“We’re evacuating the White House,” the President said.
Collins gasped aloud. “My God…”
“There are military vehicles up there on the South Lawn shooting at the White House.”
“Don’t you have any goddamned security in this place?” Kingman thundered.
“The army has sharpshooters and infantry units on the roof, but they’re under attack,” the President responded.
“Well, how do we get out of here?”
“There are pedestrian tunnels connecting the White House to several other government buildings,” the President said. “The Old Executive Office building was hit by a rocket, so that’s not an option…”
“A rocket?”
“There are other tunnels connecting the White House to the Treasury Building and the New Executive Office Building,” the President went on. “There’s also an underground rail system that connects the White House to the U.S. Naval Observatory and the Capitol. If necessary, we can get out via the Metro subway system, which we can access from the New Executive Office Building or the Treasury Building. We can be out of Washington in ten minutes.”
“What if they have a nuke, like in San Francisco or Kingman City…?”
“The Situation Room isn’t protected, but the bunker under the Treasury Building is protected against anything but a direct one-megaton hit,” the President said. “We’re safe, Harold. Relax.”
A few minutes later, Robert Chamberlain came trotting into the Situation Room, wearing a dark gray trench coat and breathing heavily. “We’re ready to go, Mr. President. Follow me, please.” He hurried out of the Situation Room, past the White House dining facilities, and through the door to the tunnel system, which had already been unlocked.
“Where are we headed, Robert?” Collins asked.
“The New Executive Office Building,” Chamberlain replied.
“I thought it was hit by a rocket!” Kingman exclaimed.
“It was only slightly damaged,” Chamberlain said. Every ten meters or so there was a soldier in full combat gear standing at port arms in the tunnel or a man in a bulletproof vest marked POLICE or U.S. SECRET SERVICE. “There are a number of police and firefighters up there, and they’ll screen us as we come out.”
“Why don’t we just go to the Treasury Building?” Victoria Collins asked.
“That route’s been compromised,” Chamberlain said. “We need to hurry.”
After a jog of about two blocks, they reached an elevator and a staircase, guarded by another soldier in black fatigues. He had a hand up to an earpiece; when Chamberlain reached out to touch the Up button for the elevator, the soldier stopped him. “Stand by, please, sir,” he said. “It’s not secure upstairs yet.” Into his sleeve microphone, he spoke, “Four protectees have arrived, we’re secure.”
“Catch your breath,” Chamberlain said. All of them were breathing heavily, as much from the terror as the job. He turned to the soldier. “How long?”
“Status?” he spoke into his microphone. A moment later: “Armored vehicle will be in place in sixty seconds, sir.”
“How in hell could this have happened?” Harold Kingman asked hotly. “A rocket attack against Washington, D.C.? How could anyone get rockets into the capital?”
“They were apparently launched from well outside the city, outside the Beltway near Knollwood,” Chamberlain said. “Mobile rocket launcher.”
“But how can they get close enough to the White House to shoot grenades and machine guns…?”
“We don’t know that yet, Harold,” Chamberlain said. The soldier reached out and touched the Up button on the elevator. “All right, follow me through the doors into the parking garage—the Suburban should be right there waiting for us.”
“Where are the PPD guys?” the President asked as the doors to the elevator slid open. “Where’s Carl? I thought he’d be escorting me.”
“He’s up above, sir,” Chamberlain said. “He’ll be right beside you all the way. He’s recommending we go to the Naval Observatory first, then fly out to Andrews and go airborne.”
The President nodded and removed his tie. “This is a damned nightmare,” he said. “I want some answers, dammit, and I want then now.” The doors to the elevator slid open…
…and they stepped into the center of an inferno. The entire parking garage was filled with smoke, and several vehicles were still on fire. Parts of the ceiling of the underground parking structure had collapsed, and bare wires and broken pipes were everywhere. “What in hell…Chamberlain, what did you do?” the President shouted. “The building was hit, and you led us right into it!”
“It was the only way I could be certain we’d be alone, Mr. President,” a voice said through the crackle and roar of the fires all around them. They turned…and saw none other than Yegor Viktorvich Zakharov standing before them, his ever-present Dragunov sniper rifle cradled in his arms.
“Welcome, all, welcome,” he said with a broad grin on his face. They turned and saw Pavel Khalimov standing behind them with an M-16 rifle at the ready. “Welcome to your worst nightmare.”
The White House South Lawn
That same time
It took only a few minutes for the uniformed Secret Service and the National Park Police to respond to the attack on the White House, but they were far outgunned. After initially responding only with small arms fire, the Secret Service finally brought agents with assault rifles into the fight, but they were still no match for the armed Humvees. While the Humvees with the Mk19 grenade launchers continued to pummel the White House, the other Humvees turned their guns on the defenders, driving them to cover.
But moments later heavier-caliber bullets started to hit their location. “From the roof of the Treasury Building!” one of the terrorists shouted. “Machine guns!” The Secret Service had finally retrieved their heavier weapons and were returning fire.
“How much longer do we have to sit here like this?” another gunman shouted.
“Just shut up and keep firing!” the first terrorist shouted. At that moment he received another radio call: “Here they come! Watch out!” They looked to the south from the area of the Washington Monument a saw a pair of Apache attack helicopters racing in from very low altitude. The gunners on the Humvees dropped down inside their vehicles, but they knew that if the Apaches’ thirty-millimeter cannon shells hit them, they’d be toast—the Humvees’ thin armor would never protect them against a devastating Chain Gun attack. The Apaches raced in and the Chain Gun in the chin turret opened fire…
…but not on the Humvees, but on the Secret Service machine gun locations on the roof of the Treasury Building! One pass by both helicopters was enough to destroy the hastily formed Secret Service machine gun nest. After they finished that pass, the Apaches hovered over the White House and fired the Chain Gun and 2.75-inch Hydra rockets at the army and Secret Service positions on the roof.
The terrorists in the Humvees were yelling and screaming in joy. “Yibis ana v rot!” one of them yelled in Russian. “Nail those…!”
“Watch out!” someone yelled. “Off to the right! Get him!” The terrorist swung his gun right…and centered his sights on a large robot figure standing in the tree line between the South Lawn and the Treasury Building, about twenty meters away. Just as he began to squeeze the trigger to his machine gun, the muzzle of the cannon on the robot’s right shoulder flared…and the terrorist was blown completely apart by a forty-millimeter grenade fired at him from point-blank range.
“Another robot, off to the west!” But just as the warnings started coming, the Humvees one by one were pummeled by grenades. Two Humvees were destroyed within seconds.
“Splash two,” Captain Frank Falcone radioed. “Two Hummers burning!”
“Move, Falcon!” Lieutenant Jennifer McCracken radioed. She was in CID Five near the Old Executive Office Building. “Those Apaches are on you!”
“I got ’em, Jen,” Falcone said. He had been watching the Apaches approach with the help of the Goose drones orbiting over the White House. He ran several dozen meters south and fired a grenade at the first Apache, then dashed to the west. “Ready, Jen?”
“Ready,” McCracken replied. She had fired grenades at two more Humvees in front of her, then started tracking the Apaches. The lead Apache helicopter fired a volley of Hydra rockets at the spot where Falcone had
