by Jack Mars
Another burst of static came in.
“They’re not going to… Luke? Luke?”
“I’m here.”
“They’re watching Grand Central and the Hoboken PATH station. They closed the Midtown Tunnel. I spoke with Ron Begley. They don’t believe it’s the White House. They think you killed Eldrick Thomas. The arrest warrant is for murder.”
“What? Why would I murder Eldrick Thomas?”
The phone cut out again.
Luke looked at Ed. “We’ll get the pilots to radio it in.”
Ed shook his head. “No good. Nobody’s going to believe us. And if we tell the pilots to radio it in, everybody’s going to know where we are. No. We have to go in ourselves. And we have to go in stealth.”
Luke went up to the cockpit and poked his head inside.
He knew these two—Rachel and Jacob. They were old friends of his, and they’d flown together for years. Both of them were former U.S. Army 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. Luke and Ed were used to flying with people like this. The 160th SOAR were the Delta Force of helicopter pilots.
Rachel was as tough as they came. You don’t join an elite group of Army special operations pilots as a woman. You brawl your way in. Which was perfect for Rachel—her off-work hobby was cage fighting. Meanwhile, Jacob was as steady as a rock. His calm under fire was legendary, almost surreal. His hobby was mountaintop meditation retreats. The two of them might know Luke was suspended. They might even know there was a warrant for his arrest. But they also knew Luke was Delta, and they weren’t the types to ask too many questions.
“How close can you get us to the White House?” Luke said.
“You got a lunch date?” Rachel said.
Luke shrugged. “Come on.”
“South Capitol Street heliport,” Jacob said. “It’s a DC Metro Police pad, closed to all other traffic, but I know them. I can squeeze us in there. They’re about three miles from the White House.”
“I need an SRT car waiting for us,” Luke said. “No driver, just the car. Okay?”
“Got it,” Rachel said. She glanced back at him.
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” he said.
Luke went back to the hold. Ed stood by the open cargo door.
Luke shouted at him. “We got a helipad three miles from the White House, and we’ll have a car there that we drive.”
Ed nodded. “That sounds right.”
The phone rang again. Luke looked at the caller ID. He didn’t want to talk about arrest warrants anymore, or about who believed what. This time, when he answered, he barely spoke to her.
“Trudy, put Mark Swann on the phone.”
Chapter 22
10:23 a.m.
Washington, DC
“We’re never going to make it.”
Luke drove the company SUV toward the White House through mid-morning traffic. It was stop and go. They were running out of time.
The phone was plastered to his ear. It rang and rang. Finally, it picked up. For the third or fourth time in a row, he got her voicemail. She had told him that she and Gunner planned on going to the movies.
Her voice was vibrant and bright. He pictured her: beautiful, smiling, optimistic, and energetic. “Hi, this is Becca. I can’t answer your call right now. Please leave a message after the tone, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Becca!” he said. He took a breath. He didn’t want to alarm her. “I need you to do something for me. I don’t have time to explain. When you get this message, drive straight to the country house. Don’t go home. Don’t stop to pick up anything. Just get on the highway and go. If you need anything, you can always get it over there. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.” He paused. “I love you both so much. Do this for me. Don’t hesitate. Just go now, as soon as you hear this.”
He hung up. Next to him, Ed sat ramrod straight. A thick vein stuck out on Ed’s forehead. He was sweating.
“We gotta get around this traffic somehow,” Luke said.
Ed reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an LED siren light. He mounted it on the dashboard, turned it on, and then hit the siren switch. Outside the car, the shriek of the siren was impossibly loud.
WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH.
“Go!” Ed said.
Luke pulled into oncoming traffic and laid on the horn. He tapped the accelerator, raced to the next light, then veered back into his own lane. He stomped on it now and the car took off like a missile.
“Go, man! Go!” Ed screamed.
Up ahead, cars at the next light pulled off to the right like a herd of animals. Luke blew through the intersection, going seventy miles per hour.
The phone rang.
“Swann?”
The voice had a subtle twang. “Luke, it’s Don Morris.”
“Don, I have to keep this line clear.”
“Son, what are you doing? They told me you killed a man in a hospital in Baltimore.”
Luke shook his head. “I didn’t kill anyone. They’re going to attack the White House. That’s what this has been all along.”
“That’s not true, Luke. In the past ten minutes, they arrested two Arab kids, one at Grand Central and one in Hoboken. They were both carrying pressure cooker bombs in knapsacks. NSA is tracking down their identities and affiliations right now.”
“Pressure cookers aren’t dirty bombs!” Luke said. He heard the shrillness in his own voice. He sounded like a crazy person. He had barely slept in twenty-four hours. He knew that. His perceptions might be off. But this far off? Could it be? He glanced at the speedometer. They were going eighty-five miles an hour on city streets.
“The pressure cookers were cat’s paws,” Don said. “The bombs weren’t even operational. The bad guys sent the kids in to see what the response would be. Now they know the targets are compromised.”
Luke tried to slow his voice down, so that he and Don could have a rational conversation. He wanted to make Don understand what Luke thought was painfully clear. “Don, we talked to Eldrick Thomas. He was one of the thieves. We didn’t kill him. He died of radiation poisoning. He told us the target is the White House.”
“Luke, I know who he was. The intel we have is that besides everything else, Eldrick Thomas was a professional conman. He was playing you, that’s all. That’s what conmen do. They play people right up to the end. He tells you it’s the White House. Security gets beefed up, and people think he’s cooperating. If he lives, maybe he gets a better plea deal. The man was in and out of prison his entire life. But he knows the target is the White House. Do you think the people behind this would trust a low-level hoodlum with that kind of information?”
Luke didn’t say a word.
“You can still call this off,” Don said. “Come back to headquarters. I’ll meet you there. If you say you didn’t kill him, I believe you. I’ll do whatever I can to protect you. We’ll get a psychiatrist in. He’ll say you had a PTSD episode. A psychotic break. Your combat record will support that. You might have to do a few days in-patient stay, but you will get out of this.”
Luke couldn’t believe the things he was hearing.
“I have to keep this line clear,” he said.
“You’re all the way out there now, Luke. If you go much further, you’re going to be by yourself.”
A call was coming through.
“Don, I have to run.”
“Luke! Don’t you dare hang up this phone.”
Ahead was the gate to the White House. Ed turned off the bubble light and the siren. Luke slowed the SUV. He held his phone out so he could see the screen. The person trying to call through was Swann.
Luke toggled the call in. “Swann. Did you get us the Secret Service clearance?”
Swann was hesitant. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“You both have murder warrants, Luke. Give me a break. Yeah, it looks like you have Yankee White clearance, Category One. You’re cleared to work directly with the President
and Vice President. But it’s fake. In thirty seconds, the Secret Service database could cross-reference the crime database and kick you out again. Someone could double-check it and find that the clearance was approved in the past five minutes. I can’t guarantee anything. I’d say it’s fifty-fifty at best. How soon will you be there?”
“We’re there now. We’re pulling into the driveway.”
“Well, all right then. I guess we’re about to see how good I am.”
Luke hung up. He toggled back to Don.
“Don?”
The line was dead.
The guardhouse was up ahead. It was protected by concrete barriers. There was both a STOP sign and a DO NOT ENTER sign. Four men in suits loitered by the entrance. NOTICE, another sign read. RESTRICTED AREA. 100% ID CHECK.
Luke turned to Ed. Ed’s face was slick and shiny with sweat.
“Ready?” Luke said.
“Ready for anything.”
Luke felt a trickle of sweat inside his shirt. They were about to bluff their way into the White House. They would get as far as they could on fake security clearances, then bull through the rest of the way. They were going to try to override the entire Secret Service security apparatus and evacuate the President on their own orders, two men from a different agency, and who had been suspended from duty hours ago. And all of this was on the say-so of a dead career criminal who may or may not have been lying.
For a brief moment, Luke could almost see Don’s point. From the outside, this must seem like a crazy idea.
A guard appeared at Luke’s left elbow. Luke had driven up to the gatehouse on autopilot. Numb, he handed the man his identification along with Ed’s. The man went away, but came back a minute later.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “These are both rejected. You don’t have clearance.”
“Maybe it’s a sign,” Ed said.
“Run them again, please,” Luke said.
Ahead of them, the gate opened. The security guard reappeared.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Must be a glitch in the system.”
Luke drove slowly through the White House gate.
*
Swann was good. He was very, very good.
They entered the West Wing, passed through an identification check, then moved quickly down a hall lined with Greek-style columns. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. They turned right, and the entrance to the Oval Office was just ahead.
Two Secret Service men stood outside the door.
“Hi, fellas,” one of them said. “That’s far enough.”
Luke raised his badge. “FBI. We have Yankee White security clearance. We need to talk to President Hayes.”
“The President is in a meeting.”
“He’ll want to hear what we have to say.”
The guy shook his head. “We weren’t told anything about this. You’ll have to wait while we check it out.”
Ed didn’t hesitate. He punched the first man in the throat, then spun and caught the second man across the jaw with an elbow. The first man went to the floor clutching at his throat. Ed crouched, slammed his head against the stone floor, then was back up again. The second man was reaching for his gun when Ed punched him in the face. The man was unconscious before he hit the floor.
Luke and Ed burst through the door to the Oval Office.
Across the room from them, the President was there, and so was the Vice President. They were poring over what looked like a giant map draped on the President’s desk. Behind them, three tall windows looked out on the Rose Garden. A man was taking photographs. A young man with thinning hair stood nearby. Half a dozen other people were in the room.
When Luke and Ed came in, the President stood up straight. He was very tall.
Four Secret Service agents drew their guns.
“Freeze! On the ground!”
In the middle of the room, the cream-colored carpet had a round Seal of the President. Luke stepped into it. He raised his hands.
“FBI,” he said. “I have an important message for the President.”
He was tackled from behind. In a second, his cheek was against the carpet. His arms were twisted painfully behind him. A man’s foot was on his face. A few feet away, Ed was in the same position.
“FBI!” Luke screamed. “Federal agents!”
They had his badge and ID. They took his gun from its holster. He felt them pull up his pants legs and take away his extra gun and his knife.
“What is going on here?” the President said.
Three men held Luke down. A heavy arm was against his neck. It hurt to move. It was hard to speak. “Sir. I’m Agent Stone with the FBI Special Response Team. This is Agent Newsam. You are in danger. We have reliable intelligence suggesting there is a plot to attack the White House with a dirty bomb. That attack is scheduled to coincide with the start of Ramadan in Tehran, less than fifteen minutes from now.”
President Hayes moved closer. He towered over Luke.
“It isn’t true,” a female voice said.
Luke craned his neck enough to see Susan Hopkins, the Vice President. She was very pretty, like a veteran television announcer. She wore a gray pin-striped suit and her blonde hair in a short bob. “We just received a report that the threat was contained to New York City, and has been neutralized.”
“There isn’t enough time to tell you everything,” Luke said. “We have to evacuate the entire building, and we’re almost out of time. If we’re wrong, that’s very embarrassing. The White House had a bomb scare and was evacuated for no reason. But if you’re wrong… I don’t want to think about that.”
Everyone looked at the President. He was a man accustomed to making difficult decisions. He paused for all of seven seconds.
“Get everyone out,” he said. “Initiate evacuation protocols for all staff. Ten minutes from now, I don’t want a single person inside this building.”
Chapter 23
10:50 a.m.
Beneath the White House
They rode an elevator deep into the bowels of the earth. Ten people were on board: the President, the Vice President, the President’s young chief of staff, Ed and Luke, and five Secret Service agents. One of the agents carried a black leather satchel, secured to his wrist with a metal clasp. Somewhere above them, an alarm was going off.
“How sure of this are you?” the President said.
Luke’s face was rug burned. The back and side of his neck was sore. He could feel a welt rising on his jaw. His mouth was bleeding.
“I’m not sure of anything, sir.”
“If you’re wrong, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“Sir, I think you may not appreciate the full extent of that trouble.”
The elevator doors opened. They exited into to a cavernous lighted chamber, disappearing into the distance. Two black limousines were lined up just outside the elevator. Luke found himself in the second car, with Ed, the Vice President, and two Secret Service agents.
Ed’s face was a mess. His right eye was swollen half shut. The lid was cut and bleeding.
The car sped through the tunnel, yellow lights zooming overhead.
“I, for one, hope that you’re wrong,” Susan Hopkins said.
“So do I,” Luke said. “More than anything.”
At the far end of the tunnel, they took another elevator to the surface. They came out at a helipad. A big gray Sikorsky was on the pad, its rotors already turning. They climbed aboard and the helicopter took off.
As they rose, Luke saw that they were rising from a wooded area about half a mile from the White House. They hovered at a distance. The President stared at the building. Luke did, too.
“If something were going to happen, it would be happening right around now,” the President said. “Isn’t that right?”
Luke glanced at his watch. “It’s 10:53.”
“A dirty bomb tends to be small,” Ed said. “We might not see anything from this distance.”
“It may be a drone a
ttack,” Luke said. “If so, we might—”
Suddenly, his words were cut off as the Oval Office exploded.
A flash of red and yellow light appeared behind the tall windows. The glass shattered. The walls seemed to bulge, then blew outward onto the lawn.
Another, larger explosion destroyed the West Wing.
As they watched, the roof caved in.
A series of explosions walked down the Colonnade toward the main Residence in the center. Everyone watched the flames consume one of the enduring symbols of the United States. A huge explosion, the largest one yet, ripped through the Residence. A huge chunk of masonry flew upwards, spinning end over end. Luke watched its arc as it disintegrated in the air.
Suddenly the helicopter shuddered. It dropped sickeningly before the pilots caught it, and it started its ascent again.
“It’s a shockwave,” Luke said. “We’re okay.”
The helicopter turned and headed west. They all flew in silence, exchanging dazed looks. Luke looked at Ed’s damaged face. He looked like a boxer who had just lost a fight. There was nothing left to say.
Behind them, the White House burned.
PART TWO
Chapter 24
11:15 a.m.
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center - Bluemont, Virginia
“Weapons?” a man said to Luke.
Twenty Secret Service men were on the pad when the helicopter came down. They operated smoothly and efficiently, separating Luke and Ed from the main group, and hustling the President and Vice President toward the gaping maw of the open tunnel. The entrance was two stories high, framed in corrugated metal.
Overhead, helicopter gun ships filled the air like dragonflies. The President’s helicopter had flown out here with a ten-chopper escort.
Luke and Ed stood isolated on the tarmac, about twenty feet apart. They were fenced in by barbed wire. The Secret Service searched them roughly. Two men held Luke’s arms while others reached inside his clothes. His clothes rippled with the wind from helicopter rotor blades.
