Thorne left the room and boarded the elevator to return to the main level. His mind raced as he tried to figure out a way to salvage what they had accomplished. He knew there were enough units loyal to him, men he had placed in their commands over the years for just such an occasion. They might not support what he was doing, his secret agenda, but they were loyal to him, and as long as they thought what he was doing was legal and supported by not only the government and the people, they would continue to execute their orders as long as they were lawful.
Raven would continue to handle the dirty stuff, and they numbered in the thousands.
If he could get Starling or his double to deliver a convincing enough speech on the networks tonight then they might be able to get things back on track. The elevator shuddered to a halt and he grabbed the wall, steadying himself. The lights flickered then went out, a dim red emergency light casting an eerie glow over the tiny car. He reached for the emergency panel when a sound above him caused him to look up.
He gasped as a figure dropped toward him, headfirst, arm extended with what looked like a Taser.
He was jerking on the floor before he could demand an explanation.
Near Fort Myer, Arlington, Virginia
8:44 PM EST
Senior Chief Chuck Skerritt law prone on an apartment building rooftop across from Fort Myer. He had two platoons worth of operators spread across the entire length of the base with sniper rifles at the ready and his targets were already picked.
Anybody wearing one of those cute little Raven Defense Services uniforms.
The standing orders were to not engage United States Military personnel, another platoon at ground level ready to provide cover fire should it be necessary and use rubber bullets should things really go to hell.
His men were to surrender to US Military personnel if it became necessary, not kill them.
But Raven was open season.
His phone sat in front of him, resting against a row of brick two courses high. The screen flashed a message. The final breach team was in place, the aim to take out all communications at once if possible, a platoon each assigned to the Pentagon, White House and Fort Myer.
All that was left now was to wait for 2100 hours.
And bring the rain.
Near the White House, Washington, DC
8:45 PM EST
“What the hell is going on?”
General Thorne couldn’t see anything, a hood having been placed over his head before he had regained muscle control. He had been pulled up the elevator shaft by rope then carried and tossed into what he assumed was the back seat of a vehicle. He had been stunned again just before they cleared the main gates of the White House.
And they hadn’t been stopped.
Which meant that whoever was doing this was well connected within the White House security apparatus. He knew it couldn’t be his own men, they were loyal.
The missing Special Forces?
Now that was a definite possibility. They would have had the skills to execute his kidnapping, of that there was no doubt. Infiltrate the White House? Definitely.
They were the best.
But how were they able to simply drive off the White House property without security raising any questions?
Nobody had said a word since his capture, all of his protests and demands ignored. He could feel the vehicle picking up speed and they drove in silence for several minutes before slowing down and descending what he assumed was a ramp. The pitch changed and it sounded like they were now underground, perhaps in a parking garage.
The car stopped.
Doors opened and he was hauled roughly out of the car then marched forward, hands gripping each of his arms as he was guided through multiple turns until finally pushed into a chair, the hood ripped off his head.
And for the first time in his life, he felt fear.
Approaching Fort Myer, Arlington, Virginia
8:57 PM EST
“We’re approaching Fort Myer now, sir. ETA twelve minutes.”
Captain Mike Howards rode in the passenger seat of the lead Humvee, his convoy of reinforcements for Fort Myer stretching behind him about twenty vehicles strong. HQ had apparently received intel that a terrorist attack was imminent, perhaps on the cemetery itself, an attempt to desecrate the sacred remains that rested there.
And it pissed him off.
He was dispatched with a company of men to help secure the entire grounds with orders to shoot anyone who approached, civilian or otherwise, as it had been proven in previous attacks it was American citizens being coopted into this fight.
“It’s better to kill them with one of our bullets then let them die by one of the terrorists’ bombs,” his CO had said.
He had asked about remote detonators and his CO had told him to make sure they took down any suspected terrorist before they could get close enough to harm military or government property. The thought sickened him, his anger not directed in any way at the victim, but at those cowards using them as pawns in their twisted religious war of domination.
He looked at his watch. 9:00PM. He raised his radio to send in a status update when a burst of static erupted from it.
What the hell?
Utility Access Tunnel C4AR-7, Junction 12, Washington, DC
9:00 PM EST
“Execute.”
Chief Winslow Pileggi turned away from the small bundle of explosives placed along the main wiring conduit that carried a good chunk of the Pentagon’s external communications. He and the rest of his platoon were deployed in six tunnels that contained the fiber optic lines the Pentagon used for most of their communications to the outside world—not to mention their electrical feeds, the power requirements of the massive complex enormous.
He pushed the button on the detonator.
The explosion was rather small though the confined space did make its presence felt. The lighting in the access tunnel immediately went out, quickly replaced by dim emergency lighting. He waved away the dust and inspected his handiwork.
Nobody’s getting that working again any time soon.
He turned and sprinted toward the exit before somebody arrived to ask questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.
Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia
9:00 PM EST
“Execute! Execute! Execute!”
Kane heard Dawson’s whispered orders over his earpiece just as the power went down for the entire area. He flipped his night vision goggles down, his Glock 22 extended in front of him. Lee Fang was to his right, having insisted on joining them, her own Glock at the ready as the ten person team advanced, two sniper teams covering them along with hopefully several platoons of Navy SEALs nearby.
Emergency lighting kicked in showing Raven personnel scurrying about.
They continued to advance silently, so far unnoticed, through the sacred grounds, arriving at the knee wall unscathed.
Somebody shouted at his ten o’clock and gunfire erupted, the muzzle flash singling out the target. Kane hit the ground as did the others. Suddenly the shooter’s body was skidding backward along the parking lot pavement, the loud report of a sniper rifle echoing a moment later.
All hell broke loose.
Gunfire belched from across the entire east side of the installation, the Raven personnel unloading their weapons into the darkness, aiming at nothing.
“Bravo Team, Bravo One, stay down,” ordered Dawson over the comm. “Snipers, fire at will, over.”
It was impressively terrifying. Kane had fired enough rounds from a sniper rifle to see the effect on the targets. It was one thing though to see that through a tiny scope, another to see it happening as little as ten yards away in living color.
Bodies began to skid back toward the buildings as the two Delta sniper teams eliminated Raven personnel. There were several military positions returning fire as well, but in a more disciplined manner, though he had to admit the Raven personnel weren’t panicking, they simply didn’t seem concerned about running out of a
mmo. But as their herd began to thin, some disarray was introduced as they scrambled to find cover, it taking almost a full minute to realize what was happening, eight of their numbers already down.
Kane cursed.
Several dozen Raven personnel emerged from their target building, Brucker Hall. As they spread out, their weapons blazing, Kane’s heart leapt as the distinct pattern of the two coordinated Delta team’s sniper rifles were suddenly joined by more, at least four or five additional weapons, the Raven personnel dropping like flies.
Kane pushed his earpiece in as Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman radioed in from one of the sniper teams. “Bravo One, Bravo Five. We’ve got additional teams assisting, over.”
“Roger that, Bravo Five. Keep them busy, out.”
The Raven personnel were now taking cover from the snipers, their return fire minimal.
Kane heard Dawson’s megaphone activate to his right. “We are United States Special Forces! All US military personnel, lay down your weapons! Our fight is not with you. If you do not comply within five seconds, you will be counted among the enemy. I repeat, we are United States Special Forces. All US military personnel, lay down your weapons!”
Kane looked at two of the military positions he could see from his location and the confusion was obvious, some of the men poking their heads up, one throwing his hands up.
Which seemed to create a wave as arms flew up everywhere, these men by no means cowards, but more likely relieved that they were under attack by their own as opposed to some terrorist group.
The sniper fire continued as targets of opportunity presented themselves, but the Raven personnel were now mostly behind cover, shielded from the deadly teams.
Which meant they weren’t firing back.
Dawson signaled the advance.
Kane jumped to his feet, advancing quickly on a van he knew at least two of their opponents were hiding behind. He swung wide around the rear, firing two quick rounds, his first target dropping as the second spun. Kane fired another two rounds then dropped to a knee, looking for another target. More weapons fire around him, the disciplined quick and deliberate shooting of trained operators wasting little time and no ammo.
“United States Special Forces!” shouted Dawson to his right. Kane looked over to see Dawson and Niner advancing on one of the actual military positions, the men raising their hands even higher. Words were exchanged and the men jumped to their feet, their weapons in hand as they retreated into the cemetery then appeared to take up positions covering Delta Team-Bravo’s six.
Fang fired twice, she tight to him, covering his rear as they advanced deeper into the parking lot. To Kane’s left several more of the military positions were abandoned, the men taking the lead from their comrades, realizing who was actually in the right, they obviously having seen the broadcasts an hour ago.
Automatic weapons fire sounded in the distance and Kane had to assume that the SEALs teams and whoever else was here to assist had opened up another front, tying up he was certain a significant portion of the Raven personnel from redeploying to the east side.
He spotted a Raven uniform huddled under an SUV and lowered his weapon nearly to the ground, firing two rounds. The man cried out then was silent as Kane and Fang continued to advance toward the Brucker building. The gunfire on this end was dwindling now as Bravo Team swept from the left, eliminating any Raven personnel that remained, those who rose to flee immediately eliminated by snipers.
There were no orders to surrender here today.
These men had participated in the greatest criminal act in the history of their country, and all had been sentenced to death.
Kane recalled his promise to the USS Columbia’s Captain. “I intend to kill every damned last one of them.” He squeezed off another two rounds then reloaded, Fang firing as well.
The entire assault had taken less than five minutes and Niner was already rigging the main doors for Brucker Hall with explosives.
“We’ve got company,” boomed Atlas. Kane spun to see eight men advancing in formation toward them but not firing.
“Friendlies on your six!” came a voice. “Navy SEALs!”
“Is that you, Chuck?” called Dawson.
One of the figures waved. “In the flesh, BD!”
Kane and the rest eased up slightly, turning their attention to their surroundings again as the new platoon arrived. “Sit rep?” asked Dawson as fist bumps were exchanged, everyone now hugging the windowless building wall.
“We’ve got the entire west side pinned down, about half the Raven posers eliminated, the military units standing down. Looks like they got the word they’re playing for the wrong team. If we get their help we should be able to secure the entire facility in the next fifteen.”
“Good,” replied Dawson. “This is Booker’s headquarters. We’re going to breach now. Care to join us?”
Chuck Skerritt grinned. “With pleasure. Intel?”
“Limited. There’s one CIA female hostage. Other than that we’re assuming everyone’s a target. If they’re military, then they’re in deep, so don’t hesitate to shoot.”
“Affirmative.”
Skerritt moved his team to a set of doors farther down the front of the building, one of his men quickly rigging explosives. Dawson raised his hand, counting down with his fingers. “On Three, Two, One, Execute!”
Niner detonated the door, a simultaneous blast erupting from the SEAL position. Dawson took point with Niner, Red and Atlas breaking left as they entered, Kane and Fang right, Jimmy and Mickey covering the entrance. Emergency lighting lit the large drill area, dozens of government issue cubicles filling what was once used by the marching band to practice.
Gunfire erupted as shouts and screams from some of the cubicles had people running away or leaping up to fight. Kane squeezed off several rounds, taking down two Raven personnel who had burst from a hallway to the right. More shots, their double-taps distinctive, filled the hall as the squads advanced, clearing the cubicles. The process was swift and brutal, there no time for prisoners, no time to assess who might be surrendering, who might be pretending to surrender. They had one shot at saving their country, and this was it. Every single person in this room, regardless of uniform or gender, were traitors.
And they were going to die.
Fang and Kane advanced up one corridor of cubicles, clearing each one, occasionally pumping rounds into people fleeing as they heard the advance, others jumping out trying to fire, but to no avail.
Everyone dies today.
They reached the other side of the hall, joined by the other friendlies, the large room cleared. Dawson motioned to a set of doors to the left. “SEALs, you take left. We’ll take right.”
“See you on the other side,” grinned Skerritt, leading his men off as Dawson and the others headed for a set of doors to the right. Niner pulled the door open, stepping aside.
They were greeted by a wall of bullets.
“Can you reach anyone?”
Colonel Booker was screaming at his team, but they were all useless.
As useless as all this equipment!
“I’m sorry, sir. Our backup communications are still up, but our primaries are down. And we can’t reach the Pentagon or the White House. It looks like there was a coordinated effort to take down our comms.”
“And they succeeded, apparently.” Booker growled. “What’s the ETA on that company of reinforcements?”
“They’re still ten minutes out.”
“Strength?”
“One hundred fifty men with Humvees, some heavy weaponry and a few armored vehicles. If they remain loyal we should be able to take back the base. I don’t think we’re under attack by that many.”
“Maybe not many, but enough.” He spun on his heel. “I’ll be back.”
He marched down the hall as the doors at the far end suddenly burst open. Raven personnel lining either side of the hall, tucked into doorways, opened fire. Smoke was popped by the enemy and he could see his me
n beginning to drop as well aimed rounds found their targets.
It reminded him of the opening of Star Wars, he half expecting to see Darth Vader’s robed figure emerge through the fog.
He opened a door to his right, closing and locking it behind him.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I think it’s time to die.”
Dawson and Niner peered through the haze with their infrared goggles, picking off the blinded targets one by one. They advanced to the first set of doors, the doors already opened. Dawson found his room empty but heard Niner squeeze off several rounds then shout, “Clear!”
With the two of them now inside the hall, covered by their doorways, Atlas and Red were able to take position at the outer door and double the firepower now directed down the hall. The defenders quickly dropped, some throwing their weapons down and jumping up in surrender, others retreating.
All died.
Dawson advanced, kicking open the next door, this time with Niner covering him, Atlas and Red taking the right side, covered by the others. Dawson reached the third door and kicked it open. It contained a now dim large light on a stand and a single chair with a woman tied in it.
And even through his goggles he recognized her immediately from their meeting during the New Orleans crisis.
Sherrie White had finally fallen asleep.
And no one had woken her.
She had no idea how long she had remained that way before the sound of her door being kicked open woke her, but it was the most precious few minutes of sleep she could ever remember having.
But she awoke to confusion.
And hope.
Gunfire sounded in the hallway and a dark figure now stood before her, silhouetted by the emergency light behind them. The figure reached forward and she recoiled slightly.
A flashlight suddenly snapped on, highlighting the man’s face and she erupted in tears, her shoulders heaving in relief as she recognized one of the Delta operators she had been teamed with previously.
Death to America (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #4) Page 25
