Authors: Vince Flynn
Stansfield grabbed the receiver and covered his other ear. Even though the helicopter was insulated for noise, it was still loud. “Yes, sir.”
“Thomas, I've lost control of him.” The president sounded desperate.
“Who, sir?”
“Mike Nance. I just spoke with him. He said if the assassins want O'Rourke back so bad, the congressman must know something.”
“Is he at his ranch?”
“Yes.”
“I'll handle it from here.” Stansfield handed the phone back to his bodyguard and stared straight ahead toward a dark Maryland countryside. His nerves were frayed, he was tired, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this angry. It was time to put Mike Nance in his place.
Coleman, with the FBI in tow, continued his weaving pattern through the run-down Langdon neighborhood of Washington, D.C. Although Langdon was less than a mile from the Capitol, it was one of the worst neighborhoods in Washington.
Row after row of burnt-out and abandoned houses dominated the landscape, making perfect offices for the gang-banger crack dealers who ruled the streets. Coleman wondered what his FBI watchers were thinking as they followed him into this war zone.
The former SEAL activated the voice modulator on his scramble phone and punched in the number for Langley. The operator connected him to Stansfield's office after a brief argument.
Kennedy answered the director's phone and, upon hearing the altered voice, started an immediate trace. “Who is this?” asked Kennedy.
“The person who took Arthur. Where is Stansfield?”
“He's not in right now.” Kennedy looked down at the phone and wondered if it was the former SEAL team commander on the other end.
“I need to speak with him immediately!”
Kennedy looked at her watch. “If you'll hold for a minute, I'll see if I can track him down.”
“No!” screamed Coleman. “Give me a number where I can reach him immediately, or I release the tape.”
Kennedy considered her options for a second and decided to give him the number. When she was done, she hit the extension for the operations center. Charlie Dobbs answered and Kennedy asked, “Did you get a trace?”
“Not even close. Whoever it was, they were using a mobile unit.”
“Can you get him if he calls back?”
“If he stays on long enough, but I doubt he's that dumb.”
“All right, thanks.” Kennedy placed the phone down and again wondered if it was Coleman.
Cross town, Coleman hit the disconnect button and dialed the number Kennedy had just given him. Someone answered on the other end, and Coleman asked for Stansfield. A moment later the director was on the line and Coleman asked, “Where in the hell is O'Rourke?”
“Who is this?” Stansfield was put on guard by the metallic voice.
“The person who has twenty copies of a tape that will close the doors to the CIA for good. I'm only going to ask this question one more time. Where is Congressman O'Rourke?”
“I'm in the process of trying to find him right now.”
Coleman could tell by the quality of the connection that Stansfield was mobile. “Where are you?”
Stansfield hesitated briefly. “I'm airborne.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Maryland.”
“What's in Maryland?” Coleman took a right on South Dakota Avenue and headed for Highway 50.
“The president's national security adviser.”
“Does he have the congressman?”
“We're not sure, but I'm going to find out.”
“Where does Nance live?”
“Arundel County, just off of 214.”
Coleman knew the area. Nance's house wasn't far from Annapolis. “You'd better hope you find the congressman quick. Nance has worn my patience thin.” Coleman disconnected the call and floored the
accelerator as he turned onto the on ramp for Highway 50 east. He wanted to be there for the exchange of Michael, but there was one big problemâhe had to lose the FBI first.
In his sixteen years in the Navy, Coleman had learned two fundamental theories about shaking surveillance. The first is to enter an area of high traffic and lose the watchers in the crowd, and the second is to go to a place where they can't follow. Coleman grinned. The second theory would work perfectly. He swerved into the left lane and passed several cars as he accelerated over 70 mph. He disengaged the voice modulator switch on the phone and dialed the main number for the Naval Academy. When the operator answered, Coleman asked for his old friend Sam Jarvi.
Skip McMahon peered out the front window of the minivan with a pair of binoculars. He could see the red brake light at the top of Coleman's Ford Explorer. The other three tail cars followed behind the minivan in a single column. McMahon set the binoculars on his lap and sat back. He raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth and said, “All right, gang, let's stay loose. The chopper has him. We'll stay about a mile back for now, and we'll leapfrog every five minutes. If he gets off the highway, we'll move in and close the gap.”
O'Rourke's eyes blinked several times and then opened completely. Jarod grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him off the floor. He dragged Michael over to a wooden chair and deposited him
in it. Michael grabbed on to the armrests and steadied himself. The young congressman shook his head and tried to bring his eyes into focus. He noticed a burning sensation on his stomach and reached down to touch it. The area felt as if the skin had been torn away. Several drops of blood fell from his nose onto his jeans. O'Rourke again used the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe at his nose. He tilted his head back in an effort to stop the flow of blood. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stu Garret standing behind the bar. Michael looked over at him and asked, “How long do you think it will be before they hunt you down and kill you?” Garret ignored him, so O'Rourke asked the question with a little more volume. “Hey⦠Garret! How long do you think it will take those assassins to track you down and blow your head off?” Michael grinned at the president's chief of staff. “You had one chance, and you blew it.”
Garret looked up from his drink. “I don't think you're in much of a position to be telling me anything.”
“Oh, is that right? Those assassins are going to release the tape all because you and your insane friend couldn't call it quits and walk away. You're finished, Garret. Any way you slice it, you're dead meat.”
Garret grabbed his drink and walked to the far end of the room where he wouldn't have to listen to O'Rourke.
Nance entered and strode across the room. He stopped ten feet away from O'Rourke and said expressionlessly, “I see you've regained consciousness.”
O'Rourke asked, “What did the president want?”
“It seems your friends want you back rather badly.”
O'Rourke frowned. “What friends are you talking about?”
“Your assassin friends.”
“You're nuts. I don't know who the assassins are.”
“Well, we're going to find out for sure. I think you're lying, and at this point I really don't have much to lose, now do I?” Nance smiled.
“How about your life, you sick bastard!”
“Congressman, you are a simpleton. Do you think I've worked my whole life to get where I am so a bunch of amateurs could end my career with a simple blackmail scheme?”
“Amateurs!” O'Rourke laughed. “You've seen what they can do.” O'Rourke leaned back and shouted to the other side of the room, “Hey, Garret? How do you think they're gonna kill you? Do you think they'll sneak into your house some night and snap your neck like they did to Fitzgerald, or do you think they'll get you with a rifle shot from three blocks away like they did to Basset?”
Garret slammed his drink down on an end table and marched across the room. “Mike, this is stupid! What are we doing? Let's just turn him over right now and resign.”
“Shut up, Stu! Pour yourself another drink and sit down.”
O'Rourke craned his neck around and smiled. “Maybe they'll do it with a car bomb.”
Garret snapped at O'Rourke, “Shut up!” And then looked back at Nance. “Mike, this has gone too far.
I'm out. I'm calling Jim, and I'm telling him this is your deal.” Garret went for the door, and Nance blocked him. Without taking his eyes off Garret, Nance said, “Jarod, if Mr. Garret tries to leave, shoot him!”
Michael laughed loudly. “You are nuts, Nance! Don't listen to him, Stu! He doesn't have the balls to kill you. Arthur had all the balls. Mike here was just a yes-man. Weren't ya, Mike? If you're such a powerful man, Mike, why don't you kill him yourself? You don't have the balls to do it, do you?”
Nance screamed at Garret, “Sit down and let me handle this!” Turning back to O'Rourke, Nance yelled, “Amateur hour is over! You can either tell me what you know right now and walk away with your brain intact, or I can pump you full of drugs and who knows what you'll be left with.”
O'Rourke spit more blood on Nance and screamed, “Go screw yourself! You're gonna end up dead, just like your buddy Arthur.”
Nance looked at Jarod, snapped his fingers, and then pointed at O'Rourke. “Hit him again.”
Jarod took several steps forward, but this time he made the mistake of getting within striking distance of Michael. As Jarod extended the Tazer, Michael's right foot kicked upward just as the stun gun was fired. The electric dart imbedded itself in Michael's stomach at the same time his foot caught Jarod in the groin. Both men shook as electricity shot through O'Rourke's body and into Jarod's.
THE PILOT IN THE LEAD HELICOPTER LOOKED at the display on his global-positioning monitor and announced that they were five miles out from their target. On his mark, both he and the pilot of the Black Hawk turned off their running lights and donned their night-vision goggles. In conjunction they slowed their airspeed and dropped down to an elevation of one hundred feet. The terrain was rolling countryside with sporadic patches of trees. Both pilots scanned their path for power lines. As they neared Nance's property, the helicopters slowed to a hover and moved in behind a patch of trees located at the base of two small hills. Straight ahead, less than a mile away, was Nance's rambler. The helicopters were positioned directly to the north of Nance's house. The pilot of the medevac chopper spoke into his headset. “Delta Six, this is Cherokee One. Why don't you slip around to the south and see what you can pick up on thermal?”
“Roger that, Cherokee One.” With that reply the Black Hawk slid out of formation and started a slow traverse of the property line.
Director Stansfield had put on a headset and was listening to the pilots talk. The pilot of the medevac reached up and adjusted a knob on his night-vision goggles. He scanned the area around Nance's house and picked up a heat signature. “I've got a rover,” announced the pilot. “Check, make that two rovers. They're patrolling the area around the house.”
Rover
was the designation the team used for a guard dog.
The leader of the tactical team, who was sitting right behind the pilot, asked, “Do they have handlers, or are they on their own?”
“They're on their own,” responded the pilot. He then glanced over at Stansfield. “Sir, do you want me to check and see if I can pick anything up on the directional mikes?”
“No. He has an electromagnetic field around the house. Our mikes can't penetrate it. Delta Six,” asked Stansfield, “see if you can get us a body count on the inside of the house.”
“Roger that. Give me another thirty seconds to get into position.” The Black Hawk slipped behind another hill and lined itself up with a patch of trees that was about five hundred yards from Nance's house. The chopper moved forward at about thirty miles an hour. The wind was coming out of the east and would help carry their noise away from the house. When they reached the clump of trees, the pilot brought the chopper up just enough so the nose of the helicopter had a straight shot at the full length of Nance's house. The copilot of the Black Hawk manipulated a small joystick on the dashboard and moved the camera in the nose pod of the helicopter. A small, ten-inch screen relayed a thermal
image of the house. The copilot started at the southern end and worked his way to the north. The camera read the variations in temperature as it went. Halfway down the house, the copilot called out his first body. A bright red orb appeared near the front door. When he made it to the northern wing, he called out four more bodies.
Stansfield asked, “How are the four bodies arranged?” The director had been in the house before and knew which room they were talking about.
“One appears to be sitting, two others are standing close by, and the fourth is sitting down about fifteen feet away from the other three.”
The tactical team leader in the back tapped Stansfield on the shoulder. “We're going to have to take out those dogs before we hit the house.” Stansfield nodded his approval and the team leader told the pilot, “Bring us in behind that hill three hundred yards up on the left and I'll deploy my sniper.”
The nose of the blue-and-silver chopper dipped slightly, passed over the treetops, and then dropped down to a mere fifty feet from the ground as it worked its way up the small valley. The pilot slipped the helicopter in sideways behind the hill and brought the chopper to within three feet of the ground. In the back of the helicopter, the team leader pointed at one of the men wearing jeans and a leather jacket and said, “Tony, take up position on top of this hill and get ready to take out the rovers.” The man nodded and rose to get out. One of the other team members opened the sliding door, and
the man jumped to the ground and disappeared into the darkness.
Stansfield adjusted his mouth mike and asked, “Delta Six, how do things look in your area?”
“Everything is clear with the exception of the dogs,” crackled the pilot's voice.