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“Put it on the speaker system,” stated Kennedy, without taking her eyes off the monitor. A second later a scratchy audio came over the room’s overhead speaker system.
There was a loud noise, and General Flood, who was sitting one row behind Kennedy and Campbell, asked, “What in the hell was that?”
Kennedy stared at the monitor showing the open doorway of the president’s bedroom with the lit hallway beyond and said, “It sounded like a scream.”
Just then a man appeared in the doorway dragging a woman behind him. As if on cue everyone in the control room moved closer to the screen in an attempt to discern what was happening. Within seconds it was brutally apparent what was unfolding before them.
Kennedy, in an unusually tense voice, snapped, “Get me Iron Man on the radio right now!” Kennedy knew Rapp better than anyone in the room and possibly better than anyone in the world. Kennedy knew she had to assert some control over him and assert it quickly, if she had even the slightest chance of stopping him from doing what she knew he was contemplating.
THE MP-10 WAS on the ground in the corner and had been replaced by the silenced 9-mm Beretta. Rapp stared at the gun. Angry beyond comprehension, he felt like punching a hole in the wall. He told himself to bring it back a notch. Too much anger led to poor judgment. But Rapp hated thugs, people that took from others, animals that did what they wanted to do with little or no thought of what their actions did to fellow human beings.
Mentally, Rapp was gone. The decision had been made. There was no turning back. The woman in the other room was somebody’s daughter, probably somebody’s wife, and maybe some poor kid’s mother, and there was no way he could allow himself to sit in the safety of the bulletproof room and let it happen.
The secure field radio spurted a quiet beeping noise, and a green light on the panel began to flash. Adams reached for the handset, and Rapp stopped him.
“Don’t answer that.”
Adams slowly withdrew his hand. He no longer recognized the man sitting next to him. Rapp reached out, turned the power switch on the radio to the off position, and pulled his headset down around his neck. Standing, he retrieved his matte-black combat knife and kept it in his left hand. He looked at the pistol in one hand and the knife in the other and paused.
Standing, Milt Adams licked his dry lips, and with a worried expression on his face, he asked, “What are you going to do?”
Rapp looked sideways at him and after short pause said, “I’m going to go out there and kill that piece of shit. It’s not what I should do, but it’s what I’m gonna do.”
Adams swallowed hard and with a nod said, “Good.” Then after a second, he added, “Do you want me to help?”
Rapp shook his head and closed his eyes. “No . . . Turn off the lights, and open the door. Then stay here, and be quiet.”
Adams did as he was told. He couldn’t see Rapp, but could feel him as Rapp slid through the passageway and into the closet.
ANNA RIELLY OPENED her eyes and tried to focus. Above her was darkness, but to her right there was light. Slowly, she turned her head and saw her attacker. The man had already taken off his shirt and was working on his pants. Rielly tried to move, but her arms wouldn’t respond. Looking down, she saw her bare chest through tear-filled eyes. She was living the nightmare.
MITCH RAPP STOOD at the closet doorway for several seconds and listened. His eyes were closed. He wanted them to adjust to the darkness as much as possible. There was a noise from the bedroom. It sounded as if the woman was crying, and then he heard a male laugh. Rapp opened his eyes and looked at his two weapons. He could shoot equally well with either hand, but he was better with the knife in his left hand. Rapp decided that if he could get close enough, he would use the knife, and he had few doubts he could. Before leaving, he started the timer on his watch and then reached for the door. Slowly, cautiously, he turned the handle and began to open it.
RIELLY SOBBED AS she looked at the man looming over her. He was laughing, his disgusting cigarette breath enveloping her face. He held his erection with one hand and reached out with his other hand, pawing at Rielly’s groin. The young journalist clamped down with her legs and screamed. The terrorist yanked her legs apart and slapped her across the face. Rielly tried to fight, but her strength was gone. All she could do was cry as he lowered his body on top of her.
THE DOOR OPENED slowly. Rapp peered through the crack and saw the light from the hallway spilling into the room. From his angle he could see a man with his back to him taking off his clothes and standing at the foot the large bed. The man began to climb onto the bed. Now was the time to move. With his knife in his left hand and the gun in his right, Rapp proceeded slowly. He took his first step and then quickly looked to the left and the right to make sure no one else was in the room. He stepped silently, without vibration or noise, carefully placing his heel and then the rest of his foot on the floor.
Halfway across the room, Rapp slid his gun back into his holster. The terrorist was holding the woman’s hands above her head and was trying to enter her, the woman’s sobs muffled by the man’s body.
Rapp moved quickly to the bed, his right hand open and stretched outward, the left tightly clutching his knife. With fluid precision, he grabbed the hair of the terrorist with his right hand and yanked the man’s head back. With his left hand, Rapp stuck the tip of the knife directly into the man’s neck and thrust it upward. The sharp knife sliced through muscle and penetrated deep into the base of the brain. With a forceful twist of the knife, Rapp shredded the fragile brain stem. Abu Hasan never knew what happened in his final second on earth.
Still holding the man’s hair, Rapp pulled him off the woman and dropped his lifeless body on the floor with as little noise as possible. He placed the bloody knife back in its scabbard, and Rapp held out his hands to the naked woman on the bed.
“Don’t scream. We need to move quickly.” The woman looked up with shocked eyes and tried to cover her exposed breasts with her arms. Rapp reached down, untucked the sheet that she was lying on top of, and gently folded it over her body.
He knew he had to move fast. There was no telling when someone else might come along. Looking the woman in the eye, he said, “Listen, I have to move you. I’m going to pick you up and bring you someplace where you’ll be safe.”
Rapp placed one knee on the bed, and Rielly flinched like a scared and beaten dog. Moving slowly, he said, “More of them could come at any minute. I need to get you out of here.” After giving her several seconds to think about the alternative, Rapp placed one hand under her legs and the other under her upper back. Cradling her to his chest he stood and whispered, “Everything’s gonna be all right.” Rapp walked quickly across the room and into the closet. In a voice just above a whisper he said, “Milt, turn the light on.” Almost instantly the light inside the stash room came on, and the hidden door opened wider.
Rapp moved the woman inside and placed her on the floor. Then grabbing his backpack, he opened it and extracted a small kit. Handing it to Adams, he said, “Give her some water and a couple of these.” Rapp pulled out a packet of Tylenol 3. “I have to get back out there and try to figure out what to do with that body.”
RAGIB QUASAR LOOKED out across the mass of huddled hostages and checked his watch. It was nearing
midnight, and his turn was approaching. There were two other terrorists in the room, and Ragib looked at the one closest to him. The man nodded, signaling for Ragib to go ahead. They were all eagerly awaiting their turn, and the sooner Ragib was done with the woman the sooner the other two would have their chance.
Ragib grinned and flashed his open hand to his compatriot three times, telling him to give him fifteen minutes. With excitement, he strode from the room, his pace picking up as soon as the door behind him closed.
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