Women, children, and the elderly weren’t given deference from the stronger male fans who fought to leave the stadium. The exits were blocked with rubble. The bodies that attempted to climb the piles of debris were only trampled by those who used them to get through.
The screams were filled with coughing fits and pleas for help. The stadium announcer tried to encourage people to remain calm and orderly, to no avail. He too succumbed to the deadly nerve agent.
Soon, the network cameras stopped panning the field and the stands. They became fixed on a particular point of view, either because the camera operator had abandoned his post or had died. Also, the final network feed indicated to Wagner that the ESPN production team had fled. The camera, strung across a cable high above the fifty-yard line, showed a view of the stage and the thousands of people around it on the field.
They were retching and bleeding and wailing for mercy. They were dead or in the process of dying. They’d given up. On the stage, dead eyes stared up into the camera, an image that would be disseminated around the world via news and social media to billions of people.
“Sir, we’re ready,” said one of the Hexane personnel after less than eight minutes.
Wagner nodded. He calmly turned off the television before walking through both suites one last time, not unlike any traveler might do to make sure he didn’t forget some form of personal belongings in a drawer or closet. The smell of ethanol filled his nostrils. His sweepers had done a thorough job of wiping down every surface with the substance to eliminate fingerprints.
He smiled and nodded to himself. He might or might not receive a formal pat on the back from his boss, Derek Jorgensen. All he knew was that his job here was done.
Until the next one.
Chapter Forty-Two
Gunner’s House
Tangier Island, Virginia
When terrorists flew airplanes into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and then, through heroic efforts of brave Americans, the remote fields of Pennsylvania, they sent shock waves through the nation. It was the most heinous attack on American soil in history. All who were alive on that day can recall where they were and how they learned of the terrorist attack.
The day of the attack on the San Francisco Bay area would go down in history as one of those days. Little did those who mourned the dead know it was a precursor of things to come.
Gunner, Cam and Bear had gathered on Tangier Island to prepare for the next phase of their mission. The next morning, they were to meet Ghost at the Den for a report on his attendance at the national security briefing with the president. Based upon the outcome of that briefing, coupled with up-to-date intelligence compiled by the analysts working with Jackal, they’d be on a plane to continue turning over rocks in search of the group in possession of the sarin.
They’d walked down to Sammy’s for clams and beer but cut the evening short. Bear wanted to get settled in to watch the NFL opening game between the Seattle Seahawks and the San Francisco 49ers being played in Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara. With the game underway, the team prepared for the trip.
“I’ve gotta give you credit, Cam,” started Gunner. “I’ve known you almost all my life, and you still act more like a guy than a girl.”
“Tread lightly, bestie,” Cam warned.
“Nah, go ahead,” Bear said as he egged Gunner on. “I’m tired of her whoopin’ my ass all the time. It’s your turn to be the punchin’ bag.”
Cam scowled at the man, who was twice her weight. “You deserve everything I dish out. Gunner is simply making a casual observation, right, bestie?” She lowered her eyelids as she studied his facial expressions and awaited his response.
“Yeah, yeah. Of course. I mean, here’s the thing. Lord knows where we’re headed next, but you still just pack the basic stuff. A pair of khakis to go with the pair you’re wearing. A couple of tee shirts. No extra shoes. You know. Basics.”
Cam nodded as she glanced at the clothing laid out by the guys. Bear was busy rolling up his clothing into neat, eight-inch-wide Ranger rolls, to use military lingo.
“I can buy what I don’t have. The weather in Rome, for example, is not that different from here. If we head to South America, nothing any of us is packing will be suitable, so we’re gonna have to go shopping. In my mind, I want all the room I have to bring weapons and tools, like NVG. That sucked in Germany, being blind at night. Not gonna happen on this trip.”
Gunner finished rolling his clothing, and then he began to check his weapons. This trip, Ghost assured them of military transportation for every leg. They were authorized to bring their weapons of choice without concern they’d have to check them or relinquish them along the way.
Because they were potentially flying to multiple locations around the world, Gunner insisted the team carry similar weapons in common calibers. In this case, nine millimeter, which was easily the most widely used pistol in the world. They all owned the Colt 9 mm SMG submachine gun. It was not their rifle of choice, but for purposes of traveling for an extended period of time, it made sense for them.
“Another beer, anyone?” asked Gunner as he pushed himself off the floor and headed toward the kitchen.
“Yeah,” replied Cam.
