Page 38 of Hawk on the Hunt

His insides churning with disbelief and fury, Polo turned up the sound as the reporter continued, “According to eyewitness reports, Marine One carrying President Mansfield and Vice President Grossman, was downed seconds after lifting off from the South Lawn. There is no word yet on any injuries or what or who caused this incident.” She pressed on her earpiece again. “Hold on, we’re getting more information.” She nodded, then looked into the camera again, “We have a video recording from a tourist who was outside the fence of the White House when the incident happened.”

A second later, the screen switched to a video clearly made with a cell phone camera. It showed Marine One lifting off, but not getting higher than a few feet, before it set down in one bumpy movement, the sound of its motor dying instantly, and the rotor blades turning slower. Within seconds, the chopper was surrounded by Secret Service personnel.

“As you may be able to see,” the reporter said over the video, “the drop was only three to five feet, and there doesn’t seem to be any damage to the helicopter itself. We can’t see whether the president or the vice president were injured, because the helicopter is blocking our view of them exiting Marine One.”

“Fuck!” Polo hissed, pounding his fist on his desk in frustration, making a few sheets of paper flutter.

With his remote control, he rewound the TV to the point where the chopper was lifting off, then setting down hard. He wasn’t stupid. This was no regular technical glitch or malfunction. He’d seen this before. This sudden disabling of a large vessel with lots of electronics could only be achieved with an electromagnetic pulse. Somebody in the vicinity of the South Lawn had sent an EMP to prevent Marine One from taking the president and the vice president to Joint Base Andrews. What was happening because of it was instantly clear: both passengers would already be in the bunker underneath the White House, out of his reach.

He wanted to scream, but there was no time to let out his frustration. They were onto him. How, he didn’t know, and right now it didn’t matter much. He had to act quickly. Because if they knew that he’d wanted to kill the president and the VP by detonating the bomb hidden in the coffin, they might soon figure out how to track him, no matter how careful he’d been.

He’d worked on this for months, for years, painstakingly putting every piece of the puzzle in place so that when the first domino fell, everything else would follow. For all he knew, one of the ex-Stargate agents had had a premonition of this event, and maybe of him too.

Right now, all he could do was to save what could be saved, and regroup later. He snatched his jacket, his keys, cell phone, and wallet, then grabbed his briefcase from below his desk, and cast a last look at his desk. There were no incriminating papers in his office. But there was another place where he’d hidden his most prized possession. Without it, he would never be able to try again. It was paramount that he collected the data that had allowed him to get as far as he had. If he hurried, he would make it.

By the time the Stargate agents knew who he was, he would be long gone. After all, he was much smarter than all of them together. He would get his revenge, maybe not today, but he could be patient. Tomorrow was another day. In the end, he’d be victorious, and nobody would ever stop him again.

Polo marched to the door and put his hand on the doorknob, before casting another look at everything this office signified in his life’s work. He would be back, in one form or another. This wasn’t the end, not by a long shot.

22

Dylan opened the door to the Speaker’s office suite and entered swiftly, Tiger and Zara on his heels. He heard the soft click of Zara flipping the deadbolt. Quickly, he assessed the layout of the suite and the situation. There were several doors, two to the right, and another one to the left. Five people were present, three women, all of them sitting at their desks, and two men, one of whom was coming through a door from the right, carrying a stack of files, while the other man stood behind one of the women and looked over her shoulder into the computer monitor.

One of the women looked up as they approached. She raised her eyebrows, while she glanced at her computer screen as if checking something.

“Yes?” she asked, her tone curt, indicating she was busy or preoccupied with something else.

“We’re here to see Speaker Johnson,” Dylan said and stopped in front of her desk.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that Tiger had taken up a strategic point in the room so nobody would be able to get past him. Zara had remained at the door.

“He doesn’t have any appointments on his calendar for now,” she said just as curtly. She dropped her gaze to the visitor badge on his suit. “Mr. Smith-Bancroft.”

Dylan had chosen the name—and Fox had forged a driver’s license for it—because it would indicate to Polo that the jig was up. He leaned in. “Ma’am, I’m a personal friend of Speaker Johnson. He always has time for me.”

When she glanced at the door to Dylan’s left, he added, “No need to announce me, I’ll just go in.”

She quickly jumped up. “You can’t go in there!”

Her words alerted the other staff members.

“I’m calling security,” one of the men announced.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Tiger advised, his voice sounding menacing. “Step away from your desks, and lady, drop that phone.”

One of the women shrieked, when Tiger lunged at her, while Dylan quickly approached one of the two men, and pressed him against a filing cabinet.

“Don’t be a hero, buddy,” he warned.

The man trembled, clearly afraid of physical violence.

“And don’t even think about pressing the panic button,” Zara interrupted, approaching too.

He wasn’t pleased that Zara wasn’t staying near the door like they’d discussed. But he had no time to scold her for disobeying his orders right now.

“Now everybody, behave. Nobody gets hurt as long as I get to see the Speaker.” Dylan narrowed his eyes at the man in his grip, before releasing him. “Tiger, make sure they comply.”

“Oh, I’m on it.”