Term Limits mr-1

by Vince Flynn

  “One guard, over,” answered Coleman. Coleman leaned around the back side of the tree and whispered to Michael, “You keep an eye on Arthur, and I’ll watch the guard.”

  O’Rourke nodded.

  Stroble and Hackett quickly affixed the silencers to the end of their weapons and put on their backpacks. Stroble slung his MP-5 over his shoulder and clasped his hands in front of his stomach. Hackett slung his rifle over his back and put his right foot in

  Stroble’s clasped hands. Stroble boosted Hackett up and he grabbed the first branch, pulling himself quietly into the tree. Not wasting any time, Stroble turned and ran along the wall toward the front of the house. When he reached the tree where he had been the night before, he stopped and checked for noise. Then, pulling himself up into the tree, he looked for the guard standing by the front door. He peered over the top of the wall and saw nothing. Quietly, he swore to himself and then called Coleman.

  “Zeus, this is Hermes. I’ve got a problem. The guard by the front door is not at his post, over.”

  250

  “Can you see him anywhere in the front yard, over?”

  “That’s a negative, over.”

  “Get your rope set up, and we’ll wait as long as we can, over.”

  Coleman stayed calm, telling himself these things never went exactly as planned.

  “Gentlemen, let’s be patient. Get ready to go on a moment’s notice.

  As soon as the other guard appears, we’ll move, over.” Now that Hackett was in position, Coleman could watch Arthur. He judged the distance between Arthur and the house to be about forty feet. There was no way he could beat him to the door, so he would have to fire some warning shots in his path. He’d thought about shooting him in the leg, but the old man might bleed to death before they found out what they needed to know. Stroble’s voice came over their headsets.

  “The missing guard just appeared from inside the house, over.” Coleman took a deep breath and stared at Arthur, who was puffing away on his cigar. “Do we have any other surprises, over?” One by one they responded that they were ready to go. Coleman gave

  Michael the thumbs-up signal and they grabbed their ropes. “Cyclops, do you have a clear shot, over?”

  “That’s a roger, over.”

  “Hermes, do you have a clear shot, over?”

  “That’s a roger, over.” Coleman took one more deep breath and said, “On my mark, boys. Three … two … one … bingo!” Hackett squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet smashing into the head of the guard by the cliff and then pumped a quick round into the dog. Out in front of the house Stroble fired three silent shots at the head of the guard by the front door. The first one hit him in the temple, killing him instantly.

  Grabbing the rope, Stroble swung from the tree and landed just on the other side of the fence. Stroble dropped to one knee and searched for the dog. It was nowhere in sight.

  Without hesitation, he snapped his gun up toward the roof and squeezed off a dozen shots. The bullets thudded into the metal casings that covered the cameras, sending sparks flying.

  He heard a growl to his right, and the thick, black muzzle of the silencer snapped back to a level position, sweeping from left to right.

  The dog was closing fast, growling as he ran. Stroble sent one bullet into the snout of the dog, and the creature skidded to the ground.

  251

  Slamming a fresh magazine into his gun, Stroble rose and ran for the other set of cameras, firing bullets into the windows as he went.

  Coleman hit the ground a second before Michael, and as he sprinted for the patio, he could hear the bullets from Michael’s gun striking the cameras above and to his left. The noise of the bullets hitting the cameras must have caught Arthur’s attention because he looked in their direction. Coleman thought he was reaching for a gun at first, and then he noticed that it was his watch. Arthur broke into a decrepit run for the house, and Coleman laid down a wall of bullets that sent chips of brick flying into the air. Arthur stopped in his tracks. As Coleman closed on him, he screamed for Arthur to put his hands in the air while he unleashed a volley of bullets at the second set of cameras. Just as he got to

  Arthur, the floodlights came on. Coleman brought his boot up and kicked Arthur in the stomach, sending him to the ground. Coleman wheeled, firing at the floodlights hanging from the gutter of the house.

  Michael did the same, and within seconds, darkness was restored.

  Arthur was curled up and holding on to his stomach with both hands, gasping for air.

  Michael pulled a chloroform patch from his thigh pocket and ripped it open. Shoving his gloved hand into Arthur’s face, he forced the old man to breathe in the fumes. After about ten seconds, Michael tossed the patch to the side and went to work on getting Arthur’s clothes off. Less than thirty seconds had passed since they’d gone over the fence. Stroble approached a moment later and helped Michael finish the job. Before leaving, he made sure everything was in the bag and then sprinted for the north wall. All that remained on

  Arthur were his boxers. Michael threw the skinny old man over his shoulder and ran for the south wall with Coleman covering the way. When they reached the wall, Coleman jumped up, sat on the top of the wall, and pulled Arthur up by his arms.

  Michael went up and over, and then Coleman dropped Arthur into Michael’s arms.

  Coleman jumped down and the three of them disappeared into the darkness and onto the grounds of the old estate. Hackett watched from the tree and made sure Michael and

  Coleman got over the wall safely. As soon as they were over, he fired three shots into the door of Arthur’s study and rappelled down the tree. He landed like a cat and turned for the cliff. By the time he reached the top of the steps, he could hear the twin engines of the

  Cigarette boat revving.

  He bounded down the steps, taking them three at a time. When he hit the dock, he broke into a dash for the boat. Stroble already had the boat turned around and pointing toward the open water. Hackett leapt through the air and landed on the cushioned pad that covered the engines and then he jumped into the cockpit. Both engines roared to life as

  Stroble punched the two black throttles all the way down. The bow rose out of the water as the props forced the boat forward.

  Hackett turned and scanned the cliff for any movement. The long, sleek boat quickly gained speed and planed out.

  252

  Stroble checked his watch. One minute and forty-three seconds had elapsed since they’d gone over the wall. CHARLIE DOBBS WAS CONTEMPLATING HIS NEXT

  MOVE WHEN The MONITOR to his right started beeping. Dobbs glanced over his shoulder after the second beep and moved his chair. The monitor beeped three’ more times, and the information came up on the screen. active personal ALARM subject

  CODE NAME: RED COYOTE Dobbs stared at the code name and tried to match it with a face but couldn’t. These personal alarms had become kind of a pain in the ass for the

  Operations Center. They were receiving more and more false alarms. Dobbs punched in his password so he could access the real identity of Red Coyote. A second later, the name

  Arthur Higgins appeared on the screen. That’s a first for him, Dobbs thought. No need to get excited yet. He probably hit it by mistake.

  Dobbs looked through the Plexiglas and watched the operator for the United States work to verify the alarm. The home phone number for Red Coyote came up on the screen along with several others.

  Dobbs tapped in a keystroke so he could listen to the operator handle the situation.

  Their system told them that the alarm was coming from his estate, but no one was answering. He listened to the phone ring.

  After about thirty seconds, Dobbs started to get nervous. The file on Red Coyote said that he had around-the-clock security. Someone should have been answering the phone.

  A second later, a frantic voice did.

  Director Stansfield was sitting at his desk reading a report on the mental stability of

 
North Korea’s leadership. Because of the recent flurry of assassinations his regular work was suffering. He didn’t like falling behind, there were too many potential problems just over the horizon. As director of the Agency, Stansfield saw it as his job to know and understand who the players were in each country that had an adversarial relationship with the United States. When things turned sour, he wanted to be able to predict the behavior of the men he was up against. The phone rang and Stansfield removed his spectacles, rubbed his eyes, and then picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Thomas, it’s Charlie. We’ve got a major problem! Someone just grabbed Arthur

  Higgins!” Stansfield sat up straight. “How long ago?”

  “His personal alarm went off about four minutes ago. We called his estate and one of the security guards verified that they’d been hit.”

  “I’m on my way down.” Stansfield hung up the phone and headed for the door. When he reached the outer room, his bodyguard looked up from behind a desk and Stansfield said, “Come on, we’re going downstairs.”

  The director continued into the hallway and shoved his ID card into the slot next to the elevator. Five seconds later, the doors opened and they stepped in. While the elevator descended, Stansfield battled to suppress the hope that Arthur had been killed. He hoped

  253

  so for two reasons. The first, which embarrassed him, was personal. Arthur had ignored

  Stansfield’s warnings to cease his activities in the intelligence community. He was a growing security risk and a thorn in Stansfield’s side. The second reason was purely professional. If Arthur was dead, he couldn’t be interrogated. He had more damaging secrets in his head than any other person in the Agency.

  Arthur had conducted unofficial operations that no one else knew about, and his knowledge of official CIA operations was thorough. If he was taken alive and interrogated, the Agency would be compromised at every level. The damage would be unimaginable. The elevator opened and Stansfield approached the door to the Operations

  Center. He placed his hand on a scanner, and a second later the door opened. Charlie

  Dobbs was standing with his watch officers conferring on the crisis.

  Stansfield approached. “Give me the rundown.”

  “We’re tracking his homing signal right now.” Dobbs pointed at the big screen in the front of the room. A detailed map of the Chesapeake was on the screen and a slow—

  moving red dot. “It appears they’ve got him on board a boat and are making a run for the open sea.”

  “Do we know how it happened?”

  “We’ve talked to the guard who was running the control room inside Arthur’s house.

  He says Arthur stepped outside to smoke a cigar, and then they came over the wall. He isn’t sure how many of them there were because they shot his cameras out. Two of the guards are dead, and there is no sign of Arthur.”

  “What procedures have we put into effect?”

  “We’ve scrambled two Cobra gunships out of Quantico and an AWAC was on patrol when the whole thing went down. The AWAC has confirmed our bogie and has classified it as a small watercraft moving at a speed of sixty-two knots. I have also notified the

  Coast Guard, and they are moving to set up a picket at the south end of the Bay.”

  “How long will it take for the choppers to intercept?”

  “If there is no course change, they should intercept in about ten minutes.” They all looked at the big board and watched the moving red dot. “I also activated two of our security details. I’m sending one to the estate to investigate, and the other will be airborne within the next two minutes. I’m sending them after the boat.”

  Stansfield shook his head. “Charlie, do whatever it takes to get him back.” Stroble peered over the top of the windscreen, his night-vision goggles helping slightly, but not much. The stars and moon were blocked out by the thick clouds, and the water was black.

  He kept the boat just to the west of the channel markers. The Chesapeake was notorious for unmarked sandbars, and now would not be a good time to run aground on one.

  254

  Hackett came out from the small cabin and announced that the charges were set. He kept his night-vision goggles up on the top of his head and checked the sky and water behind them.

  They were less than a minute away from their demarcation point.

  Hackett threw their weapons and equipment over the side, everything except their fins and mask.

  Taking two short pieces of rope, Stroble tied the steering wheel down so the boat would stay on a straight course. He looked at his watch and gave Hackett a thumbs-up.

  Hackett got on top of the engine cover and without hesitation dove off the back of the boat, curling into a ball.

  As soon as Hackett was away, Stroble flipped on the running lights, grabbed his fins and mask, and ran for the back of the boat. He leapt clear of the propellers and also tucked into a tight ball. He hit the water and skipped several times, rolling as he went.

  Their bodies stung slightly from the initial impact, but otherwise they were fine.

  Hackett appeared at Stroble’s side, and they paused for a second to watch the boat rumble away. They put on their fins and masks and started swimming as fast as they could for shore. They had a little over a mile to go.

  Before leaving the boat, Hackett had placed a series of small, timed charges that would rip holes in the bottom of the boat’s hull. They pumped their arms powerfully through the water, their fins doing most of the work. Shortly, they were within two hundred yards of shore.

  Hackett stopped and so did Stroble. Sticking his hand into the neck of is scuba suit, Hackett pulled out his radio headset. Without putting it on he held the unit next to his ear and said, “Mercury, this is Cyclops, come in, over.”

  “I read you loud and clear, Cyclops, over.” Hackett and Stroble bobbed up and down in the water, staring at the dark shoreline.

  “Can you give us a mark on your position, over?” They both saw the flicker of red light. Marking the position with a dip in the tree line, Hackett responded, “I’ve got a fix.

  We’ll be joining you in a couple of minutes, over.” Hackett shoved the headset back under his suit and was getting ready to swim again when he heard an all too familiar noise.

  Stroble heard it, too, and they both sank a little deeper in the water.

  The chopping sound grew, echoing off the water. It was hard to get a Fix on where it was coming from, but there was no doubt what it was.

  255

  It was getting louder. They turned in the water, looking skyward. The noise increased markedly, and then, without warning, two helicopters screamed over treetops above where Tim O’Rourke was waiting. For a brief second, both former SEALS thought they had been discovered, but the choppers didn’t stop. They kept going, racing overhead, out into the Bay and then turning south. Stroble and Hackett looked at each other quickly and then sprinted for shore. Back in the Operations Center the tension was mounting.

  Stansfield watched the chase unfold on the big board. The display from the AWAC was up on the screen.

  Arthur’s homing signal hadn’t changed course. It was still headed south. The position of the two Cobra 306 gunships was marked by a duo of green triangles on the screen. The radio communication between the pilots of the choppers and the airborne controller on board the AWAC was being played over the loudspeaker. The choppers were closing quickly. Dobbs turned to Stansfield and said, “I have to tell the pilots what their rules of engagement are.” Without pause Stansfield replied, “If they are met with the slightest resistance, they are free to use whatever force they deem necessary. I want that boat stopped.”

  The small charges exploded, ripping three holes in the bow of the boat and two more next to the engines. The holes in the bow acted as scoops, funneling water into the cabin.

  In the stern, water rose rapidly, the engines straining with the extra weight and the loss of a smooth hull. The engines revved louder and louder until
they were smothered by the water. All forward movement stopped and the expensive boat slipped beneath the surface of the dark water. The controller on board the AWAC announced the decrease in speed before it was noticeable on the big board in the Operations Center. He continued to read off the decreasing speed until the boat had stopped.

  Stansfield, along with everyone else in the room, watched the helicopters rapidly close the gap. The green triangles inched closer and closer to the stationary red dot. The

  AWAC’s controller vectored the choppers right in on top of the mark, and then came the surprise.

  The pilots announced no boat was in sight. The black BMW weaved through the busy

  Friday-night traffic of Georgetown. As Coleman drove, he told Michael that his former boss, Admiral Devoe, had called to tell him the FBI was snooping around asking questions. A pensive O’Rourke asked, “Did he say why they are interested in you?”

  “Only that they wanted to know why I was discharged early.” O’Rourke stared out the window and said, “That means they know about Snatch Back.

  Did the admiral tell you who called him?”

  “No. All he said was that they were from the Bureau.

  256

  Michael, I wouldn’t get too worried yet. They might just be going down a list of former SEALS.”

  “I doubt it. The FBI is looking for someone who had motive enough to do this, and when they find out Fitzgerald was the one who leaked Snatch Back, they’re going to be all over you.” O’Rourke nervously tapped his fingers on the dashboard. “And then they’re going to find out about Mark’s death, and they’re going to get real interested in you.”

  “Let them look. They’re not going to find anything. They can’t prove I knew squat about who leaked Snatch Back. I found out from you, and you weren’t supposed to know.” Michael thought about it. “If all they have is Fitzgerald’s connection to Snatch

  Back and your brother’s death, that won’t be enough to indict, but it will be enough for them to assign a couple dozen agents to watch you around the clock. You are going to have to lay really low for a while. Dump the car as soon as we’re done tonight, and don’t go back to the garage.” Coleman agreed, and several minutes later he turned onto