by Vince Flynn
Nash swallowed hard and answered his phone. “Hello.”
No one spoke for a second, and then a man with a slight accent said, “I have your daughter.”
“Prove it.”
“Daddy!” The voice was cut short.
“Is that proof enough?”
Nash closed his eyes and told himself to keep it together. “What do you want?”
“I want you.”
“All right.”
“I will trade your life for hers.”
Nash was nodding without knowing it. “All right. Where do you want to meet?”
“You will know soon enough.”
“I’m right here. I’m standing in the exact spot where you pulled her from the van. Come back. I’ll put my gun in the middle of the street and we’ll make the exchange.”
There was laughter. “We will see who is the real coward. The world will see who is the real coward. In one hour you will know where we will make the exchange.”
“How?”
“Turn on your TV.”
The line went dead. Nash stared at his phone, his hand beginning to shake. He was about to call Maggie, but stopped. He had no idea what he would say to her. He decided to call Rapp instead. If anyone could figure a way out of this it would be him.
CHAPTER 73
WASHINGTON, D.C.
AHMED drove down Constitution Avenue and took a right onto Twenty-second Street. The service entrance for the building was up ahead on the left halfway down the block. It was Saturday evening, so the only person they expected to deal with was a night watchman. Karim had the young girl gagged and tied in the backseat. Ahmed pulled over and got out. He walked around the back of the truck and opened the big double doors. He grabbed his long black rifle bag and closed the doors. Karim met him on the sidewalk and held up the phone.
“Remember . . . we’ll use the radio feature to communicate.”
Ahmed nodded. “Yes.”
“And when you see me parked in front and you are ready you will begin calling the TV stations. And then you will radio me.”
“I have all the numbers programmed.”
“Good.” Karim held out his arms and embraced Ahmed. It was the first time he had ever hugged the man. “I am very proud of you. This is what we should have done a week ago. I should have never allowed that snake Hakim to talk me out of it.”
Ahmed nodded even though he wasn’t sure he believed him. “Allahu Akbar.”
“Allahu Akbar.”
Ahmed moved up the walk and found the back door. There was a buzzer to the left. He pressed it twice and a few seconds later a voice asked him what he wanted. “FBI,” he said in near perfect English.
“I’ll be right there.”
Ahmed looked at his pistol and thought about the plan. An old man in a security uniform appeared on the other side of the glass door and opened it for him.
“What can I help you with?”
Ahmed stayed with the plan even though he wasn’t sure his heart was in it. “We have a possible hostage situation in the park. I need to set up a position on your roof so I can observe.”
“Sure. Come on in. Let me show you how to get up there.” The man led him to an elevator that they took to the top floor. From there they made their way down the hall to a back staircase and up another flight. They stepped into the dark night, and the security guard led the way to the southern edge of the building.
Two hundred yards away the massive columns of the Lincoln Memorial were bathed in bright light. Ahmed had to hand it to Karim. It was quite the setting to send a message. He slowly drew his gun while the old man was occupied with the view.
“I like to come up here on breaks sometimes. You look around and realize there’s a God out there. How else could all of this have happened? Through chaos . . . I don’t think so.”
Ahmed slowly slid the gun back into the holster. Karim had ordered him to kill the man, but he couldn’t do it. There was no honor in killing unarmed people. He wrapped his big arms around the man’s neck and head and pinched off the main artery in the neck. He kept the pressure on until he felt the man go limp. Then he dragged him out of the way and tied him up. It took less than a minute. Back at the building’s edge he rolled out his mat and set up his M-40 sniper rifle. He took a quick peek through the scope and acquired the Suburban. It was parked on the street in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Ahmed pulled out the phone and began calling the various TV stations and asking for the news director at each one. There were five in all.
After the last one, he pressed the button on the side of the radio and said, “It is done.” Ahmed turned his attention to the Suburban and watched it drive up on the grass and then begin its climb up the steps. Rifle fire began cracking through the still night. Ahmed brought his field binoculars up to his eyes and watched the Suburban lurch forward. Beyond the vehicle he saw people crumple to the ground as they were shot by Karim. He shook his head at the senseless carnage and began to pray.
CHAPTER 74
LINCOLN MEMORIAL
BY the time Rapp and Nash got to the Lincoln Memorial the Park Police and the D.C. Metro Police had the place cordoned off. TV crews were both northeast and southeast of the barricades and the police were trying unsuccessfully to move them back. Both departments had big fire-truck-sized command vehicles parked out front. Rapp displayed his Homeland Security credentials at the checkpoint and told the officer to allow the next vehicle to follow as well. He had Nash in the front seat next to him. Reavers was in the backseat directly behind Nash. Rapp had quietly given the retired SEAL orders to shadow Nash wherever he went.
Dr. Lewis was in the Suburban behind them with some of Coleman’s other men and Hakim al Harbi. Lewis had convinced Rapp that they should bring Hakim along. Based on the voicemail messages they had reviewed and his cooperation so far, Lewis felt Hakim might be able to offer some insight into Karim’s mind. Rapp had some other possible uses in mind, but so far wasn’t willing to share them with the group. Coleman and Wicker were on their way with Max Johnson and his surveillance van. They were going to try to get a fix on the third cell phone that Hakim had given to Ahmed. For now they were assuming that Karim was inside the monument with at least one very important hostage. Rapp parked as close to the command posts as he could get, and then jumped out and raced to cut off Nash.
“Slow down, Mike,” Rapp said as he grabbed him by the left arm. He had barely said a word on the twelve-minute drive in from his house. For obvious reasons Rapp was concerned that he might do something stupid.
Nash turned and took a big swing at Rapp, his right fist sailing in a wild roundhouse punch.
Rapp ducked just in time and felt the punch brush the top of his head. He brought his fists up to block his face and took a quick step back.
“Fuck you!” Nash screamed. His eyes were filled with tears and his face was flushed with anger. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t fucking outed me none of this would have happened. You put me and my family at risk and I will never forgive you. So fuck off and get the hell away from me.” Nash turned and stalked off toward the command vehicles.
Rapp had been waiting for it. He’d been feeling it himself. He just hadn’t expected it to come this soon. He looked at Reavers and jerked his head in the direction Nash had just gone. “Follow him. Stay close.”
Dr. Lewis came up. Hakim was a few steps behind him with a guy on each arm. His wrists were bound with flex cuffs but no other restraints. Lewis looked at Rapp and said, “That was unfortunate, but I think understandable considering the circumstances.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Rapp said. He was already trying to figure out a way to make things right. He knew what he’d do if he had a daughter. He started moving toward the command vehicles. He tapped his earpiece and said, “Scott, give me a sitrep.”
“We’re close. Just passing Watergate. Should be there in sixty seconds.”
“Anything so far?”
“He has both signals, but we won’t be able to p
inpoint until we get a little closer and stop.”
“Roger that.” Rapp did a 360 and looked at the terrain. “My money’s on the north side if he’s not in there with him.”
“Got it.”
Rapp looked at Hakim and asked, “What’s his endgame?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Are you holding back on me?”
“No. I would have never thought he’d paint himself into a corner like this.”
Rapp looked at all the police, the camera crews, and the spectators.
Lewis seemed to be reading his mind and said, “He’s created a stage for himself. You provoked him,” Lewis said to Hakim, “by telling him you would tell the world that he was a coward. He’s so narcissistic that his reputation means everything to him. He can’t bear the thought of people saying those things about him, so he’s going to make sure no one ever doubts his bravery.”
“But he kidnapped a fifteen-year-old girl,” Hakim said.
Lewis pointed at Nash, who was talking to the police. “That’s who he’s after. You said it yourself . . . that he flew into a rage during the press conference after the medal ceremony. He thinks that he will kill an American hero on this grand stage and that he will be revered and celebrated by millions of Muslims the world over.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Rapp turned and walked over to where Nash was talking to all the police brass. Fortunately, Art Harris was approaching the same point from the opposite side of the circle. Nash was already arguing with the two officers in charge.
“I’m not going to say it again. That’s my daughter in there. He wants me. When he calls, I’m going in, and she’s coming out. It’s as simple as that.”
Harris was wearing his FBI tactical vest. He introduced himself to the two on-scene commanders and told them that the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team was inbound from Quantico. “And no one,” he said to the group, “is doing anything until they get here. Federal property,” he said as he pointed to the statue of Lincoln, “and they kidnapped her in Virginia and brought her into the District. It’s the FBI’s jurisdiction.”
“I don’t give a shit whose jurisdiction it is. That’s my daughter in there. When he calls back I’m going in. And I don’t want HRT fucking this thing up.”
“Mike, I understand your situation here, but you’re not in charge.”
“Fuck you, Art.” Nash pointed at the building and screamed, “That’s my daughter in there! Shannon! You’ve known her since she was a little kid. What would you do if that was Shelly? Would you trust HRT, or would you go in there and trade your life for your daughter’s?”
Rapp heard Coleman’s voice come over his earpiece and stepped away from the group. “Say again.”
“Max thinks he has a fix on the sniper. Says he’s due north of your position. Constitution and Twenty-third.”
Rapp stepped out from behind the command vehicle and looked north. The building’s roof was in plain view above the trees. Rapp’s eyes swept left. There was nothing. He moved them right along the tree line. The buildings on this part of Constitution Avenue occupied entire city blocks. The next block had a peaked roof, but the next block after that housed the Federal Reserve. It was a big, flat-roofed monster. “Slick,” Rapp said, using Wicker’s nickname.
“Yeah, Mitch.”
“Get over to the Federal Reserve and settle in at the southwest corner of the roof. Let me know when you have this guy in your sights.”
“Mitch, what do you want me to do?” Coleman asked.
“Drop him off and make sure he gets in. I don’t care if you have to shoot your way in. Can Max jam these signals if I need him to?”
It took a moment while Coleman relayed the question. “He says no problem, but he wants to know if you want him to block all signals or just these two.”
“For now just these two, but let me think about that. Hurry up and get Slick on that roof!”
“We’re already in front of the building and there’s a guard out front.”
“Show him your DHS creds and call me if you have a problem. I’ve got Art here.”
As Rapp turned to go back to the group he heard some choppers coming in. He craned his head skyward as three Blackhawks came in and landed a few hundred yards away, just south of the Reflecting Pool.
“That’s HRT,” Harris announced, as Rapp walked up to the group.
Harris gave him a nervous looked and mouthed the words, Do something!
Nash was now arguing with one of the on-site commanders. Rapp listened for a good ten seconds and then stepped in. He looked at the two on-site commanders and asked, “Does he have any other hostages?” As Rapp finished asking the question, Wicker’s voice came over the net telling him he was in the building and on the way to the roof.
“We don’t think so, but we think he killed at least eight people. There are five up there on the steps and three more just inside.”
“Any idea where he is in there?”
“We’re pretty sure he’s around that inside corner on the north side of the building.”
“Pretty sure?”
“Three people told us he was on the north side. None of the eyewitnesses said he was on the south side.”
“Who cares?” Nash said impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going in there.”
Rapp placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Let’s talk about this.”
Nash knocked his hand away and made a fist. “Get the hell away from me.”
Rapp backed up and put his hands up, palms out. “Don’t you even want to try?”
“No. If I go in there, he lets her go.”
“Or he blows her head off right in front of you.”
“Shut up, Mitch. I’ve spent too many years doing things your way. Not tonight. That’s my daughter in there. I’m calling the shots.”
Wicker’s welcome voice came over Rapp’s earpiece, “Got him. Range 310 yards. No wind. Give me twenty seconds.”
Rapp was thinking of Wicker when he looked at Coleman and said, “Fine . . . but if we’re going to do this your way, you’re gonna call Maggie first. You tell her you love her, you tell those boys you love them, and then you go in there and make the exchange.”
The words got to Nash. He slowly started to nod in recognition that it was the right thing to do. He pulled out his phone, stared blankly at it for a moment, and then started to walk away from the group while he dialed the number.
Rapp followed him and when Nash put the phone to his ear, Rapp pulled an epipen from his pocket, flicked off the protective cap, and jabbed Nash in the back of the neck. Rapp held the pen in place for a second and then dropped it and reached for Nash’s phone. Reavers stepped in and caught Nash as he collapsed to the pavement.
Art Harris pulled up next to Rapp with a worried look on his face and asked, “What in the hell are we going to do now?”
“That depends on how much time we have, Art.” To Reavers he said, “Leave him. Let’s go.” Rapp broke into a sprint for his vehicle. “Slick, give me updates. If you hear me say Bingo, you take the shot.”
“Roger that.”
When they got to the car Rapp told Reavers to grab his shit out of the backseat. Rapp popped the trunk and stripped off his suit coat. He slid on his bulletproof vest and Velcroed the sides before putting on his tactical vest. He grabbed his M-4 rifle from its hard case and snatched up a thick silencer. Reavers trotted behind him with an identical rifle and vest.
When they got back to the command post, Harris was waiting for them with his arms across his chest. “Just what in the Lord’s name do you cowboys think you’re doing?”
“Don’t start, Art. Get out of my way.”
“I can’t do that. This is an FBI op. You guys can’t operate around here. Look at all the media.”
Rapp stopped and took note of all the cameras. “Good point.” Turning to Reavers, Rapp asked, “You got a balaclava?” referring to the black ski masks they sometimes wore on operations. Reavers produced
one from his tactical vest at about the same time Rapp did. They put them on but left them up on their foreheads like watch caps.
“Oh, shit,” Harris said with genuine concern. “You guys can’t do this. Just wait for HRT.”
The phone Rapp took from Nash started ringing. Rapp looked down at the smiling photo of Shannon. He glanced at Harris and said, “No time.” Rapp pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear. “Hello.”
