front stoop. We’ll proceed to the rear. Your assignment is the front and north side, Striker One will take the back and south, out.”
As the front team moved into place, two men were partially concealed behind a shrub on the north side of the stoop when the front door opened. Both soldiers froze in place, when a man with an AK47 walked down onto the walkway, advancing about six feet from the front of the house. He stretched. The soldier closest to him took a step as the man started to turn, hitting him in the face with his rifle butt. The man stumbled backward and the second soldier tackled him, but the AK fired. One soldier was shot in the foot, while the other hit the gunman with another hard blow to the head.
The two remaining men in the house reacted immediately, retrieving their weapons, Majiid rushed toward the open door. He slammed it shut and yelled at the other man to stay in the back. The U.S. soldiers, one helping the other, retreated around the northwest corner of the house.
Peter talked into his headphone. “Striker Two, report.”
“Ah. Striker One, One bad guy down. We have one wounded, foot not serious. Over.”
“Any reading on hostile strength or hostages? Over”
“Negative. Over.”
He ordered his men to break the windows in the garage and sent two to guard the missiles. He then radioed the FBI, “Rhino, do you read, over.”
“Go ahead Striker, over.”
“Rhino, the missiles are secured in the garage and the terrorists are caged and surrounded inside the house. Hostages unknown. Come forward. Over.”
“Roger Striker. We’re moving, out.”
The FBI mobile command and SWAT trucks were one mile away, and moved in front of the house with huge strobe lights. Local police had also been summoned. The lightshow was dramatic, stretching along the front of the house for a long distance in either direction. The terrorists had no way to escape. With the show of force, they surrendered without any more shots fired.
Victory Call
Rachael planned to go to the office on Saturday and was getting dressed when the phone range. “Hello.”
“We got ‘em, Rachael! They’re all in custody, and we got all the missiles!”
“Wow, Peter, that’s fantastic! Are you all right — was anyone hurt?”
“Not too bad. One wounded, but he’ll be okay. Even the bad guys aren’t too bad, just a couple headaches. Everything worked better than expected by military standards.”
“That’s so good to hear, Peter. Will it be on the news?”
“Yeah, they just cleared us military types out of the area, so the FBI should be making statements by now. I’m on Long Island and will be home this afternoon.”
“Okay, we’ll have a bottle of Champaign to celebrate.
Call me when you land. I love you.”
“I will, darling. I love you.” He could not sense her tension ease.
As quickly as the call ended, Rachael found the remote control and turned on the television. There was a briefing underway that was transitioning to questions from reporters. The subtitle indicated that the speaker was an FBI Director, James Lutz. The sound muted and a voice she recognized as a national news anchor interrupted to recount the event and the seizure of twelve missiles by federal agents. Then the live feed audio returned as reporters asked questions. Rachael watched for a few minutes then finished getting ready to leave for the office. As she picked up the remote to turn the set off, there was a break in the news with a blue dialogue box streaming across the bottom of the screen.
THIS JUST IN. THIS MORNING AT 7:00, Hale Warner, Deputy Director of National Intelligence at the NSA, WAS KILLED IN AN AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT WHILE DRIVING SOUTHBOUND ON THE GEORGE WASHINGTON PARKWAY FROM HIS HOME IN MCLEAN, VIRGINIA, APPARENTLY EN ROUTE TO HIS OFFICE.
Stunned, she was no longer listening to the background press conference. Hale was dead. She sat on the sofa and just stared. Nobody gets killed on the GW Parkway. It’s a slow scenic drive. It wasn’t even winter. She thought, “It’s Saturday morning, by god, there is no traffic.” The roads were dry and there was nothing treacherous about the drive from McLean to work. Disbelief and grief were clouding her ability to think. She was nearly killed two nights earlier, and now Hale was gone. She lay on the couch and gave up any notion of going to work. She felt alone and wanted Peter there with her.
Peter flew back as the only passenger on the Hercules en route to Quantico. Lutz stayed in New York. As the plane taxied to the parking area, he stood by the door hoping to make a quick exit, but he waited to thank the crew for their support. After saying goodbye, he loaded his gear into his Explorer and drove toward Georgetown. When he reached the Interstate, he called Rachael. “Hi, babe, I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Oh, Peter!’
“What’s wrong?”
“Hale Warner’s dead!
“What? How?
“He was killed in his car on the GW Parkway.”
“Was it an accident?
“Don’t know. Oh, Peter, he was a good man!”
“I know, hon. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
Her mood had changed. The victory in New York seemed bittersweet by comparison. He needed to get to her as quickly as possible.
It was still daylight when Peter turned onto P Street. Rachael was upset and could be in danger if her instincts were right. A block away, he took the first curbside parking space that was opened and ran to her door. She met him at the threshold throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing. “Peter...”
He held her. “It’s okay, babe. I’m home.”
“Why did he have to die?”
“I don’t know, babe. I don’t know?”
Rachael had controlled her feelings most of the day, but seeing Peter elevated her conflicting emotions of joy, sorrow and fear. She just wanted to have him hold her. His feelings erupted as he stroked her hair and held her tightly. He felt her body quiver. She captivated him and he was helpless to do or say anything. They didn’t move for several seconds before she loosened her grip. She slipped slowly from his arms, but grasped his hand as they walked to the sofa.
Sitting beside each other, she looked at him for the first time through tear-swollen eyes. They spoke very little that night and went to bed early. Neither slept soundly, as she laid her head on his chest. It was uncomfortable for him in one position so long, but she needed his comfort.
He was up at sunrise and made some coffee before reading the news online. By mid-morning, he was watching Meet the Press before Rachael came downstairs looking rested. Her grace and beauty were amazing, even in winkled pajamas and without makeup. He made her tea, and poured himself another cup of black coffee.
She thanked him and sat on the couch. As the news program muted in the background, they started talking about his success in New York. The parachute drop at night was exciting, but seemed overly dramatic. She had to admit that it was remarkable no one was killed.
He opened the dialogue about Hale Warner. “Rachael. Do you think there’s any connection between the guys that came after you, and Warner?”
She responded quietly, “I wish I knew.”
“So tell me about your last meeting with Warner.”
“Hale was worried about a mole inside the U.S., helping the terrorists. I think he thought it was in the civil agencies or the administration, but that’s just a guess. He was trying to reconstruct the signal to the shooters in Boston, and the fact that we lost track of the monetary transfer. He didn’t believe in coincidences, since he had everything staged for the bank‘s cooperation. The Venezuela bankers shifted 180 degrees based on some bogus reports in Caracas papers one day after agreements were reached. Those reports came from leaks inside the U.S. government. The Boston situation is probably related.”
Peter said quietly, “We need to keep you protected.”
CIA Situation
Sunday passed uneventfully as Peter and Rachael stayed at home. Monday morning, they were both hurrying to get to their offices
. Peter insisted on driving Rachael to and from work. His office at the Guard Bureau was near the Pentagon, and they could adjust their schedules to travel together. Rachael felt a little nervous, appreciating his escort.
Entering her office, she retrieved a voicemail message from General Simmons asking to meet with him first thing in the morning. He arrived a few minutes later and she went straight to his office. He said, “Rachael, I want to tell you how sorry I am for you about Hale Warner. I know you two were working closely recently.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s still kind of surreal to me.”
“I understand, Rachael. I must ask you if there could be any connection with the work you two have been doing?”
“Sir, I don’t know. Hale was concerned that there could be someone in Washington working with the terrorists. I just don’t know.”
“Okay, but you should keep both eyes open for anything suspicious. You need to take extra precautions until this situation sorts out. We’re gonna take some security measures.”
“Thanks for your concern, General. My boyfriend is driving me to work and home.”
“Okay, Rachael, but I want to have someone with you whenever you leave the building during the day.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
She went back to her office feeling more insecure than before. When she checked her computer, there was an email message announcing a meeting at CIA headquarters. Will Lawrence was calling a meeting of all the intelligence officers involved with the aircraft attacks. The subject was vague, stated as,