by Nick Harlow
Donovan shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. And if a great diplomat like you can’t settle this peacefully, no one can. You’ve been the best Secretary of State in modern history.”
“I appreciate the compliment, Mister President, though I still can’t help but wonder if I could have done more.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing else you could have done. We took our best shot.” He reached for the phone to call the Secretary of Defense.
Suddenly the doors burst open and two Secret Service agents quickly entered. “Mister President, the White House has been compromised. All of you need to come with us to a safe location.”
The President immediately stood up, as did everyone else in the room. “Compromised? By whom?”
One of the agents moved forward, pulled out a gun and pointed it at the President. “By us.”
10:59 am
SYDNEY MOVED TO THE front of the elevator next to Secret Service Agent Jim Ryan and cleared her throat as the doors closed. They started heading down. “Okay, everyone, if I can have your attention. We are now descending to what is officially called the Presidential Emergency Operations Center. Or as I like to call it...” She dropped her voice. “The bunker.” The five teenagers on the tour laughed. She couldn’t help but smile as her gaze fell on Scott Rusch, son of the Speaker of the House. “We are heading underground to what may be the safest place in the country, as it can withstand a nuclear attack. Or so they tell me.”
Rusch turned to the group. “Sounds like a good place to be today, in light of what’s happening.” The dark-haired, slightly built nineteen year old who had that boy-next-door thing going shot a little smirk at Sydney. His ice blue eyes locked with hers for a moment, making her heart flutter.
Gladys was right.
Dangerous.
She narrowed her eyes a bit as she stretched to her full height of five-feet-eleven, folded her arms, moved closer and looked down at him, having about a two inch advantage. “I can leave you down here with no way to get out, you know, and you’d have to survive on freeze-dried food that’s been here since the Reagan administration. Now, may I continue the tour without any comments from the peanut gallery?”
He put up his hands in surrender. “You have the floor, Miss Donovan.”
“Very good. And keep in mind that I always have the floor.”
“Copy that,” cracked Agent Ryan. Everyone laughed as the lean, muscled agent with the salt-and-pepper crew cut gave Sydney a wink. The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.
“Whoa.”
Sydney always enjoyed the typical reaction from visitors who got their first look at the bunker. Jaws dropped on cue, eyes bugged out. She led the group from the elevator into the Situation Room of the facility and closed the doors behind her. “Impressive huh? To me it looks like a movie set but it can act as the working nerve center for the United States. The President can basically run the country from down here. Actually, I could too since I come down here a lot and know how everything works, but I don’t think my dad would appreciate it if I started launching nukes. Of course I’m kidding, they’re locked out. First, before I demonstrate how some things work, a little history lesson. The bunker was used right after the nine-eleven attack by President George W. Bush’s staff. At the time of the attacks President Bush was in Florida, so Vice-President Dick Cheney came down here with Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice and some other cabinet members. Bush wanted to come back to Washington but the Secret Service was strongly against it, so after a stop in Louisiana, Air Force One went to Nebraska, which is the site of the Strategic Air Command. And if you’ll remember, one of the planes hijacked by the terrorists hit the Pentagon. We’ll never know if the White House was the original target, but that seems logical to me. And it’s never a good idea to have the President and Vice President in the same location during an attack.”
“That’s to prevent the Speaker of the House from becoming President, since he’s third in line,” said Scott.
“Again, Mister Rusch, some of the food down here is thirty years old. Anyway, so you can see how important this place is to maintain a working government in the event of a crisis.”
Scott stepped forward and looked at all the equipment. “Does your father come down here a lot?”
“Obviously he’s been here to get familiar with how everything works but thankfully this place has not had to be officially used during his administration. He does visit a few times each year just to re-familiarize himself with things, and to get acquainted with anything that’s new or updated. But there are people here constantly maintaining the equipment and the connections to make sure everything is working properly. From this room we can monitor all the television networks as well as some other stuff I’m not allowed to tell you. Because my father is unfortunately not allowed to tell me. Even though I’ve tried to get stuff out of him. I do know we have direct lines to NORAD and the Strategic Air Command. And the President can of course get in contact with the leaders of other countries. Personally, I like to sneak down here to get away from the Secret Service.”
“She thinks,” said Agent Ryan. That got a little laugh from the crowd. He did that I’m-watching-you thing, pointing two fingers at his own eyes, then at Sydney.
“And people wonder why there’s never been a photo of me on a date. Agent Ryan is like having a second dad. And being the President’s daughter means you have a whole bunch of helicopter parents who keep you in Kevlar bubble wrap. Okay, if you’ll all follow me, I’ll show you some of the—”
The doors flew open, interrupting her. Agent Brooks entered and closed the doors. Brooks pointed behind Sydney. “Okay, if everyone can head into the adjoining room we have an emergency. Ryan, you take them and I’ll fill you in on what’s going on in a minute. Everyone please follow Agent Ryan.”
Sydney moved toward Brooks as her favorite agent led the group into the next room. “What’s going on, Agent Brooks?”
“The White House has been compromised.”
“By whom?”
He pulled a gun and rested it on her chin. “I’ll give you one guess, Spitfire.”
CHAPTER TWO
Sydney’s heart slammed against her chest as Agent Brooks locked eyes with her and smiled. “What’s the matter, Miss Donovan? Is the President’s genius daughter finally at a loss for words? No clever sound bite that will go viral on social media?”
Her mouth opened but she said nothing as she broke out in a cold sweat while her pulse skyrocketed.
“Welcome to real life.” He cocked his head toward the other room which held an auxiliary Oval Office from which the President could address the nation. “Okay, little girl, in with the others. Move it.”
She turned and headed toward the rest of the group, seeing Agent Ryan talking to them.
Ryan’s pale blue eyes widened as she entered the room with a gun pointed at her head. “Brooks, what the hell?” He started to reach for his own gun.
Brooks whipped his gun in Ryan’s direction. “Hold it right there. Hands up.” Ryan froze and raised his hands. Brooks shoved Sydney toward the other teens as he kept an eye on Ryan. “Take your gun out of the holster with your left land. Two fingers. Slowly. Lay it on the table and back away.”
The tall forty-five year old Secret Service agent didn’t comply. “Brooks, are you out of your damn mind? Why are you doing this?”
“None of your concern, Ryan. Gun. On the table. Now. Then back off.”
Agent Ryan reached inside his jacket and slowly removed a gun from his shoulder holster. He gently placed it on the table, then started backing up toward the other side of the room away from Sydney and the tour group.
What’s he doing? He should be coming toward us to protect us.
“You’d better think long and hard about what you’re doing, Brooks. You’ll face a firing squad for treason.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll be out of the country. Oh, wait, there probably won’t be a country once we are done. Either way, not a pro
blem.”
“Who the hell is we?”
“None of your concern right now. Enough with the questions.”
Ryan was still inching away from the group. “Brooks, give it up now and maybe they’ll go easier on you. Drop the gun and tell me who you’re working for. I know damn well you’re not going to hurt these kids.”
Brooks laughed. “Not happening, Ryan. And they’re not kids, they’re hostages.”
Ryan shot a quick look at Sydney, then at the desk.
She looked at the desk.
Swag bags.
The red shopping bag.
The snow globe next to it.
He needs a diversion.
That’s why he’s moving away from us. So Brooks can’t see everyone at the same time.
She slid along the front of the desk, slowly reached behind her back and wrapped her hands around the cool glass of the snow globe.
Ryan had now moved to a point where it was impossible for Brooks to keep an eye on both him and the group. “C’mon, Brooks, you know you’ll never make it out of here alive. Talk to me.” He turned toward Sydney and gave her a little nod.
Sydney reared back and threw the snow globe as hard as she could, hitting Agent Brooks in the head.
His gun went off, the bullet hitting Agent Ryan in the leg. Brooks staggered a bit as he grabbed his head with his free hand.
Ryan fell to the floor, then in an incredibly smooth motion pulled out a gun from an ankle holster and fired at Brooks, hitting him right between the eyes. Brooks slumped to the ground, eyes lifeless.
Sydney and the rest of the group rushed toward Ryan, now writhing in pain as he grabbed his leg. She crouched down next to him. “Agent Ryan—”
He grimaced as he pointed at Brooks. “Make sure he’s dead. Now. Get his gun. And he’s probably got an ankle holster too.”
She took a quick look and saw Scott Rusch already checking him out. He nodded at her. “He’s gone, thank God. Nice shot, Agent Ryan.”
One of the girls on the tour sat on the floor next to the Agent. “My father’s a surgeon and I’m pre-med, I know what to do. We need a tourniquet. Agent Ryan, give me your necktie.”
Ryan slipped off his red tie and handed it to her. “It was a gift from the President.”
“And now it will save your life.” The skinny brunette with big hazel eyes quickly tied it around his thigh to stop the bleeding. “I need a pair of scissors or something to cut off your slacks so I can see the wound.”
Ryan reached in his pocket and pulled out a Swiss Army knife. “This should work.” He handed it to her, then turned to Sydney and pointed at Brooks. “Empty his pockets and bring everything over to me. And bring me my other gun.”
She headed over to Brooks, his dead eyes seeming to look right into her, stopping her in her tracks.
She’d seen dead people before, but that was at funerals. People looking peacefully asleep in caskets. Eyes closed.
Not with part of their heads blown away.
Nothing like this.
“Syd...”
She went cold staring at those eyes which seemed to reach into her soul and give it a squeeze.
“Syd...” Scott Rusch stood up, reached out, took her chin and turned her head. “Hey, Syd. Don’t look at his face. He’s a bad guy who wanted to kill us all. No different than a terrorist.” He locked eyes with her, his a sea of calm. “Hang on a minute.” He crouched down, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered the dead agent’s face. “You okay?”
Sydney nodded as she took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank you, Scott.”
“Okay, you look in his jacket pockets. I’ll check his slacks.”
She knelt down and saw Scott pull a clip of bullets from the dead agent’s pants pocket. Her hair stood on end and her face tightened as she started to slowly reach inside his jacket.
“Syd, he’s dead. He can’t hurt you.”
“Sorry. It’s just...”
“I know. Breathe. It’s over.”
She did, tried her best to exhale some tension. Sydney found two things inside his jacket pockets; a passport and a small two-way radio with a cord running down his sleeve. She disconnected it, got up, moved to the table and grabbed Ryan’s gun. They brought everything back to the agent. Her eyes widened at what she saw; the doctor’s daughter had cut of one leg of his gray wool slacks revealing his swollen, bloodied thigh. Ryan’s face was tightened and pale. “Oh my God...”
The Agent forced a smile. “Just a flesh wound.” He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a key and held it toward her. “Go lock out the elevator so no one can get down here. You know how to do that, Miss Donovan?”
She took the key. “Yeah. The keyhole below the red button. And at this point you can stop calling me Miss Donovan.”
“Okay, Spitfire. The rest of you, empty your pockets and purses on the floor next to me. I want to see what we’ve got that we can use.”
Sydney ran to the elevator, locked it out, then quickly returned to the agent. The floor was now covered with all sorts of items as everyone was adding their belongings.
Agent Ryan was studying the passport. “This is a really good fake. And apparently he’s been out of the country using it already. Several times over the last few years.”
Scott Rusch looked over the Agent’s shoulder. “Where’s he been traveling?”
Ryan flipped through the pages of the passport. “Middle east. Russia. China. Lots of places that wouldn’t mind having our government fall apart. Which might be the motivation today.” He pointed at the bank of television monitors. “Spitfire, turn on the networks. Need to see what’s going on up top. But I can guess.”
Scott turned to her. “Why is he calling you Spitfire?”
“It’s my Secret Service code name.”
“Hell, it fits.”
“Thank you.” Sydney got up, thankful that she had spent enough time in the bunker to know how most things worked. She moved to a control panel and turned it on. All the flat screens came alive featuring shots of the White House.
With similar words at the bottom of each screen.
White House under siege.
Oval Office compromised by terrorists.
And the last one that hit her in the soul.
President Donovan taken hostage.
“Dad...” She bit her lower lip.
Then her fists tightened and eyes narrowed as she stared at the monitors.
I have to help him...
11:17 am
President Frank Donovan glared at his captors, led by three rogue Secret Service Agents and a handful of men and women in Capitol Police uniforms. He sat in a chair next to eleven other members of the White House staff, all staring down the barrels of guns.
And seeing the White House on the television monitor.
The story had broken.
But the who, what, and why were still a mystery. What his captors wanted had yet to be revealed. But he knew it had to be connected to the Russians and the line he’d drawn in the sand. The timing was surely not a coincidence.
And then there was the situation with the Vice President. Unconscious after surgery this morning. That wasn’t a coincidence either.
Thank God Sydney’s down in the bunker.
The Agent who had led the takeover and seemed to be in charge, George Mayfair, got off the satellite phone, put it in his pocket, and turned to the President. “Now, Mister President, shall we begin?”
“Sure, Agent Mayfair, or whatever the hell your real name is. We can begin with the oath you obviously forgot when you took this job and what’s going to happen to you when this is over.”
The solidly built, sandy-haired agent smiled, his pale green eyes twinkling as he nodded. “Ah, the idle threat, right off the bat. So typical of the Donovan style. Shoot from the hip. And now let me save you the trouble of telling me that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists.”
“Seems like you’ve done you
r homework. But let’s cut to the chase as I don’t want anyone hurt. Obviously you want something. What is it?”
“In due time, Sir, in due time. Not all the chess pieces are in place as of yet. This was just the first move. But trust me, in a very short time, you will negotiate, and give us what we want. Or face the consequences.”
“I will not negotiate. I’ve been prepared to die for my country since the day I joined the Marines.”
“Very admirable, Mister President. But are you prepared to watch your daughter die?”
Donovan’s eyes widened as the color drained from his face. “Excuse me? What have you done with Sydney?”
The terrorist flashed a sinister grin at him. “Well, well, it seems that scenario is not in your terrorist playbook. Ah, you obviously thought she was safe in the bunker. Now surely you don’t think we’d let our most valuable hostage hide down there where we couldn’t get her, do you? But don’t you worry, Mister President. She’s in very good hands. For now. As for later...”
The President glared at him as his jaw tightened. “I swear if you touch a hair on my daughter’s head—”
“That part’s up to you, Mister President. Cooperate, give us what we want, you get your daughter back untouched. If not... well, you’ve already gone through one family funeral too many, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER THREE
Sydney brought a couple of couch cushions over to Agent Ryan, propped one behind his head so he could sit up against the wall and slid the other under his wounded leg. His shirt already soaked with sweat. “Sure you don’t want us to move you over to the sofa in the other room? A lot more comfortable than this cold floor. Or we could get you to the medical facility down here.”
The Agent shook his head. “No. I need to be here with a clear shot at the door in case they send reinforcements.”
“But I just locked out the elevator.”
“They were smart enough to take over the White House, they might have figured out a way to bypass that. An elevator is not exactly a high tech device. Everything is on the table right now.”
