THE THREE LITTLE Bird helicopters moved out from their holding pattern and raced in over the White House.
The rain was falling in sheets and the wind was howling. Most helicopter pilots had the common sense to stay on the ground during weather like this, but the pilots of the 160th Special Operations Regiment trained in the worst possible conditions for this exact reason.
The only adjustment they made was to loosen their formation a bit to allow for some error that might be caused by the gusting wind. The first Little Bird came in and hovered ten feet off the deck over the eastern end of the roof. The NO TAR system on the chopper's tail gave it unmatched hovering stability. All four troopers kicked free at the same time and rappelled the short distance to the rooftop. The men pulled their ropes from their rappelling clips and headed out for the guard booth. The second chopper came right behind the first, and then the third. The twelve operators of the Alpha Team immediately set out for their objective in the basement.
AZIZ WAS TRYING to figure out what to do when he heard the distinctive noise of an AK-74 being fired somewhere on the floors above. The noise caused him to freeze at first, and then he raced back to the anteroom of the bunker. Neither Yassin nor the woman had any idea that something was wrong. Aziz grabbed the woman by the arm and yanked her to her feet.
Pulling the woman down the hall, he yelled back toyassin, "Get that door open."
As they neared the stairwell, shots could be heard again.
Aziz opened the door and yelled for Bengazi. He waited a moment but got no reply. Furious at all this when he was so close, he grabbed the woman by the hair and shoved her into the stairwell. He had to get to the first basement or there would be no escape. Aziz pushed the woman before him as the noise of battle grew louder.
When they made it to the first basement, he pressed on. At the next landing they found Bengazi and Ragib. The two of them were firing furiously at the stairs above them. Brass shell casings came tumbling down the steps. A hail of bullets hit the plaster wall just in front of them, and chips of the wall flew in every direction.
Aziz began backing down the staircase, yelling to Bengazi, "Muammar, hold on for another minute and then meet me in the tunnel!"
Without turning, Bengazi yelled, "Go!"
As Aziz headed back down the stairs, there was a bright flash and a loud bang from above. He reached the door to the first basement and burst through it with the president's secretary.
Using her as a shield, he checked both directions and then headed for the Treasury tunnel. He had to fight all of his urges to go back downstairs and see things through with the president, but he knew that would end only one way. This was it.
He had been so close, but somehow the Americans had figured out what he was up to.
Aziz rounded the next corner to the left and stopped.
Holding the woman up in front of him, he brought his fist back and then punched her with a right hook. The woman spun from the blow and went to the floor like a wet noodle.
Aziz set his MP-5 down and began to tear off the green fatigues he'd been wearing for the last three days.
RAPP DID A quick search of the room and came up with nothing. One by one he pulled the canvas bags off the hostages' heads, counting nine of them. The room reeked of urine.
"Whiskey Four, what's your status?"
"Were golden. Three Tangos down, and all of the hostages are secured."
Rapp looked over at the bomb by the wall. Its red light was blinking.
"We're not out of this yet. Get your boys working on these bombs."
Turning his attention back to the hostages, he said, "Don't worry.
Everything is going to be fine." He took his knife and cut the first two uniformed Secret Service officers free. Then, giving his knife to them, he told them to free the others. Rapp spoke into his headset, "Control, what's the plan?"
Kennedy answered.
"Start moving the hostages into the tunnel. If there's no other safe way out, we'll off-load them by helicopter from the roof."
"Roger that." Rapp looked back at the hostages, who were still trying to get up.
"Can you people move?" A couple of them nodded, and Rapp said, "All right. Follow me, and don't touch anything. Those of you that can't move, I'll come back and get you."
Rapp led the first three out of the room and toward the hidden staircase.
"Control, what's the update on Aziz?" Rapp waited but got no reply. He repeated the question as he went back to grab a couple more hostages and was stopped cold in the hallway outside the Roosevelt Room. He had heard a beep and looked down at the bomb on the wall. The red light had stopped blinking and was now green. Beneath that, two red numbers appeared.
"Shit! We've got big problems! These bombs are counting down! Control, did you hear me? Whiskey Four, did you hear me?" Rapp ran back into the Roosevelt Room.
"People, we have to move fast. Who needs help?" One of the remaining six raised his hand. Rapp snatched the Secret Service officer from the ground like a rag doll and threw him over his shoulder.
"Say again?" General Campbell asked.
"These bombs are counting down. Something went wrong. Get the Alpha Team back up to the roof." Rapp headed out of the room.
"Let's go! Everyone, follow me." As Rapp raced across the hall and into the president's dining room, he yelled, "Harry, move everybody into the tunnel fast. It's our only chance."
Rapp cut through the short hallway and started down the steep stairs.
When he reached the bottom, he handed the wounded Secret Service officer off to several other hostages and told Anna and Milt to head down into the tunnel and keep people moving. Rapp then ran into Horsepower, where he saw the first of the hostages coming his way. Rapp screamed, "Come on, people! Move! Hurry up!"
The line slowed for a second, and Rapp backed up to the door and screamed, "Get your asses moving! This whole building is wired to blow!"
The line Instantly surged forward. Rapp checked his watch. He had no idea how much time they had left, but it couldn't be much. Harris and the other three SEALS finally appeared. Reavers was carrying a hostage in each arm. Clark, Rostein, and Harris appeared within seconds, each of them helping a hostage.
"Is anyone else left?"
"No." Harris passed Rapp and said, "Get your ass in the tunnel." Rapp didn't need to be told. He was right on Harris's heels and slamming the heavy steel door closed behind him. Rapp yelled over his headset, "Milt, make sure the door on the other end is closed."
AZIZ PEEKED AROUND the corner to see bengazi was coming. The gunfire had stopped, and he took it as a bad sign.
The Americans would have silenced weapons, and if he could not hear shots, that meant Ragib and Bengazi had been overpowered.
The Americans would be arriving shortly.
Looking at his pager, he smiled. The Americans were in for a big surprise. The pager had gone into countdown mode. The system was foolproof. He had designed and tested it himself.
With the laptop jammed, the pagers didn't receive their codes.
Now they were in countdown mode, and in sixteen seconds they would start to blow.
The green fatigues were off. Underneath them Aziz had been wearing black coveralls similar to those worn by the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team. The black assault vest he wore over it had FBI printed in yellow across the back. The plan was a long shot, but in the confusion created by the bombs going off, it just might work. The Secret Service MP-5 submachine gun, the black gas mask he would put on once the explosions occurred, the coveralls—they would all help him blend in.
Aziz looked around the corner again, expecting to see members of the Hostage Rescue Team working their way down the hall. There was no one.
It was completely silent. He checked the pager one last time and pulled his gas mask down.
The first explosion was a rumble in the distance. It was followed by a quick succession of explosions, each one getting a little louder. The building began to shake, dust and plaster started to fall from the ceiling, the lights fluttered several times and then failed completely.
All of the sudden a huge blast came from the left, where the entrance to the Treasury tunnel was located. The concussion knocked Aziz to the floor, where he landed on the president's unconscious secretary.
Aziz pushed himself up, spitting the dust from his mouth and shaking it from his hair. His hearing had been rendered useless from the explosion.
Commanding himself to get up, he stood and found the small flashlight in his assault vest. Aziz turned it on and tried to regain his sense of direction. The air was thick with dust and smoke, preventing him from seeing more than five feet in any direction.
He was pretty sure the tunnel was to his left. Grabbing the woman, he threw her over his shoulder, picked up his gun, and felt his way along the wall for the tunnel. At the next corner he went right, and several steps later he stumbled over chunks of concrete that had been knocked loose from the blast. In front of him was a mound. He started to climb into the tunnel. For a moment he was fearful the entire structure might have collapsed, but then the rubble began to dissipate.
Breathing through the gas mask was difficult. It didn't give him oxygen; it just helped filter the dust and smoke from the air. Carrying the woman was proving to be more tiring than he had anticipated. He stopped for a moment to gather himself.
The dust started to settle, and his breathing became slightly easier.
The visibility grew better with each passing step, and it motivated him to pick up the pace.
All of the sudden he was out of the tunnel. He was immediately met by several figures wearing dark coveralls like his.
Aziz did not want to have to use the weapon unless he had to.
They were trying to talk to him as he continued forward, but they were not pointing their weapons at him. When Aziz was within several feet, he yelled through his gas mask, "Ambulance! I have to get her to an ambulance!"
One of the men grabbed him by the arm and started to jog with him up the ramp. As they stepped out from under the covered part of the Treasury garage, they were hit with the rain.
The man kept trying to talk to Aziz.
Finally, Aziz yelled, "I'm deaf from the explosions! I can't hear a thing!"
When they reached the top of the ramp, a stream of fire trucks raced past them and onto the south grounds of the White House. Aziz turned to the left and started jogging. Dead ahead on the other side of Fifteenth Street was where Salim was supposed to be. Emergency vehicles were lined up, their lights flashing in the pouring rain. Every second counted.
Aziz pressed on. He desperately wanted to take the gas mask off, but it was too big a risk to show his face.
When they reached the intersection of Fifteenth Street and Hamilton, just a half a block away from the White House, another explosion occurred. The circular lid on the concrete trash receptacle across the street shot up in the air almost fifty feet and then came spinning back to earth. It landed with a thud in the middle of the intersection and lay smoldering in the rain.
The few people that were out in the deluge were now running for cover.
Aziz continued through the rain. The man that had been with him stayed behind, fearing more explosions, which Aziz assumed, if Salim had done his job, were occurring all around the area.
Aziz made it across the street and ran down the sidewalk.
He couldn't take the mask any longer. It was too hard to breathe, and it was fogging up. He yanked the mask up onto his forehead and took his first real breath of air in minutes. It felt incredible in his burning lungs. Aziz pressed on, looking in the windows of the ambulances for a white head of hair. As he neared the end of the row of vehicles, he began to worry that Salim had abandoned him, but there, in the last ambulance, he spotted him.
Aziz ran around the back and pulled open the doors. He quickly climbed in and dropped the woman on the gurney.
Before the door was shut, he yelled, "Get us the hell out of here!"
Salim threw? the vehicle into reverse and hit the emergency lights on the roof. He spun the wheel and yanked it into drive, stepping on the gas. The wheels spun for a moment on the rain-soaked street and then caught. Salim hit. the siren as the ambulance raced forward. The police at the next intersection hustled to move the barricades just in time for the ambulance to pass through.
VICE PRESIDENT BAXTER had just finished bawling out Dallas King. Less than thirty minutes earlier, Baxter had been blindsided by the information that President Hayes was no longer out of the loop and that he himself was no longer in charge. After being humiliated like never before in his life, Baxter had gotten off the phone and started screaming at Dallas King. The vice president went into a tirade, blaming his chief of staff for the entire mess, belaboring the point that he should never have listened to a word of King's advice.
King had taken the verbal beating without a fight. Secretly he was relieved. Baxter not becoming president wouldn't end his career, but Abu Hasan making it out of the White House and telling his story to the FBI or media would.
"With Hayes back in charge, the odds were a raid would be ordered.
King let his boss vent until there was nothing left and then turned the tables. Methodically, he made his case, pointing out that they had saved the lives of twenty-five people and had sacrificed what? Some money that wasn't even theirs and some sanctions that weren't even working. King stressed to Baxter that there was no way they could have played it any better. And then in an attempt to help bolster his boss's ego. King proclaimed that history would judge his three days as president as some of the most difficult ever served by the nation's chief executive. That history would remember him as someone who put the lives of Americans above money and a failed foreign policy.
"Remember, it ain't over till it's over." King was building strength in his position With each passing minute, he could see that he was getting to Baxter. King paced back and forth in front of the desk, and then suddenly stopped.
"This is perfect.
Absolutely perfect."
"What is?"
"Hayes may have just done you the biggest favor of his career." King clapped his hands together.
"You're off the hook, and the timing couldn't be better. So far you've only had to deal with the little demands. Tomorrow Aziz is going to ask for something big, and you are not going to have to be the one to say yes or no." King was grinning ear to ear. "They are going to have to storm the White House, and Hayes is going to have to give the order."
The vice president began to see the bright side.
"There just might be a way out of this."
The door to the study suddenly burst open, and one of the vice president's staffers rushed in yelling, "Turn on the TV! The White House is on fire!"
Baxter sprang from his chair and grabbed the remote control from his desk. The TV came on almost instantly. Within seconds, images of fire engines racing through the White Houses gates appeared. In the background flames could be seen shooting out of windows. Baxter turned up the volume. The anchor was saying that people on the scene were telling him that as of yet no survivors had been seen coming out of the building.
As soon as the anchor said the words "no survivors," Dallas King ushered the aide back out of the room and closed the door. The two of them stood for several minutes, watching the live coverage. There were flames everywhere. Firemen were manning hoses from the ground and from the top of hook-and-ladder trucks.
King turned to his boss, unable to hide the smile on his face.
"No one is going to make it out of there alive."
All Baxter could do was shake his head.
King stared at the TV for a while longer and then said, "We need to let the media know that you are not responsible for this disaster." King pointed to the screen.
"Hayes is responsible for this mess, and we have to make sure everyone knows that."
King felt as if he were floating on air. He was going to get away with it.
Baxter looked at his chief of staff and said, "Dallas, this is a tragedy."
"Life is a tragedy, Sherman. Thirty thousand people a year die in car accidents, another hundred thousand from cigarettes." King pointed to his boss. "Now, that's a real tragedy. This is not good. Don't get me wrong. Some people might consider it a tragedy, but it's my job to make sure they don't think you caused it." King picked up the phone on his boss's desk and punched in a phone number. When he got the persons voice mail, he pressed zero and got the operator on the line.
"I need to speak to Sheila Dunn immediately! Tell her Dallas King, the vice presidents chief of staff, is on the line."
King was put on hold. Standing next to his boss, he watched the White House burn on the TV. In the back of his mind, he was chanting. Burn, baby, burn.