Designated Survivor (4 page)

The clearing was half the size of a football field, surrounded by a tree line 40 feet high. The mountains were to the west, the low ridges barely visible in the dark. The January night was below freezing out in the country and there were few clouds in the sky. The moon was low on the horizon.

The SEALs were out of both aircraft and moving to converge in the area east of the machines. Grace followed far behind the three men he’d ridden with. He stopped walking when he saw one SEAL in front of him pause as the other two kept moving to meet with the three men from the other chopper. The lone SEAL raised his FN SCAR assault rifle and with three short, muffled bursts of bullets, fired on his own men, killing the two SEALs directly in front of him. Grace dropped to the ground and pulled his Glock out as the shooter faded into the darkness. Grace lowered the night vision goggles on top of his helmet and depressed the button that activated them, but the view through the goggles was black. He raised them and focused in the dark to track the men walking ahead of him. The other SEALs had lowered their goggles only to have them malfunction as Grace’s did and were blind in the darkness. The man fired again and bullets hit them before they could figure out what had happened. One SEAL managed to fire off a series of rounds before being struck. All three men fell to the ground.

Firefights between trained experts don’t last long. The rogue SEAL had hit his marks with ease while his team mates had their guard down, never expecting to be attacked from within their close knit group. He had known exactly what gear his teammates were wearing and where to put the shots to drop them.

Grace kept his head down as he lay on the ground. He was 20 feet back of the SEAL and tracked him in the darkness by hints of reflection from the dim moonlight and soft footfalls on the cold ground. The man turned towards him, his rifle raised as the shape moved in his direction. Grace followed the sounds with the sights on his pistol and adjusted in the darkness until the man was only a dozen feet away. With the gear and armor the SEALs wore, he had to make sure he could place the bullet properly in order to stop the man. He raised his aim to come in under the front of the helmet.

Grace pulled his trigger. The firing pin flew forward with a click without releasing the nine-millimeter bullet he’d tried to fire. His mind raced back to the moment he’d handed the weapon to the SEAL before taking off and then he knew who was coming at him.

“You don’t have to do this, Hendricks,” Grace said.

The SEAL walked towards him, his rifle still raised. “Nothin’ personal,” Hendricks said. “Just protecting my own.”

Grace rolled to his right to get to his feet and away from the aim of the FN SCAR. Tracking a moving target with an assault rifle through night vision goggles wasn’t an easy task, though any SEAL would be able to do it without hesitation. Grace was on his right knee preparing to charge at the SEAL when a muffled cracking sound came from the trees 50 yards to the east. Hendricks fell sideways onto the ground before getting a shot off.

Grace recognized the sound of the weapon as the Cheytac .408-caliber rifle used by his sniper Chip Goodson. He went to the SEAL to check his pulse and saw the man’s helmet was split in two from the round Goodson had put into his head. He put his malfunctioning Glock into his holster and pulled the Sig Sauer from the dead man’s side.

He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the earpiece he’d brought with him and placed it into his left ear.

“Good shot, Chip. Clear on the ground,” Grace said. “Checking the pilots.”

He checked the Sig with no intention of being caught with a malfunctioning weapon again, then turned, gun raised and moved towards the first Blackhawk.

“Marine pilot, this is Grace. Please respond,” Grace yelled.

He heard movement then a voice from the front of the aircraft.

“What the fuck is going on out there?”

“We had a situation, pilot,” Grace said. “All is clear now. I need you to radio your partner in the other bird, then both exit slowly without your weapons.”

After a few moments of silence he heard the radio click.

“We’ve been requested to come outside,” the pilot said. “Leave your side arm behind. Claims to be a friendly.”

“Copy,” came from the receiver.

After a few clicks and thumps of the seat belt being released and dropped inside the cockpit, he finally saw motion as the pilot opened the door.

“Come on down,” Grace said.

The man stepped to the ground and walked slowly over with his arms raised and Grace patted him down.

“No guns?”

“No guns.”

“Okay, let’s go get your buddy,” Grace said.

He turned the pilot and used him as a shield, the P229 aimed over the pilot’s right shoulder as they moved. They reached the other helicopter as the pilot was walking towards them. Grace stopped when he saw the Marine had his service pistol in his right hand.

“Drop the weapon, pilot,” Grace said.

“They said they’d kill her,” the pilot said.

“Kill who?”

“My wife. We’ve only been married six weeks,” the pilot said.

“Look around us,” Grace said. “There’s nobody else here. Nobody knows what you are or aren’t going to do right now. Put the weapon down.”

“But my wife . . . ” the pilot said.

“Your wife will be fine,” Grace said. “Let’s think through this.”

He saw the gun begin to rise.

“Don’t do it,” Grace said.

The pilot’s arm extended and just as the weapon was aimed at him, Grace fired and the Marine spun to his right and fell to the ground. The pilot that had been shielding Grace doubled over from the blast of the pistol beside his right ear.

“You know what he was talking about?” Grace said. “Who was going to kill his wife?”

“No sir,” he said. “No idea.”

“Come on in, guys,” Grace said.

“What?” the pilot said.

“Not you,” Grace said.

Out of the darkness four men appeared with rifles aimed at the remaining pilot and Grace stepped back. He tucked the Sig into the back of his khakis with the safety on.

“I think he’s clean,” Grace said. “He’s had plenty of opportunity to do something since we landed. I only winged the other pilot. We need him alive. Check his wound and tie them both up.”

“Can somebody tell me what’s going on?” the pilot said, his hands still holding his ears.

CHAPTER 6

Grace’s men secured the two pilots after putting gauze on the gunshot wound and injecting a shot of morphine for the pain as well as to knock him out. They gathered their gear, ready for directions though they didn’t need them. The team had worked together for the better part of ten years, covering four continents and dozens of countries. The number of kills credited to their team by the NSA was far lower than the actual body count they’d left behind.

“Chip still in the trees?” Grace said.

“Yeah. Probably napping now,” Holden said. “Lazy ass snipers.”

Chip Goodson was their sniper and all-around weapons expert, coming from the Army Rangers where he destroyed every record that had existed before him. He was short and stocky and could carry more gear than most two men combined.

Always near Chip when they weren’t on a mission was Holden Evinger. Grace had tapped him for the team when Holden was kicked out of SEAL Team 6 for punching his commanding officer for taking his parking spot on base. The parking spot actually belong to the C.O. Holden just liked parking there because it was closer to the gym. He stood six feet four and won most fights before a punch was swung. His shaved black head was always covered by a stocking cap, no matter how hot it was outside.

“We have about four clicks to cover,” Grace said. “Corbin, you’re here with the birds. Pick one and check it for bullet holes.”

“Copy that.” Corbin was a former Navy pilot who’d spent three tours on the USS Abraham Lincoln aircraft carrier. He’d flown every fixed wing and rotor he could get his hands on, sometimes without permission. Grace never bothered asking him if he knew how to fly something anymore.

The remaining men grabbed their gear and headed for the woods.

“How many targets we looking at when we get there?” Avery said.

“They aren’t targets. They’re Secret Service,” Grace said. “Chances are everything is copacetic. We just need to be ready after what went down in the Capitol.”

“But we can hurt ‘em if we need to?” Avery said.

“Only if we need to,” Grace said. “I know we aren’t used to ops on U.S. soil, so keep your heads.”

Avery Miller was the only one of the team other than Grace with no military background. He had been a mixed martial arts fighter in Dallas until he accidently killed a man in the ring. He was never charged, but no promoter would touch him after that. Having grown up on a ranch in Texas he knew guns well and could fix any motor that wasn’t running.

The last member of the team was Levi Teehee, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian from Oklahoma. He’d graduated near the top of his class at OU and had played college football his first three years until he decided to focus on the academics. After college he went into the Marines as an officer. He liked to thicken up his accent and play the stereotyped Native American role even though he was a decorated Marine and a former operator in the elite MARSOC unit, the Marine Special Operations Command. He had three years of linguistics training and spoke four languages and could understand several more.

The team moved out across the field to the east and into the woods. As dark as the field had been, no light at all found its way into the trees. The four men moved as quickly as they could through the woods with night vision goggles in place. The thick canopy of trees overhead kept much from growing on the ground, leaving a clear trail. Only once did Grace think he heard their sniper Chip a few dozen yards off to his left, staying concealed while moving to be in position when his team left the safety of the woods on the other side.

Many of their missions took place in darkness. They were all used to the void around them and had learned to know what sounds to listen for. With the commotion of five men carrying heavy gear moving quickly through the trees, it’s easy to obscure the sounds of the forest or of enemies tracking you. They had a system they’d used for years. At irregular intervals the lead man would give an audible signal to the rest of them then they’d all give a ten count in their heads then come to a stop. If anyone were following them their footfalls would easily be heard before they had a chance to stop. Through the three-mile trek in the woods, Holden had four times brought them to a stop only to hear the normal sounds of the trees.

They reached the edge of the woods and each of the four men took cover behind large trees. He couldn’t see him, but Grace knew Chip was already there, probably 15 feet up in a tree and his rifle ready and scanning the target.

“I see six men on the front porch,” Grace said.

“At least two inside,” Chip’s voice came from his earpiece. “I have the front and west sides covered. Three vehicles in back, all look to be government SUVs.”

“Those might come in handy,” Grace said.

“What’s that on the porch?” Avery said.

Grace scanned the porch with his binoculars then lowered them. “Looks like a body,” he said.

“So would that be a good guy or a bad guy?” Holden said.

“My guess is bad,” Grace said.

“I hope you’re right,” Holden said.

“Me too,” Grace said.

Grace lowered his binoculars and pulled his secure radio out of his combat vest and turned the dial to the frequency CIA Director Leighton had given him then punched in the secure identification number. Once the code was accepted he pressed the button that sent a signal to the Secret Service officers.

He raised his binoculars and watched. The men on the porch maintained their positions.

“We have movement inside,” Chip said. “Someone’s coming out.”

The front door opened and another man in a suit came out onto the porch, a radio similar to Grace’s on his belt. Grace transmitted.

“Secret Service detail this is your ride calling, do you read?”

“We read you,” he could see the man talking into the microphone more than a hundred yards away, his eyes on the sky over the trees. “Why aren’t you wheels down by the house?”

“There’s been some complications,” Grace said. “We had to ensure everything was secure on your end. We’re coming in on foot.”

“The situation is secure now. We’ve had a casualty here. I’ll require further confirmation before I can allow you to approach,” the man was scanning the tree line.

“Understood,” Grace expected the extra caution. He pulled a card from his vest with a series of letters Director Leighton had scribbled down. “Quebec. Uniform. Echo. Sierra. Tango. Three. Nine. Seven.”

“Confirmed. Who am I speaking with?” the Secret Service officer said.

“This is Grace. I’m with Homeland Security. I have a team here to extract the package. We’ll have a bird ready once we’ve cleared the area.” His cover as an NSA operator was to be protected. He carried credentials and badges for every government law enforcement organization including the CIA, FBI, Homeland Security and even INS. He’d use whatever he needed to get people to comply.

“Move in slow. I’ll meet you,” the man said.

Grace watched the man take the four steps off the porch and began walking into the field. His weapon remained on his side, the strap fastened.

“I like this guy. He’s cautious but ballsy,” Grace said. “I’d have my gun out and ready to drop anyone if they blinked wrong.”

“Maybe you should ask him out,” Levi said.

“Not my type, too tall,” Grace said. “Okay, let’s move out. Standard spread, weapons lowered but ready. Look twice before you react, we don’t need any more blood on the ground than we already have.”

Grace stepped out from behind the tree and started walking through the field. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that on his left was Levi thirty feet away and on his right were Avery and Holden with the same spacing. The man in the suit had come out to the middle of the field beside the house and stopped with his arms hanging wide away from his side to show he was not holding a weapon in his hands.