris lined up the cousin’s ankle in his sights and squeezed the trigger. He hoped that if his shot hit too low, the bullet would skip off the street and at least hit the tango in the foot. Jawwad yelped. Bingo.
Chris fired at the other ankle, and the man came down on his hands and knees. His knees presented bigger targets than his hands, so Chris homed in on one and squeezed three times. The cousin toppled over and screamed. Chris fired until his magazine went dry, and he became still.
As Chris inserted a fresh thirty-round magazine in his carbine, Hannah and Sonny e
xchanged fire with the remaining tango. Fully reloaded, Chris popped up to help Sonny and Hannah, but Lateef had already fallen.
Hannah met Chris’s eyes, concern filling her voice as she spoke. “Sonny is wounded.”
Chris hurried over to find Sonny on his back, carbine still in his hands. “Just a scratch.”
“Can you move?” Chris asked.
Sonny moved his arms and grunted. “Just my upper body.”
“Can you move your legs?” Chris asked.
“Nada.”
“Don’t try to move anymore,” Chris said. “Can you feel your legs at all?”
“I got shot in my side, and it must’ve damaged my spine. I can feel the ground against my legs, but I can’t move them.”
“Just stay still,” Chris cautioned him. “Hannah’s going to bandage that leak in your side, and I’m going to take care of the Nasrallah cousins.”
Lateef’s upper body stuck out from behind the front of the large sedan. He appeared immobile, but Chris advanced on him to be sure. Chris felt the pulse in his neck—nothing. Nearby, Jawwad lay in a pool of his own blood. Frothy goo bubbled out of his chest. At least one of the bullets had entered a lung. Jawwad’s eyes were full of life, and his lips moved.
Chris stepped closer and aimed at his head.
“Please,” Jawwad said in English. He held a pistol in his hand.
“Drop it,” Chris said.
Jawwad hesitated.
“I won’t tell you again.”
Jawwad laid the pistol on the ground. His gaze lowered. Chris needed to question him about Mordet’s whereabouts, but Jawwad’s eyes rose again, full of determination. “I can’t surrender.”
Chris had seen that pride in an enemy’s eyes before. “I know.”
Jawwad reached for his gun, but Chris shot him twice in the face. He pulled in a long breath, exhaled and then put his carbine on safe.
He returned to Hannah and Sonny. She’d already patched his wound and was on the phone, calling for an ambulance. “I’m with the FBI, and one of my partners has been shot…”
“How you doing, Sonny?” Chris asked, crouching down.
“What do you mean, ‘how am I doing,’ you moron?” Sonny snapped. “Can’t you see I look like a damned doormat?”
“I see you haven’t lost your sunny disposition.”
“Just leave me here to die in peace.”
“You aren’t going to die,” Chris said.
Sonny’s voice became serious. “I don’t want to leave the Unit. More than anything in this world, I don’t want to leave the Unit.”
Chris understood. Like Sonny, most SEALs weren’t too afraid of losing money, receiving demotions, suffering pain, or even dying, but they were afraid of being ostracized from the fraternity. The job was their lifeblood. “You’re not going to leave the Unit.” He didn’t know if Sonny would be able to recover enough to stay in the Unit or not, but he said what he thought Sonny wanted to hear. Everyone deserves hope, even if his situation is hopeless.
“Ambulance and police are on their way,” Hannah said. “And the police are on their way to secure the tangos’ van.” She gave Sonny a peck on the forehead, and he looked like he might be able to stand up and walk purely from the euphoria.
She laughed. “Stay still until the ambulance arrives, will you?”
Chris leaned over Sonny and puckered up for a kiss.
“Oh, no,” Sonny cried in disgust, “don’t you do that. I can’t use my legs, but I can still shoot you.”
Chris smiled. “I’ll search the tangos for intel. Hannah, can you call Young to see if he has any new intel on Mordet?”
“I’m on it,” she said.
Chris searched Jawwad and Lateef carefully, and when he stepped back to his team, Hannah was off the phone. “Young and Frank aren’t answering their phones,” she said. Her voice shook slightly.
“Don’t wait for me,” Sonny said. “I can still shoot to defend myself if I have to. Young might be in trouble.”
Chris and Hannah nodded.
“Be careful,” Chris said.
“You, too.” Sonny tightened his grip on his weapon and laid his head back.
Chris and Hannah ran into the trees from where they’d come, and as they ran, Chris called the pilot to confirm she was still standing by. They were going to need her help.
33
_______
Chris and Hannah raced back to the park and rendezvoused with their helo, its rotors already spinning. As soon as the pair were inside, Moose lifted the helo off the ground. The last time Chris had found Young, he was in a shit state, almost dead. He called Young—still no answer. Hannah called Frank—nothing. Moose flew them to the school in Annandale and landed.
Chris and Hannah dashed from the helo and off the school grounds. Soon Young’s house came into view: there were two marked police vehicles and what looked like at least two unmarked vehicles parked next to the curb, but there was no uniformed cop out front. As Chris and Hannah cut across Young’s lawn, they slowed to inspect the sidewalk—stains. Blood-stained footprints from three or more men led away from the front door. Chris packed Young’s previous shit state and their friendship and all related emotions into a box and stacked it on top of the stacks of boxes in the dark warehouse in the suburbs of his mind, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t be stowed away so easily.
Hannah stopped and pointed to the space between the bushes and the front door where a uniformed cop lay still.
Chris clicked his rifle’s safety off. Upon inspecting the door-frame, he found two cracks—one near the doorknob where someone had kicked and one close to the lock where the door gave way. Up higher, he spotted a third crack, near the deadbolt. He gave Hannah hand signals that they were about to do a soft clear: no noise.
She nodded and moved in close behind him—she was ready.
Chris gently pushed on the door—it swung open freely. There was no give in the doorknob, and the metal strike plate from the latch assembly lay on the floor.
Chris’s adrenaline continued to surge, but he was in control, scanning for targets. He cleared the doorway and stepped over a body before quickly taking command of the left side of the room all the way back to the corner. He sensed Hannah enter behind him and take the right. The crimson-soaked carpet squished with each step. In his peripheral vision, bloody bodies lay on the floor. He experienced a vague hope that none of them were Young, but he’d seen corpses before, and if he didn’t want to be one of them, he had to stay focused on his responsibility and remain alert for living threats. He moved to the far corner of the room—no bad guys. Then he scanned to the cross-corner; at the same time Hannah would be scanning to her cross-corner and their fields of fire would overlap in the center of the room. The whole process took less than five seconds, but there was also a closet on Chris’s side, so he opened the door and looked inside—no threat. Room clear.
The bodies in the living room area appeared to be five armed Arab males and two plainclothes law enforcement officers. Agent Garnet lay there, too, and Chris frowned. Some of Young’s computer equipment was missing, and so was Young.
They moved toward the kitchen, where blood was splattered across the table, countertop and walls. Another uniformed policeman lie on the floor with eyes open and his pistol still in his hand. The puddle of blood beneath him glistened on the ivory tiles.
Chris and Hannah cleared the other rooms in the house quickly and found traces of blood on the carpet throughout. No Young. Now that they were sure the house was empty, they returned to the living room.
“It looks like the tangos killed the uniformed officer in the front of the house before breaching the door,” Chris said.
“Then Frank and two others opened fire on the tangos, and the tangos returned fire. A uniformed officer came out of the kitchen to help but was gunned down.
“The three surviving tangos searched the house for Young, tracking blood throughout.”
“Do you think they fou
nd him?” she asked.
“Unless he got away.”
She touched the side of Frank’s neck, where the artery lay, checking for a pulse. Her voice was filled with melancholy: “Do you ever get used to friends dying?”
Chris thought for a moment. “Yes and no.”
She pulled her hand away and shook her head. “Yes in what way?”
“Yes, I’m used to it sucking every time,” he said.
“What’re you not used to?”
“Never got used to seeing their families and friends suffer.”
She nodded.
Chris helped her examine the other officers to see if anyone had survived, but they were all deceased. Next, they checked the tangos to see if any of them had survived, but they were all dead, too. Chris grabbed a plastic trash bag from the kitchen, and then he and Hannah searched the tangos’ bodies for intelligence—not just their pockets, but every inch of their clothes. The pair dumped wallets and personal belongings into the plastic bag. Chris found an almost imperceptible bulge on one side of a jacket worn by one of the tangos. Inside the coat, a secret pocket had been sewn in.
He pulled out his pocket-knife and carefully snipped the stitches, revealing a small Ziploc bag containing a credit card and a piece of paper with a phone number written on it—a simple escape and evasion kit. “This guy must’ve been some kind of leader,” Chris said. “He’s the only one with an E & E kit.”
Hannah’s attention seemed to be elsewhere. “You know, when we cleared the house, the bookshelf in the master bedroom seemed kind of shallow.” She left the room without another word, and he followed her into the master bedroom.
She pointed to the wall next to it. “You see how thick this wall is—that could be used to add a closet—or something. It’s all dead space. Why would a builder leave all that dead space?”
“The paint on this wall is newer than the rest of the room,” Chris said.
“That, too. And why paint only one wall in the master bedroom? Nobody sees it.” She pushed and pulled on the bookcase, but it didn’t move. “Young, it’s me, Hannah! Can you hear me?”
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