report any strange noises or occurrences.
Two more agents were assigned to remain at all times between the president and the bunker door. While these four agents were manning their posts, the other four were to sleep or eat. The two teams, as they were now referred to, were on four-hour rotations. Warch was the only one not included in the rotation. After checking on the battery supply. Warch walked over to the thick vault door and placed his hand flat on the surface. He ran his other hand through his thinning hair and tried to remember the details that had been passed on to him about the construction of the bunker. If he remembered correctly, it could withstand any conventional bomb and most nuclear bombs as long as it wasn’t a direct hit. If the White House was ground zero, they were toast like everyone else. As for how it would hold up against a bunch of bloodthirsty terrorists using drills and God only knew what else’warch had no idea.
The commanding agent turned away from the door and glanced over at the president, who was sitting on one of the couches with his chief of staff. The president looked at warch and gestured for him to join them.
President Hayes was one of those men who shaved twice a day. Having already missed two shaves, his face was covered with a solid growth of gray and brown whiskers. His tie and suit jacket were lying on the bunk he had slept in. Looking over at Special Agent Warch, the president said, “Jack, please take your tie off, and tell the men to do the same.”
After the raid Warch had torn his tie off in frustration. His feelings toward his president were at an all-time low. Hayes and his chief of staff had circumvented Secret Service security procedure, and people were dead because of it. Now, over twenty four hours later, he had put his personal feelings aside and put his tie back on. He had a job to do, and part of that job was to show respect to the presidency, regardless of the individual.
Warch nodded his thanks to the president and began to tug at the silk knot around his neck.
“Anything new to report?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.” Warch kept his expression neutral.
“Are you sure,” started Valerie Jones, “that those aren’t our people trying to drill through the door?” Warch paused and checked his desire to snap at the president’s chief of staff. He had already been over this with them twice.
“It’s not our people.”
“Are you sure?”Joness tone was more pleading than asking.
Warch exhaled a tired sigh and said, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but it would make no sense for our own people to drill through the door. They have the code. All they have to do is punch it in like we did, and the door opens.”
Jones moved forward on the couch, tugging the hem of her black skirt as she did so. “What if the terrorists damaged the door control?”
Warch called on his patience. They had already been down this road before. He decided he would go over it with her one last time.
“Outside this door”-Warch pointed over his shoulder-“is a second room.
That room has two reinforced steel doors. One leads into the tunnel, and the second one leads into the third basement of the White House. Again, my people have the codes to get through either of those doors. So there would be no reason for them to be drilling now.”
“No.” Jones shook her head.
“You’re not listening. I said what if the terrorists blew apart one of the other doors and that damaged the control panel for this door?” She pointed at the door with her bright red fingernail.
“Ms. Jones, you are the one who is not listening.” Warch kept his voice low but firm.
“If our people were the ones drilling out there, they would have called us and told us so.”
Warch drew her attention to the nearby table filled with radios and digital phones.
“They would not be jamming our communications and drilling at the same time.” Warch didn’t see it as his job to like or dislike people at the White House, but this Valerie Jones was really getting on his nerves.
Jones started to speak again, but President Hayes reached out and placed his hand on her knee. “I think Jack has made his point, and I agree with him. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Who says it has to make sense?” Hayes eyeballed her and said, “Valerie.”
Jones sat back and folded her arms.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to think of a way out of this mess.”
Hayes ignored her and looked to Warch.
“What do we do now?”
Warch was tempted, really tempted to let fly, to explain very forcefully to Ms. Jones that they wouldn’t be in this mess if she had followed Secret Service procedure, but now was neither the time nor the place.
That would all be discussed later, if they ever got out of this mess alive.
Warch thought about the president’s question for a moment. He looked over at the seemingly impervious bunker door and wondered how long it would take for the terrorists to breach it.
Looking back to the president’warch knew he had to stay positive.
“The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team is the best. I’m sure they’re making plans to retake the building as we speak.”
RAFIQUE AZIZ GRINNED as he watched the money flow into the Swiss bank account. His people in Iran would start transferring the money into different accounts within the hour. He was winning, but his elation was tempered by the news about his mentor Fara Harut. Aziz wondered what his captors could get out of him-if he was still alive. Harut was a tough old man, but no one was tough enough to withstand torture.
As Aziz tried to assess the potential damage, he wondered if it was wise to deviate from his plan slightly-to demand the return of Harut. As he drummed his fingers on the table, he decided no. The Americans might not have him; it could have been the Israelis or the British. If he went back on his word, it might provoke them into a premature attack, and Aziz was not ready for that. He needed his hands around the president’s neck, or his chance for survival would be close to zero.
For now he would stick to his plan. It was time to talk to the FBI. Aziz had been ready to kill another hostage at ten A.M.” but the money had started to flow and kept flowing. It was nearing noon and almost all of the money had been transferred.
Aziz picked up the phone and dialed the number that the FBI had given him. After two rings the now familiar deep voice of mcmahon answered.
“You have kept your word,” said Aziz, “and I will keep mine. At half past noon, I will release one-third of the hostages.
Keep your people back. I don’t want to see any of them on the street, or I’ll open fire. Do I make myself clear?”
Yes. Which door will you bring them out of?”
“That is not your concern,” snapped Aziz.
“I will release my next set of demands at seven A.M. tomorrow. Until then I do not want to hear from you.” The terrorist hung up the phone and looked at his watch. It was exactly 11:53. Aziz decided he would release the hostages immediately instead of waiting until twelve-thirty.
This would keep the FBI off balance. Aziz doubted they would try anything this early, but after his execution of their national security adviser, it was best to be safe.
ANNA RIELLY FELT weak. Her captors had allowed her to go to the bathroom around eleven, and Rielly had been able to grab several handfuls of water from the sink while she was in the bathroom. The water hitting her empty stomach had made her realize just how hungry she really was. The terrorist with the slicked-back hair had again followed her into the stall and watched her. Back in the White House mess, Rielly looked up from her uncomfortable position on the floor and noticed him gloating over her still. She wondered when he would strike, and if he would do it alone or with the others. Her vision started to blur.
Lowering her head, she brought both fists up to her eyes, fighting the tears before they started flowing uncontrollably.
