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Aziz thought about it for a second and then said, “No. She can do us no harm. All of the exits are wired. Chances are she’ll set off one of the bombs and kill herself.”
Bengazi cleared his throat and got Aziz’s attention.
Aziz looked at his second and said, “Yes.”
“I think at the very least we should do a sweep of this floor and the third.” Bengazi paused. “It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.”
Aziz thought about it for moment and replied, “All right, but let’s do it quickly.”
As they prepared to leave, Ragib pointed to their dead comrade on the floor and asked, “What do you want me to do with Hasan?”
Without looking back, Aziz said, “Leave him there, and let the stupid fool rot.”
26
BACK AT LANGLEY a lively discussion was under way. General Campbell wanted to broaden their vague mandate by sending two more people through the ventilation shaft. His reason was sound. They knew Aziz had brought a large amount of explosives into the White House, and they now had evidence that Aziz had strategically deployed the devices. Before any type of an assault could take place, those devices would have to be defeated, or, at the very least circumvented. To do that, they needed more information, and that meant getting someone with technical expertise into the White House.
General Campbell and Irene Kennedy had again resumed their huddle with their respective bosses. Campbell stated confidently, “Six has the people and the equipment in place, and no one knows explosives better than they do. One call to Lieutenant Commander Harris and we can have them in the shaft in under five minutes.”
“I’d prefer to have Iron Man look around a little more,” Stansfield said.
Campbell sighed. “I’m not so sure we shouldn’t have let Iron Man take them out a couple of minutes ago.”
Stansfield raised an eyebrow. “It was a very risky play for so early in the game.”
“Yeah, but one that might have been worth it. . . . And if we get it again, I’d like to be in a position to increase the odds.”
“So”—Flood leaned forward, placing an arm on the table—“you want to move these people in immediately.”
“Yes.” Campbell looked at his watch. “It’s almost oh-one-hundred. The sun’s gonna be up in five hours. The sooner we get a clearer picture of what we’re up against the sooner we can end this thing. Plus, like all of our Special Forces personnel, these demo experts are cross-trained. You put two SEALs on Iron Man’s flanks and”—Campbell nodded confidently—“the next time we get a chance to take out Aziz, we’re not gonna miss.”
Stansfield cautioned, “Right now we have three armed terrorists moving about the mansion in a very surly mood. It might be wise to let them cool down before we start.”
“I agree,” replied Campbell. “We just heard them say they’re gonna check the second and third floors, which should take about twenty minutes. Even if we get our people moving in under ten, it’ll be close to a half hour before they make it in. And besides, they’re coming into the third basement, not the second floor.”
“What about Mitch?” asked Kennedy.
“He can sit tight until Aziz is done checking the second and third floors, and then he can head back down using the elevator.”
Kennedy thought about it for a moment and then said, “It sounds reasonable to me.”
Both Kennedy and Campbell looked up at Flood and Stansfield. General Flood looked at Stansfield first and then Campbell. “Tell Commander Harris to get his men ready to move, but they are to wait for my order before they cross the fence line.” Campbell and Kennedy went back to their spots, leaving the two older men alone. Flood moved close to Stansfield and asked, “How does this change things with the vice president?”
Stansfield pondered the question momentarily and then replied, “I’m not sure; he was awfully vague in his direction. He seemed to leave the door open for everything up to the point of an actual raid.”
Flood shook his head and muttered, “Vice President Baxter is severely hampered in the leadership department. . . . He is not the person we need for this crisis.”
Stansfield slowly nodded. “He’s trying to cover all of his bets.”
“So what do we do?”
The director of the CIA thought about it for a moment. “He was vague for a reason. . . . I almost got the feeling he wanted to be kept out of the loop.”
“He wants his deniability.” The general was not happy. “Well, screw him and the horse he rode in on. We can tell him in the morning when he gets his lazy ass out of bed.”
ON THE EAST side of the White House, Lt. Commander Harris and his men were busy getting ready. The air under the tarp was soupy. Condensation had formed on the sides of the three vehicles, and rivulets of water were dripping to the ground. Every man was sweating profusely, but they all ignored it. They were used to working in conditions far worse than this.
Harris had already chosen his two men. The first was Nick Shultz, a thirty-eight-year-old chief petty officer. Shultz was an EOD—explosive ordinance disposal specialist—who had been on the teams since he was twenty. Due to his natural knack for explosives, he had spent a fair amount of time as a basic underwater demolition/SEAL instructor—for the grueling twenty-six-week course that all candidates must complete before they can become a SEAL. However, what made Shultz one of the very best experts was his steady, unflappable demeanor.
