Why put a bomb there if you’re Aziz?” Harris looked quizzically at the two generals and Colonel Gray.
“All of the hostages are over here”-Harris pointed to the diagram-“in the West Wing. The only reason I can think of is to bring the whole building down and add to the chaos surrounding any attempt by us to retake the building.”
Flood thought about it and slowly nodded. “I would agree.”
“Knowing this, we can infer that, like with rats, when we see one, we can assume there are many more.” Pausing for emphasis, Harris let them think about the harsh reality of sending dozens of operators into the building only to see them engulfed in a ball of flames and flying debris.
“Before we launch any type of a mission, we need to get someone in there, and they need to find a way to neutralize those bombs.”
Colonel Gray nodded emphatically.
“This hasn’t been lost on us. Right now we’re banking on the fact that we can get in and shoot fast enough to stop one of them from hitting the plunger.” Gray didn’t look too enthused about his odds.
“And ifaziz has the hostages booby-trapped?”
Gray shook his head, knowing that this was probably the case.
“We’re screwed.”
“Exactly. That’s why I think we have to get a small team of operators into the building just prior to the main assault. To assess the situation and find a way to defuse or temporarily disable the bombs, otherwise we can kiss our asses good-bye.”
The other men thought about the ugly scene, and after a moment General Campbell spoke.
“Let me guess, Dan. You know just the person to handle this delicate aspect of the operation.”
Grinning, Harris replied, “As a matter of fact I do, sir.”
“Let’s hear it.”
With his voice a touch lower Harris said, “Did any of you ever get wind of a training op we did with the Secret Service eight years ago?”
General Flood, at the time, had been in Korea, and General Campbell had been on a special detachment working with the SAS in Britain. Colonel Gray, however, had been with Delta.
Gray searched his memory. They were constantly doing training ops, but off the top of his head, he couldn’t remember doing anything with the Secret Service.
“You’re gonna have to refresh my memory,” said the CO of Delta Force.
Harris leaned in a little closer.
“It was very hush-hush.
They wanted the boys at Six to help them test certain security precautions… and for obvious reasons, they didn’t want it publicized.
Especially after the results.”
Before Harris could continue, one of the general’s aides approached the group and apologized for the intrusion.
Extending a secure digital phone, the captain said, “Director Stansfield is on the line. General.”
Flood took the phone in his hand and said, “Thomas?” The general’s eyes tightened, and he said nothing. After about twenty seconds, he said simply, “Shit.” After another ten seconds, he replied, “I agree. I’ll catch a chopper back. Get everything set up.”
Flood ended the call and handed the phone back to his aide. Then, looking at the men around him, he said, “We just got some really bad news. Iron Man confirmed that they are drilling into the president’s bunker.” Shaking his head, he looked to Colonel Gray and said, “Bombs or not, you’re going in.” Then looking to Harris, he said, “I have to get back to Langley, immediately. Whatever this idea of yours is, I hope it’s good and I hope you can put it together in a snap.”
Harris nodded confidently.
“My men have been on it since this morning.”
RAFIQUE AZIZ LEANED back in the president’s chair.
The long shiny surface of the Situation Room’s conference table was laid out before him. Aziz’s eyes were closed and his arms folded across his chest. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he was trying to get some sleep in anticipation of a long night. In front of him on the table was his MP-5The overhead lights were extinguished, the glow of the bank of muted TVS at the far end throwing a dim light.
There was a knock on the door. Aziz’s alert eyes snapped open, and he said, “Enter.”
The door opened slowly, and Muammar Bengazi stepped into the room.
“You asked me to wake you at three.”
“Thank you.” A yawn crept up from his throat.
“How are the men?”
“They are well.”
“Are you making sure they get some sleep? This will be their last chance for a long time.”
Bengazi approached the conference table and placed his hands on the back of one of the leather chairs.
“As you ordered, they are sleeping in two-man rotations for two hours at a time.”
“Good.”
“May I sit?”
Aziz nib bed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Bengazi set his AK-74 on the table and sat. Looking guardedly toward his leader, he asked, “What are your thoughts on tomorrow?”
Aziz unfolded his arms and checked his watch.
“By nightfall we should have the president in our hands, and then”-Aziz’s lips parted and turned upward at the edges-“we will truly have the upper hand.”
“Will you tell them that we have him tonight, or will you wait until the morning?”
“I will tell them in the morning. “Aziz gestured to the TVS.
“They have been reporting that the UN will meet our demands. Vice President Baxter will keep them at bay until he gets his next batch of hostages tomorrow.”
Bengazi was persistently guarded.
“You do not think they will come tonight?”
Aziz shook his head, feeling so confident in his prediction that he didn’t need to give a verbal response.
“I wish I shared your optimism, but after what they tried to do this morning I can’t help but think they are preparing to attack.”
The comment caused Aziz to smile.
“That is why you are so valuable, Muammar. You are so cautious. They will not do anything until they hear the next round of demands.” Aziz tapped the side of his head with his forefinger.
“You need to understand the American mind. Especially the mind of the politician. Being decisive is not in their character. They will put off making a decision until they are forced to do so. Right now they have gained the release of a third of the hostages and they are playing under the assumption that they can continue to negotiate for the release of more.”
Bengazi frowned.
“It makes no sense to me. Surely the military is advising to attack.”
“They probably are, but it makes no difference. As long as the politicians think they can free more hostages without firing a shot, they will do so.”
“Not when they find out what the next demands are.”
Bengazi shook his bald forehead.
“There is no way.”
“When we have our hands on the president, everything will change.
Speaking of the president, how is our little thief proceeding?”
“He says he is still on schedule. Sometime around seven this evening.”
