AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Rielly took in his words and asked, “So why do we have to risk this just to talk to the president?”
This is where it gets tricky, Rapp told himself. He didn’t want to lie to her, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t tell her what he had figured out—that the reason they were doing this was that the vice president wouldn’t order the takedown. “Anna, I can’t get into that with you right now, maybe later. Just trust me that there’s a good reason why we need to reestablish contact with the president.”
Rielly eyed him suspiciously, wondering what he was hiding. “This is one of those things we’ll talk about over dinner when you tell me your life story.”
Rapp laughed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll put it at the top of the list.”
Nice laugh, Rielly thought. He used it as defense mechanism. Every time he wasn’t comfortable with a question or a proposition, he laughed and moved on. Rielly gave him a knowing look as if she could see past the smoke screen.
“So I’m going to crawl back down there and wait for that guy to go to the bathroom. And then I’m going to tug on the rope twice”—Rielly held up two fingers to make sure—“twice, and then you’re gonna run down there and do whatever it is that you do for whatever agency it is that you work for, but can’t say you work for.”
Rapp’s quiet laugh and smile popped up right on schedule. “That’s about it.”
“What if this guy doesn’t need to go to the bathroom?”
“Don’t worry, he will. My guess is he’s been up for almost three days straight, and he’s probably had twenty cups of coffee.” Rapp looked over at the door and then back. “Any questions before we get started?”
“What if I give the signal and two seconds later he turns around and starts coming back?”
Rapp nodded and pointed to her. “Now, that’s a good question. If that happens, tug on the rope four times, nice and hard.” Rapp watched her nod and then again asked, “Any more questions?”
“Yeah,” said Rielly. “What if I have to go to the bathroom?”
“Hold it.” Rapp reached into his pocket and pulled out a Velcro patch and one of the mini surveillance units. “I want you to install this while you’re down there. Lay it flat like this.” Rapp set the small device in the palm of his hand and held it horizontally. “This little wick at the end contains a fiber-optic camera. Make sure it has an unobstructed view of the bunker door.”
Rielly took the device and nodded. “I’m ready when you guys are.”
“Milt?” Rapp looked at his partner.
“I’m good to go.”
“Good.” Rapp brought his hands together and said, “Let’s do it.” Rubbing them, he shrugged his head toward the second door and said, “Let’s get that thing open, and then we’ll lower Anna down.”
Adams walked over to the gray door and extracted his S-key. He opened the outer door, and there stood a sturdy steel door with rivets securing the hinges and a handle on the right-hand side. Adams brought his face to within inches of the control pad and then stopped. Stepping to the side, he looked at Rapp and said, “You’d better give this a try. You’re gonna be on your own when you open the second door.”
Rapp agreed and stepped up to the control pad. He entered the nine numbers from memory and pressed “enter.” Immediately there was the hiss of air releasing and then a metallic click. Rapp stepped back and brought his submachine gun up.
Adams looked at him and pointed to the handle. “Just lean on that thing, and she’s all yours.”
Rapp pushed Adams completely out of the way and pressed down on the handle. He didn’t expect any trouble, but now was not the time to be lax. Rapp pushed the door in. Before him was a small landing and a set of stairs. The floor and lower half of the walls were covered with a brown carpet. Rapp stood hugging the doorframe, with his silhouette minimized. The thick black barrel of his MP-10 searched every inch of the dimly lit staircase before him.
He turned to Adams and Rielly, “Everything checks out. Let’s get Anna on the move and hope this guy has a little bladder.”
A minute later Rielly was wiggling her way back into the vent and Rapp was playing out the rope. When she reached the vertical shaft, Rapp carefully eased her down it. From there Rielly inched her way through the narrow confines until she came upon her spot. Gingerly, she inched forward the last several inches and peered through the slats. The high-pitched whine of the drills filled the air. Clutching the surveillance unit Rapp had given her, she looked out intently at the large shiny do
or of the president’s bunker. No one was in sight. The pudgy man that she had seen the time before was not visible. Rielly watched the three bulky drills working to breach the door. She wondered briefly if she should tug on the string and give the signal. After a moment she thought better of it. She could see only part of the room, and for all she knew, someone was in there, or he was gone and could be on his way back.
Taking the arm of her bulky sweatshirt, Rielly reached in front of herself and cleared out a spot for the Velcro patch. She secured the surveillance unit to the spot and made sure the fiber-optic camera had an unobstructed view between the bottom of the opening and the first slat. With that done, she stretched out and tried to get comfortable.
WICKER HAD A crew of eight motivated Navy SEALs working feverishly. Planning ahead, as always, Wicker had called a lumberyard in Forestville, Maryland, and placed an order for the supplies he would need to build the shooting platform. When his CO, Lt. Commander Harris, had given him the green light, Wicker was on the phone within seconds.
SEAL Team Six’s strike element, which would be used to chase the terrorists if they left the country, was billeted at Andrews Air Force Base, where they were biding their time in hopes that they would be sent into action. Wicker explained his situation to the unit’s executive officer and told him that Harris had given him the okay. Wicker requested six men specifically, and within twenty minutes they had borrowed a truck from the motor pool and were on the way to the lumberyard. The fact that they had not obtained authorization for the truck was something the paper pushers could sort out later.
By a little past two in the afternoon they were downtown in their jeans and T-shirts unloading their equipment. Everything was ferried by hand up the bell tower of the Old Post Office, and now the men, all of whom were experienced snipers, were putting the finishing touches on the platforms. Building one platform would not work. Two shots would be fired by two men using fifty-caliber rifles. Although the platforms’ construction was sturdy, if only one were used, the slightest movement by one man could send the other man’s shot dangerously awry.
The two platforms were actually rectangular boxes constructed of one-inch plywood and reinforced with four-by-sixes and glued and screwed together. Wicker grabbed a hard plastic rifle case by the handle and laid it down on one of the platforms. With the others watching, he popped the clasps on the case and opened it. Inside sat a massive .50 caliber Barrett rifle. Sixty-one inches from muzzle to shoulder butt and weighing thirty pounds, it was one of the largest rifles in the world. It used the powerful .50 caliber Browning cartridge and was capable of taking out targets at distances in excess of one mile.
Wicker, not a particularly large man, was only a half foot taller than the rifle. Scooping the heavy black weapon from its foam encasement, he pulled the fixed bipod into its extended position and set it down. He climbed onto the platform, slid in behind the rifle, and drew close to the scope. He peered through the circular eyepiece, and within seconds he was staring at the hooded terrorist sitting in the guard booth on the roof of the White House. At this short distance, the .50 caliber Barrett would normally be way too much firepower, but considering the security afforded the terrorists by the bulletproof Plexiglas, it was the right weapon for the job. Not just one Barrett, but two.
