Stansfield is behind this entire affair. I have -” “Shut up, Mike!”
yelled the President. “I can’t believe you’ve gotten me into this mess. I saw the way Stu fell apart when he heard that tape.
You’re not going to get away with blaming this thing on anybody but yourself. You and your sadistic friend Arthur were behind this whole thing, and I’m not going to get dragged down with you. A reporter called Stansfield and told him if O’Rourke isn’t turned over in an hour, they’re going to release the tape of Arthur. Now wake up before it’s too late, and tell me where in the hell Congressman O’Rourke is.”
“I have no idea.”
“Bullshit… you’re a goddamned professional liar, Mike. Hand him over before you ruin all of us.”
“All of us is right, Jim.” Nance’s words were laced with blatant disrespect. “If that tape is released, all of us are going down, and that includes you. We’re all in this together, and we’re going to do it my way. You stall Stansfield. If they want the good
Congressman back so bad, he must know something. When I’m done with him, I’ll turn
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him over.” Nance slammed the phone down and left for the other end of the house.
DIRECTOR STANSFIELD AND HIS BODYGUARD WALKED out the REAR EXIT
of the main building at Langley and toward the waiting helicopters. The chopper to the right was a modified Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk with state-of-the-art noise-suppression equipment mounted over its powerful engines. The dark bird could fly at speeds up to eighty miles an hour and be no louder than a car. The Black Hawk was loaded with eight fully armed SOGS, members of the CIA’s Special Operations Group. They were dressed in black Nomex jumpsuits and black tactical assault vests. The majority of the men were former Recon Marines and Army Airborne Rangers.
Each man also wore a dull black Delta Force helmet and body armor made of spectra, a bulletproof composite. The helmets weighed only three pounds and were capable of stopping up to a .357 magnum round at close distance. Mounted on top of the helmets were pop-down night-vision goggles. All eight men carried silenced 9x19mm Heckler &
Koch MPO5 machine guns. Two of the eight also carried Remington short-barreled shotguns with special Shok- Lok rounds for blasting through hinges and door locks. If the shotguns weren’t enough, they also carried shaped plastic explosives for blasting through reinforced doors. One man also carried a Remington custom sniper rifle. The chopper that Stansfield approached was blue and silver with the word MEDEVAC painted in white letters over both sliding doors. This helicopter contained the eight members of the second tactical team. They were armed identically to the team in the Black Hawk minus the black Nomex jumpsuits and Delta Force helmets. This group was dressed in plainclothes. Four of them wore suits and trench coats, two were in jeans and leather jackets, and the seventh and eighth were a man and woman set up to look like a husband and wife.
All eight carried their weapons concealed in large Velcro pockets on the inside of their .jackets. The director climbed into the front seat next to the pilot, and his bodyguard got in back with the troops.
Stansfield nodded to the pilot, and the helicopter lifted off the ground and headed east with the dark Black Hawk close behind. The men and one woman in the back of the medevac chopper shot each other sideways looks. It wasn’t often that the director came along for something like this. Stansfield looked to his right as the two helicopters raced over the northern part of downtown at close to 150 mph. His bodyguard tapped him on the shoulder and handed his boss the phone. “It’s the President.” Stansfield grabbed the receiver and covered his other ear. Even though the helicopter was insulated for noise, it was still loud. “Yes, sir.”
“Thomas, I’ve lost control of him” The President sounded desperate.
“Who, sir?”
“Mike Nance. I just spoke with him. He said if the assassins want O’Rourke back so bad, the Congressman must know something.”
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“Is he at his ranch?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll handle it from here.” Stansfield handed the phone back to his bodyguard and stared straight ahead toward a dark Maryland countryside.
His nerves were flayed, he was tired, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry. It was time to put Mike Nance in his place.
Coleman, with the FBI in tow, continued his weaving pattern through the rundown
Langdon neighborhood of Washington, D.C. Although Langdon was less than a mile from the Capitol, it was one of the worst neighborhoods in Washington. Row after row of burnt-out and abandoned houses dominated the landscape, making perfect offices for the gang-banger crack dealers who ruled the streets. Coleman wondered what his FBI
watchers were thinking as they followed him into this war zone.
The former SEAL activated the voice modulator on his scramble phone and punched in the number for Langley. The operator connected him to Stansfield’s office after a brief argument. Kennedy answered the director’s phone and, upon hearing the altered voice, started an immediate trace. “Who is this?” asked Kennedy. “The person who took Arthur.
Where is Stansfield?”
“He’s not in right now.” Kennedy looked down at the phone and wondered if it was the former SEAL team commander on the other end. “I need to speak with him immediately!” Kennedy looked at her watch. “If you’ll hold for a minute, I’ll see if I can track him down.”
“No!” screamed Coleman. “Give me a number where I can reach him immediately, or
I release the tape.” Kennedy considered her options for a second and decided to give him the number. When
