* * *
BLACK’S EYES WIDENED as he stared at the unfolding scene. The image on the screen was of a person wearing a Guy Fawkes mask, speaking in a distorted voice.
"There's nothing wrong with your screen," the person said, the voice overpowering Young's amplified speech. "Everything is as it should be. Your president is a liar, and it is time that he pays for his sins against humanity."
The camera panned back and showed Young angrily shaking his finger at the screen and yelling something. But his microphone had been cut off, and his words were indiscernible. Moments later, the feed switched from the cameras in the chamber to the image on the projected screens behind the stage.
"Noah Young has gotten away with murdering innocent people in the name of his so-called freedom for far too long with no accountability. Tonight, there will be a reckoning that will be unavoidable no matter how many children's prosthetic limbs he distributes. It's the least he could do since the young girl he ushered on stage was actually dismembered by a drone missile."
The feed suddenly switched back to the cameras, which were zooming all around the room as several armed gunmen stormed in. Black watched as guards suffered point-blank shots to the chest and head. But before the attackers could reach Young, members of the Secret Service rushed up and snatched him.
“Take your hands off Noah Young, or you will all die,” the man said. “The little girl’s prosthetic leg has enough explosives to level Capitol Hill.”
The agents froze as the Al Fatihin operatives swarmed around Young.
“Lay down your weapons,” the man commanded.
The men placed their guns on the ground with the exception of one who ignored the warning. He drew his gun up to shoot but collapsed as a sniper from the back of the room obliterated the man with a head shot.
“Any other wannabe heroes?”
Evana Bahar raced into the room and stood at the lectern. She fired off several rounds before a camera zoomed in on her.
“Let this day go down in history as the day that the U.S. president’s transgressions were atoned for by his own blood,” she said. She pumped several more bullets skyward before letting out a primal scream and gesturing for her men to follower her with Young in tow.
Black’s phone buzzed. “You’re up,” Fortner said. “Take the shot.”
Black steadied his rifle and stared through the scope at his target.
One, two . . . three.
Black squeezed the trigger, and a shot ripped through the glass window. Using infrared glasses, Black could see the man crumple. The other guard inside scrambled across the room, clearly surprised by the presence of an intruder. He stumbled right into Black’s line of sight. Another shot, another guard fell to the floor.
Black scanned the area once more and raced toward the door, kicking it down.
“I said now,” Fortner screamed.
Black hung up and raced into the makeshift prison site. He fired off a couple shots at the deadbolt, splintering the door. It swung open with a swift kick, and he wove through the dark hallways until he found Laura bound up in a room with only a cot and a bucket for her to relieve herself. She was delirious and pleading for him not to touch or hurt her.
“Laura, it’s me, Titus,” he said.
Her sobbing tapered off. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for you, Laura. It’s time to go.”
“But how did you—”
“I’ll explain everything later,” he said, helping her to her feet.
With her brow furrowed, she eyed him closely. “But you’re not a . . . What are you?”
“Like I said, I’ll explain everything later. But we need to get out of here right now.”
Black’s phone buzzed again with a call from Fortner. “What the hell are you waiting on? Pull the trigger now.”
“I already did,” Black said. He hung up and snapped a couple photos of the dead men lying on the floor. Attaching the images to a text message, he replied to Fortner:
I’m coming for you next.
Seconds later, Fortner replied:
You better not miss.
Black helped Laura into his car and sped away from the site. As he was driving, another call came in, this one from Blunt.
“Where are you?” Blunt asked. “I thought I told you to stay around Capitol Hill.”
“You know where I am, don’t you?” Black asked.
“Actually, I do—and you’ve got a lot to answer for. But that can wait. I need you to help Hawk. Evana Bahar and her Al Fatihin goons took Young.”
“I know,” Black said. “I saw the whole thing.”
“Get over there with him as soon as possible and put in your coms. Alex is helping coordinate our side of things with the FBI and CIA, who are all about to lose their minds over this thing, wondering how it all happened.”
“Evana Bahar played us all,” Black said.
“I know. And we have to figure out what her next move is before it’s too late.”
“I think it’s obvious what she’s going to do now. We just have to figure out where she intends to do it.”
CHAPTER 17
HAWK RACED TOWARD his car, weaving in and out of the members of Congress and other distinguished guests fleeing toward hopeful safety. The security team pleaded with everyone to stay calm, but their effort was largely ignored. With people screaming and yelling as they sprinted out of the building, law enforcement couldn't assess the situation properly. Meanwhile, media members swarmed outside with microphones and cameras, ready to capture interviewees willing to describe what it was like inside.
“Talk to me, Alex,” Hawk said over his coms. “Where did these bastards go?”
“I’m trying to track them,” she said. “Putting together a composite of the area right now and attempting to identify the vehicle they left in.”
“Hurry it up. I’m almost to my car.”
He pumped his arms and ran as fast as he could. His lungs burned as he gasped for each breath in the frigid
