Ancients

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

The Hostage Rescue Team (HRT) of the FBI was in position. As Agent in Charge George Weston watched the thermal monitor from the large house across the street, he was confused as to what he was looking at.

'Walk-in freezer?' he asked the technician sitting at the bank of monitors.

'Probably; by far the largest one I've ever seen. Then again, look at the house--who has that much money?'

'Evidently this Bozo does. Anything changed in the last two minutes?'

'No. We still have three hot bodies in the room the house specs say is the den, and three in the kitchen.'

The AIC was worried about the room that the thermal scan was picking up, shading it a solid blue on the monitor. The warm bodies were easy to discern, but if someone was in that cold room, his team would not know it until they broke in.

'Is there any movement at all from the warm bodies in the den and kitchen?'

'None.'

The AIC raised his walkie-talkie. 'Red One, are the sniffers picking up anything?' he asked. He watched the monitor that showed the green night-vision image of the HRT Red One unit, whose job it was to check for minute traces of explosive materials by using the 'sniffer,' a small portable computer that smelled the interior air that escapes around windowsills and doorways. They were able to get so close because, surprisingly, the arrogant Mr. Tomlinson had no security grid around the house.

'Negative. Clean, cool air only; no nitrates are indicated and no chemical trace other than household deodorant and disinfectant are evident,' the field tech answered.

He made his decision even as his eyes moved to the cold spot in the house.

'Okay, advance technical units move away. Strike team, we're a go in two minutes, on my order and by the book.'

He did not need a response from the HRT as he saw that they were moving into position. His eyes moved to the cold spot and he frowned. He then forced his eyes away and saw the window, door, and upstairs teams reach their IPs.

'Stand by ... Move, move, move!' he said into his radio.

As the command team watched from across the street, the first team used a ram to break through the thick double doors and then a flash-bang grenade flew inside, and then smoke canisters quickly followed. The flash and boom echoed loudly even from across the way as agents dressed in black charged through the door just as more smashed through the front and back windows. Up on the roof of the three-story house, a rappeling unit jumped from the expensively shingled roof and smashed through the upstairs windows.

Two full detachments of HRTs, one from Chicago and the other from Kansas City--a full twenty heavily armored and armed men--were inside the large residence in less than thirty seconds.

As he watched through the window, forsaking the monitors, Weston saw more flash-bang grenades go off. He was relieved when there was no initial gunfire coming from the large mansion. Maybe this traitorous bastard Tomlinson will go down without a fight, Weston thought.

'Down, down, down on the fucking floor,' came the shouts over the open microphones of the assault element. 'One, study is secure. Kitchen is secure; five men and one woman in custody.'

'Is Tomlinson one of them?' he asked, looking at the monitor that showed the cold room on the thermal camera.

'One, Tomlinson is--'

Suddenly and without warning, the Tudor mansion disintegrated. The explosion was so powerful that the entire HRT assault element vanished in a microsecond. The explosion ripped through the mansion and blew outward toward the surrounding homes.

Weston was killed a split second after he saw the thermals on the cold room suddenly go red. The house they had borrowed for a command post blew apart and collapsed. The two houses in the back and two on the sides of the Tomlinson residence blew inward and started burning. All told, with the sacrificial lambs the Coalition had left inside the house along with the twenty assault members of two HRT units and fifteen other FBI agents and Chicago police officers, forty-one died in the explosion.

After Tomlinson and the other Coalition members had left the house on Lakeshore Drive, a Coalition courier had delivered a special package to the huge walk-in freezer in the kitchen. This package was protected behind freezing temperatures and a tight seal, so that nothing the FBI had in their bag of tricks could detect it. One hundred seventy-five-pound boxes of C-4 exploded with the flick of a switch twenty miles away at O'Hare International.

Tomlinson tossed the long-range remote to the steward and looked away. He reached for his drink as the Boeing 777 started its takeoff roll. As the large plane lifted off and started its turn north over the lake, everyone on-board was looking out the right-side windows of the aircraft. In the distance, they saw the small, brightly colored cloud rising above the rooftops of the very rich neighborhood they had recently left.

Dame Lilith was the first to turn away from the scene, and she looked at Tomlinson. He calmly took a sip of his drink, stretched out on the long leather couch of the richly appointed aircraft, and then looked over at her.

'How long until our teams can be in action in Ethiopia after we receive the plate map from Dahlia?' he asked as he placed his drink on the long table in front of the couch.

'Six hours,' she answered.

'Good,' he said as he smiled at Dame Lilith. 'All in all, even with the loss of my home, it has not been an entirely unsatisfactory day.'

11

PEARL HARBOR

HAWAII

Inside the solemn enclosure of the USS Arizona memorial, Jack was listening closely, but that didn't stop his inner furnace from burning hotly as he stood beside the eighteen U.S. Navy divers. The meeting of the National Parks Service, the Mobile Diving and Salvage Unit--or, as Carl Everett had introduced them, the 'Mudzoos'--and the eight-man U.S. Navy SEAL Team Four, which had flown out with Collins and Everett from Coronado, California, had been in progress since the sun set low in the Pacific.

They were listening to the special assistant to the secretary of the interior talk about the remains of the crew onboard the USS Arizona. The secretary finished and then a park ranger took over the briefing. So far, everyone in the group was going, with the exception of Jack, the assistant secretary, and two other park rangers. This exclusion was not sitting too well with the colonel.

'By the time you enter the water, it'll be full dark. Keep in mind, we have mapped where we believe most of the old ordnance is, but there are always surprises inside the old girl. It's as if she still thinks she's fighting the war,' the park ranger giving the briefing looked at the faces around him, 'and she has every right to think that way. She's earned it.'

The divers and SEALs nodded in understanding. Jack could see the respect that everyone in the room had for the Arizona. It was as if she were a sick woman and everyone was there to take care of her. They also knew what was at stake, and the respect they had shown thus far belied the fact that they knew, no matter what, that plate had to come to the surface. When the president orders something done, you do it.

'Why was the captain's safe never opened before? It's my understanding that the National Parks Service has made several forays into the cabin,' Everett asked as he zipped up his wet suit.

'Because of respect and privacy, it's that plain and simple. The captain was the only one with his personal safe's combination, thus the items inside are his own. We had no right to enter it. Captain Everett, you and these men have to get a clear understanding of what we have here. This warship is still on the rolls of the United States Navy, she is alive and you will respect her as a fighting combatant,' ordered Richard Chavez, head ranger of the memorial. 'Believe me, if it's in our country's best interest, the old girl will give up her secrets willingly. Ghastly, but that's the way it is.'