loosened the grip of their black leather gloves on the ropes.
They dropped forty feet in the blink of an eye and squeezed the ropes again at the last second, breaking their descent. Landing like cats, they yanked the extra few feet of rope from their assault harnesses and grabbed their weapons.
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The Black Hawk cleared the area while floodlights sprang to life all around the team.
They ignored the lights and went to work. The two entry men were on the door two seconds after hitting the ground. The man on the left blasted away the top of the door, and the man on the right started at the bottom. The Shok-Lok rounds thudded into the wood, splintering the locks from the frame. With the locks taken care of, the entry men stepped to the side to make way for the room clearers. The point man stepped forward with a flash-bang grenade in one hand and his MP-5 in the other.
He kicked in the door from the center and rolled the grenade into the house. “Flash—
bang away!” rang out through all of their headsets, and every man closed his eyes. The deafening bang sounded, and a bright flash of phosphoric light lit up the area. The three room clearers flooded through the blown doorway, their thick, black silencers sweeping from right to left while they screamed, “Hands up! Hands up!”
Nance had been waving the syringe in front of O’Rourke’s face and giving him one last chance to answer the questions without the aid of drugs when the commotion started.
Jarod, who was standing next to Nance, had just enough time to react. He stepped backward and dropped to one knee behind a chair and an end table. As he was drawing his gun, he saw the flash grenade roll across the floor. Knowing what it was, he ducked behind the back of the leather chair and kept his gun trained on the door. As soon as the grenade exploded he began squeezing off rounds. His first shot hit nothing, but the second shot glanced off the side of the lead man’s helmet and hit the next man in the shoulder. The lead man saw the flash of the pistol and let go a five-round burst at Jarod’s head. All five shots were on the mark and sent Jarod’s semi-decapitated body to the floor with a thud. The smoking MP-5 snapped up from firing on Jarod and instantly found
Nance and O’Rourke. “Down on the floor! Right now!” The man repeatedly Screamed the phrase at the top of his lungs as the tip of his barrel closed to within ten feet of the two men. His partners were at his side training their weapons at the other two sectors of the room.
The second man, who had been hit in the shoulder, ignored the pain and followed through with his assignment. Four of the other five men ran into the room and began checking behind furniture and closet doors.
One man remained outside for cover while the rest of the team worked.
They continued their sweep with amazing speed and precision. After just twenty seconds, every man had called “Clear.” The team leader instructed four of the men to check the rest of the house and informed Stansfield that the room was secure. The second helicopter came in and landed on the front lawn. Stansfield got out of the chopper, and his bodyguard followed. The director stepped over the broken glass and splintered wood.
His eyes immediately fell on the bloody O’Rourke.
The always composed director of the CIA fought with all his might to control his anger toward Mike Nance. He took several steps forward and looked at the dead man on
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the floor. The marks left by the bullet holes made recognition impossible. Next his eyes fell on the young Congressman’s bound wrists. “Cut him free,” Stansfield directed the nearest man. The man slung his shotgun over his shoulder and cut O’Rourke’s wrists loose with a knife. The team leader approached Stansfield. “Sir, one of my men took a hit to the arm, but he should be all right.”
“Thank you. Please take your men outside and leave us alone for a moment.” The black-clad commandos exited the room, but Stansfield’s bodyguard remained, his Uzi drawn and ready. Stansfield walked over to the bar and examined the two vials of clear liquid and the syringe. “I can’t believe the mess you’ve created.” Stansfield tossed the syringe back onto the tray. “What were you going to do, drug him?” Nance ignored the question. Garret rose from the couch and approached.
“Thomas, I told him this was a crazy idea. I pleaded with him, but he ignored me.”
Stansfield pointed toward the shattered door. “Go wait outside. I’ll talk to you later.”
Garret looked at Nance meekly and left.
Stansfield looked at O’Rourke. “Are you all right, Congressman?”
Michael stood and wiped some more blood from his nose. “I’ll survive.”
Pulling a handkerchief’ from his pocket, Stansfield handed it to O’Rourke and looked back at Nance. “What in the hell were you thinking?” Nance ignored the question and walked over to a humidor that was sitting in the middle of a large oak coffee table.
Stansfield’s bodyguard aimed his machine gun at Nance’s head and took a step forward. The national security adviser looked up and frowned.
“Thomas, call off your dog.” Stansfield replied, “Carl, if he makes a wrong move, kill him.” Nance ignored the statement, retrieved a cigar from the box, snipped off the end, and lit it. He blew several clouds of smoke in the air and smiled. “Thomas, you would have done the same thing if you were in my shoes.”
“I would have never gotten into your shoes.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Do you want to even attempt to explain this?” Nance shrugged his shoulders. “No. I
can see when I’m beat. I’ll announce my resignation in the morning.”
“It might not be that simple.”
Stansfield looked at his watch. “Why not?” asked Nance in between puffs.
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