Leaving the incinerator building, Drake saw that the local high school marching band was in place and the grandstand was full. In the forty-five minutes since the start of the tour of the incinerator, the Army had efficiently transported and seated all of the guests. Parked behind the grandstand were ten high school buses on loan to the Army for the day. One Humvee was parked in front of the first bus and another behind the last. Drivers stood at ease beside each of them. The armed security he could see, however, was the same small cadre of soldiers that had accompanied them on their tour.
Drake felt an old, familiar sensation tingling the back of his neck, and stepped off the platform to call Mike.
“I’m not feeling good about this. You see anything?” Drake said into his lapel mike.
“Not much to see. Guests were brought in without a hitch. Activities look pretty normal, but this is the Army. Guards posted at the main gate are still there. Fighter planes are overhead, and not many vehicles are on the roads in here. They pretty much closed things down for the day. Why, you see something you’re worried about?”
“No, just a feeling. They’re a little light on security. Just keep your eyes open.”
“Roger that. Any of those doughnuts left? I can handle the sweets, whereas you’d have to run laps tomorrow. Might help me stay alert, since I’ve been up since four a.m.”
“Drink some of that coffee you brought along. I’ll take care of the doughnuts,” Drake taunted his friend.
“Okay, okay, but you’re buying dinner tonight, and I choose the restaurant.”
Promptly at ten o’clock, the color guard posted colors and the band played the National Anthem. When the band marched away, Lt. Col. Hollingsworth strode to the podium to greet the assembled dignitaries and guests.
“Secretary Rallings, Senator Hazelton, Mayor Severson, Congressman Wilkens, Commissioner Hansell and distinguished guests, it’s my distinct pleasure and honor to welcome you on this day we’ve all been waiting for. This project began almost ten years ago, and many of you here were involved in its early development. We all share a common goal, the neutralization of the chemical weapons stored here. We’re honored to have representatives from our capital, our state, and our area to help us formally dedicate this facility today. At this time, I’d like to introduce … ”
The boom of a nearby explosion and the sirens that immediately started all over the chemical weapons depot interrupted the commander’s speech. To the west, Drake saw black smoke and flames rising from one of the igloos in K Block as he ran to Senator Hazelton.
“Senator, that’s where the nerve agents are stored. Please come with me,” Drake instructed. “Secretary, you’re welcome to join us. I have an armored SUV and protective gear for you and your staff waiting behind the platform.”
Secretary Rallings turned to his head of security. “Andy?”
“If they have protection gear, let’s go with them. I’m not sure the Humvees do,” the FBI agent said.
The area around the platform and the grandstand in front of it quickly became a scene of panic. The invited guests scrambled from the grandstand and rushed to the buses, where they were slowed by the narrow, single-file doors of the borrowed school buses. Lines formed in front and around the buses, and soon they were blocked from leaving by the guests who were not willing to wait behind for the next bus.
The dignitaries from the speakers’ platform were being ushered behind the platform, where a line of Humvees waited to take them to the emergency center. The six available Humvees could only move eight passengers at a time. Sixty or more VIPs shoved to get one of the available seats.
Drake ran with a guiding hand on the elbows of the Secretary and the Senator. They crossed through the area behind the platform, weaving through the other dignitaries, and reached their SUV where Mike stood.
“You said nine, I count eight,” Mike shouted.
Drake took a quick look around. Strobel was missing. She started off the platform with the rest of them, but as he looked back he didn’t see her anywhere in the crowd.
“Throw me two protective gear sets then take them to the emergency center. I’ll find Strobel and meet you there.”
Drake tucked the masks under his arm and ran back through the panicked crowd. Of all the people to create an unnecessary risk for herself, it would have to be Strobel.
By the time he reached the area where he last saw her, she was nowhere in sight. The steps off the back of the platform led to where the Humvees had been parked, but there were no Humvees there now. The remaining dignitaries were lined up and waiting for their return, surrounded by a squad of armed soldiers wearing protective gear. Those standing in line didn’t appear to be frightened, trusting the soldiers who looked like they knew what they were doing.
One woman stood in front of the officer in charge of the loading detail, screaming into his protective mask.
“I don’t care who your commanding officer is, my boss is the Secretary of Homeland Security and I order you to take me to him now!”
The Army captain started to move the woman out of his face when Drake stepped in. “Captain, if you’ll allow me, I’ll escort Ms. Strobel to the emergency center to be with her boss.”
The captain looked through the lens of his protective mask and nodded, as if to say, if you want to deal with this psycho, she’s all yours.
Drake grabbed Strobel by her arm and pulled her away. “This isn’t a drill, so shut up and put this on. The explosion was in K Block. We’ve got to get out of here. The Secretary’s already on his way to the emergency center.”
Liz Strobel glared at him and jerked her arm free of his grasp. “Drake, I hope to hell you know what you’re doing. If anything you’ve done endangers the Secretary, I’ll personally see that you pay for this.”
“Strobel, if any harm comes to the Secretary or the Senator, I guarantee the Secret Service, the JTTF, and you, will never draw another government paycheck. Now put this stuff on, let’s go.”
Chapter 45
As soon as they put on their protective masks and made sure they fit properly around their faces, Drake pulled Strobel away from the platform staging area. He headed across the open area to the visitors’ grandstand. At the rear of the line of buses, he spotted an empty Humvee. The driver was busy helping people load onto a bus, and hadn’t posted security around his vehicle.
Drake slowed to a walk and led Strobel toward the empty Humvee.
“Get into the Humvee and act like you own it. No one is going to pay any attention to us in this, and we’re not going to do anything to change that,” Drake ordered.
When they were seated, they were all but invisible amidst the confusion and movement of other military vehicles and buses. Smoke continued to billow from the bunker area of K Block, and a plume drifted southeast toward the headquarters buildings and the emergency center. As if to accent the threat, all seventy sirens of the Chemical Stockpile Emergency Preparedness Program sounded a steady, repeating, warning tone designed to be heard for miles around.
As he pulled out and joined the line of vehicles headed to the emergency center, Drake saw panic where there should have been practiced calm and efficiency. Ambulances rushed to K Block to take anyone injured to the base contamination station. Vehicles at intersections were left on their own, and buses carrying guests were stranded in the resulting congestion. Such was the terror created by the fear of the nerve agents the depot stored.
Seeing the traffic jam ahead of them, Drake turned the Humvee and headed across the open field toward the emergency center. The protective masks would protect them from any airborne agents, but full-body protection was really needed if they were in the open. A single drop of descending nerve agent on their skin would kill them. If the explosion involved fire, the nerve agents that were viscous, like motor oil, could fall on them from the plume of smoke drifting their way. Drake knew he had to get to the emergency center. He hoped Mike was already there.
The area Drake drove across was rangel
and taken over for military use. The Humvee charged across it with all the grace of an Abrams M1A1 main battle tank, bouncing and bucking like a bronco at the nearby Pendleton Roundup. Drake was steadied by his grip on the steering wheel, but Liz Strobel was taking a pounding. She had one hand on the roof over her head and the other grabbing the frame of the seat below.
“Hang on, Liz. We’re almost there,” he said to console her.
When they reached the main base road, Drake threw the Humvee into a slide that carried them to the far side of the paved road. There were other Humvees ahead of them, racing to the emergency center, and he was satisfied to get in line and follow them in.
Outside the emergency center, things were not as focused and disciplined as they should have been. Drake quickly escorted Strobel to the main entrance of the center and was surprised when they weren’t stopped. Drake was carrying his.45 under his jacket, and they were wearing protective masks. The other evacuated guests weren’t. No one searched them, or even seemed to notice as they walked past the guards posted outside.
Once inside, a soldier directed them toward a large room just beyond the exterior blast doors, where guests and dignitaries had gathered. Two security guards were posted at the exterior blast doors, armed with M16s. Inside, no one was wearing a protective mask. Just as he was about to tell Strobel she could take her protective mask off, a soldier approached and said it was safe to remove their protective equipment.
Drake noted there were only three ways out of the emergency center assembly room. In addition to the main entrance, two doors exited from the rear of the room, one on each side. Each was guarded by a security guard armed with a holstered Beretta. He couldn’t tell from inside the cavernous room if there were additional guards outside the rear doors, but he doubted it.
As soon as Strobel took her protective mask off, she stormed away looking for her boss. Drake spotted the Secretary and his father-in-law standing with the depot commander’s aide, Capt. Linda Martinez. While Strobel made like a boat speeding through a no wake zone, oblivious to the disturbance created, Drake turned his attention outside where Mike was stationed as his spotter.
“Mike, what’s going on out there?”
“Lot of people running around. You confirm our party’s inside?”
“Roger that, all safe and sound. The civilian security guards are too relaxed. They look like this is a drill, but the early warning monitors had to signal a nerve agent release for the evacuation to be ordered.”
“If VX is headed this way, the guys out here are also pretty calm. A few still have protective masks on, but no one’s wearing protective suits. You sure they detected a nerve agent release?”
“I just overheard an announcement that detection teams are monitoring the situation. Let me know if anything changes. If it does, come in here,” Drake said.
From where Mike sat in his Yukon, he had a view of the area around the emergency center. Drake knew if the situation worsened, the security guards outside would be among the first warned.
As Drake kept an eye on the inside of the emergency center, he heard Mike signal an alert.
“I’m watching three soldiers headed your way from one of the barracks. They’re wearing full-body protective suits. No one else is wearing a suit. They’re armed and walking like they’re on a mission.”
“What’s changed?” Drake asked.
“Nothing. But these three are carrying M4s with grenade launchers. They look like they’ve just been given some urgent order.”
“Keep them in sight. I’ll see if anything has changed. They could be the guys I was worried about.”
Drake located Capt. Martinez talking to someone and ran to her.
“Sorry to interrupt Captain, could I have a moment?”
“Excuse me, Mayor,” she said, turning to Drake with a look of frustration. “What is it, Mr. Drake? Your father-in-law is fine.”
“Has anything changed since we got here?”
“Look, we have everything under control. Relax and leave this to us. We’ve been through this a hundred times,” she said and started to turn back to the Mayor.
“Then why are three soldiers wearing full body suits carrying M4s with grenade launchers headed our way?”
Capt. Martinez took a moment to process the information. “Perimeter security carries M16s and civilian security personnel carry M9 Berettas. How do you know what these guys are carrying?”
“I have someone stationed outside,” Drake said.
“Shit. I’ll alert security,” Capt. Martinez said and rushed off.
Drake angled toward the corner of the main set of doors and called Mike.
“Sitrep, Mike,” he said.
“Twenty yards from the emergency center and headed straight toward the two guards at the main doors. What do you want me to do?” Mike asked.
“If they start shooting, take them out. I’m just inside the main doors, north side. There’s a room full of people in here, so be careful,” Drake said.
Before Drake could say anything to alert the security guards at the main doors, full-auto gunfire erupted outside. The sound of M4s being fired in bursts was unmistakable to his ears.
Drake moved closer to the main doors and was five yards from the center of the two doors when three men burst through.
In their protective suits, the men stood boldly with the hoods thrown back over their shoulders. Drake saw the two security personnel slumped against the outside of the main doors.
Before they could start spraying deadly bursts at their captives, Drake pulled his.45 and shot the terrorist closest to him in the left temple. Just as swiftly, he was moving toward the second man when the man’s head exploded in a pink burst of blood and brain. Mike could still hit a target.
The last man turned to his left, toward the sound of Drake’s.45 in time to see his executioner before a bullet entered his forehead.
For a long moment, the screaming from the startled guests echoed in the vast room along with the reverberation of Drake’s shots. Then a silence settled, broken only by the sobs of grateful survivors.
Drake checked each man on the floor and made sure they were dead before he holstered his.45. He turned and saw his father-in-law and the Secretary standing safely at the rear of the room.
“Drake, you okay in there? Any wounded?” Mike asked.
“I have three dead terrorists, no wounded.”
“Then you should get out here. There are plenty of soldiers headed your way. Remember the helicopter ambulance we saw at the airport? It landed when those three guys started shooting. There’s a guy standing next to it, watching everything with binoculars. I think this is the ride the shooters were expecting.”
“What does he look like?”
“Just a second. Black guy, tall, maybe six seven or eight, wearing a paramedic’s uniform. Wait a sec, looks like he saw me looking at him. He’s signaling the pilot to take off. He’s not waiting around to help any wounded,” Mike said.
“Get the numbers on that helicopter, it sounds like Kaamil. I’m on my way.”
Drake ran to where Capt. Martinez stood, giving orders to a group of soldiers. The look on her face when she saw him said, sorry, I should have listened.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Drake preempted the conversation. “It was an inside job. You couldn’t have seen it coming. I think the helicopter ambulance that landed just as the shooting started is part of it. It’s taking off. Is there anything here I can use to follow him?”
“Commander Hollingsworth has a Black Hawk, but I don’t know where his pilot is.”
“That’s okay, I brought my own, a former Night Stalker. Tell me where it’s parked, then call ahead and authorize the flight.”
Capt. Martinez nodded a quick acknowledgement. “Landing pad’s that way,” she said, pointing. Drake turned and ran through the main doors of the emergency center just as Mike pulled up.
“Mike, we’re going to borrow the commander’s Black Hawk. You remember how to fly a Bl
ack Hawk?” Drake asked as he jumped in. Mike accelerated in the direction he indicated toward the landing pad a hundred yards south of the headquarters building. “If this is Kaamil, he’s headed for the ranch or their warehouse in Hood River. Can we catch him?”
“Assuming the Black Hawk is ready to fly, he’ll be at least ten minutes ahead of us. Good news, the Bell 407 will only do 130 knots or so at, figure 4,000 feet. We should be able to do 160 knots if they keep this bird in good shape. We’ll catch him. Are we following or intercepting?”
“Depends,” Drake said. “If he has a plane at the ranch, we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t leave. If he’s headed to Hood River, I’m not sure.”
The UH-60 Black Hawk had four soldiers standing with their M4s at the ready when Mike slid to a stop in front of them. The sergeant in charge of the detail saluted and reported to Drake that Capt. Martinez had called and cleared them for takeoff.
Mike ran ahead and jumped into the pilot’s seat to run through an abbreviated pre-flight check. Drake called Capt. Martinez on the radio in the sergeant’s Humvee.
“Captain, we’re ready to take off. I think the guy we’re after is headed for Hood River, or a ranch just south of there. Notify the police in Hood River we’re pursuing a Bell 407, probably hijacked from the hospital in Hermiston. Tell them to stay away if it lands until we ask for help. This is the second time I’ve run into these guys. I’d like an opportunity to talk a bit before they’re arrested, if possible.”
Drake could hear her smile over the radio.
“Roger that, a little chat time if possible. Secretary Rallings and the Senator asked me to tell you thanks. They’re heading back to Portland. We’ll get them to the airport safely. Lt. Col. Hollingsworth said to tell you he’ll authorize whatever you need to catch these guys. Just call and let him know.”
“Tell the Colonel thanks,” Drake said. Then he ran to the Black Hawk and signaled Mike to take off.
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