Without Warning

  I discreetly glanced over to Matt’s right. Agent Harris stood politely but did not clap. Perhaps he couldn’t, I thought. Perhaps that was part of the bureau’s code of conduct, like that of the Secret Service. The agents protecting the First Lady weren’t clapping either. They weren’t showing emotion of any kind. I wasn’t sure why, exactly. I didn’t spend much time in such circles. But I must say, I was a bit envious.

  Grinning broadly, the president shook hands and posed for selfies with congressmen and senators of both parties as he worked his way down the center aisle, clearly enjoying every moment. Had he been briefed on the takedown of an ISIS cell on American soil? If so, I wondered whether it would affect anything he was about to say.

  Eventually Taylor reached the well of the House—the open area in front of the rostrum—where he greeted the assembled Supreme Court justices, all of them seated, and embraced each of the members of his cabinet, all of them standing. From there, he shook hands with each of the Joint Chiefs before finally making the turn and climbing the rostrum, where he was reintroduced by the Speaker of the House and greeted by even more tumultuous applause.

  8

  Finally the chamber settled down and people again took their seats.

  The president looked at the teleprompter screen to his left and at the other on his right. Then he glanced down at the printed pages of his remarks in the three-ring binder on the podium—the one I’d seen him making notes on in the Oval Office less than an hour earlier—and his broad smile faded somewhat. I tried to imagine what he was thinking. I wanted to believe that the argument I’d made to him—and what he’d hopefully just heard from his national security advisor—was weighing heavily on his mind. But I couldn’t read him. Not from where I was sitting.

  When he looked up, he surveyed the audience, all four hundred thirty-five members of the House, all one hundred members of the Senate, ambassadors from nearly every nation, members of his administration, official guests, and of course, the members of the Fourth Estate. For almost a full minute, he said nothing. But then he cleared his throat as he took out a handkerchief and dabbed his eyes.

  “Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, members of Congress, distinguished guests, and my fellow Americans,” he finally said, his voice shaky at first but gradually gaining strength. “Over the course of this past year, the American people and our government and our military have been tested as at few other times in our history. The forces of freedom have come under a vicious assault by the forces of violent extremism. Our enemies have tried to murder our leaders. They have sought to terrorize and blackmail our people and force us into submission to their perverted vision of global domination. They have done so at the point of a gun, at the tip of a sword.”

  The room was deathly quiet. Taylor reached for a glass of water. He took a sip. He cleared his throat once more. And then he turned back to the teleprompters.

  “When I was seized by the forces of ISIL, it wasn’t just I who was taken hostage. We all were. America was held hostage. But America did not surrender. You did not surrender. You did not give in. No, you came together. You united as one people. You fought back against the terrorists. You fought back against the forces of darkness, and you won—America won—and if we stay united, America will keep on winning!”

  This brought the house down. What ensued was a two-minute-and-twelve-second standing ovation.

  I timed it.

  “You did not surrender,” the president continued when the audience had just barely settled back in their seats. “You stood tall and true, and the forces of freedom prevailed. The American armed forces prevailed. The American people prevailed, and the state of our union has never been stronger.”

  Back to their feet they jumped. They whooped and hollered. Some stamped their feet. It was a good old-fashioned political revival meeting, and it struck me that Taylor should probably just say thank you and good-night. No good could come of trying to go on any further. Then again, the man was a politician, and what politician had ever quit while he was ahead?

  “In my capacity as commander in chief, I asked Congress—the people’s representatives—to formally declare war on ISIL, and you agreed,” the president said when everyone was seated. “With your full support and approval, I sent fifty thousand of America’s finest soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines back into Iraq.”

  I couldn’t help but be impressed. Taylor was skillfully tying Congress’s fate in the Middle East to his own. They loved him now. They were with him now. But if things went bad, the president was making sure they couldn’t throw him under the bus. They had made these decisions together, he told the country, Republicans and Democrats. The election breezes were already blowing.

  “Together we sent five hundred tanks and more than two hundred aircraft to the region. Together with our Sunni Arab allies—the Iraqis, the Jordanians, the Egyptians, the Saudis, the Gulf Emiratis, and the Kurds—we built a powerful military, diplomatic, and economic coalition. And tonight I can report that together we have achieved impressive results. We have liberated the city and people of Mosul.”

  Applause erupted again.

  “We have liberated Alqosh.”

  More applause.

  “We have liberated the province of Nineveh—indeed, the entire nation of Iraq is now free from the black flags of ISIL.”

  Still more applause—and then came the coup de grâce.

  “We have accomplished what our critics said was impossible,” the president declared. “We have cut the caliphate in half, and now ISIL’s days are numbered.”

  Another standing ovation.

  “He’s crushing it,” Matt shouted to me as we both rose to our feet.

  I said nothing, just made a perfunctory smile for the cameras. Apparently the president hadn’t been told, or he didn’t care. Either way, I knew at that moment he wasn’t going to mention the capture of an ISIS cell on American soil. He had a narrative: Victory. Success. Glory. And what had unfolded in Alabama didn’t fit it. It raised too many questions. If America was truly winning against the forces of Abu Khalif in the Middle East, what was ISIS doing here, in the South, so deep inside the homeland? Were there more of them? How many? Where were they? What were they planning? And what were they doing stockpiling empty mortar shells?

  As I scanned the audience, another line of questions came to mind. Where was King Abdullah II? Why wasn’t the Jordanian monarch—our most faithful Sunni Arab ally—here as an honored guest of the president? Where were Palestinian president Salim Mansour and Egyptian president Wahid Mahfouz and the Saudi king and the Gulf emirs? If I was here, why weren’t they? Why weren’t we honoring our Arab allies who had done so much of the heavy lifting in the fight against the forces of darkness? And where was Yuval Eitan, Israel’s new prime minister? Was the president going to acknowledge his late friend and ally Daniel Lavi? No country had stood with the U.S. more faithfully during the current crisis than Israel. So why weren’t the Israelis being honored? Why was the president taking all the credit for himself?

  Just then, however, Taylor asked everyone to be seated while he honored every American who had fallen in Amman and Alqosh. He read the list slowly and respectfully, giving not just the names but several sentences of description about each. And he paused after each one, offering the audience and the nation time to absorb the details and remember their sacrifice. Still, why hadn’t he invited our allies? Wouldn’t that have been a powerful demonstration of solidarity in a time of great darkness and turmoil?

  When he had finished reading every name, the president called for a moment of silence. Most people bowed their heads. I’m sure Matt prayed for the families and friends of the slain. I just stared blankly as the horrific images from Amman and Alqosh came flooding back.

  After a few quiet moments, the president turned and looked up to the gallery. He asked General Ramirez and his Delta commandos to stand. He recounted what they had done in Alqosh. He thanked them for their loyal, sacrificial service. Then he asked the nat
ion to join him in honoring “these unsung but unmatched American heroes.” The tall, burly, freshly shaven men—all dressed in new suits with crisp white shirts and neckties—looked uncomfortable as they received such a sustained standing ovation that I actually forgot to check my watch and see how long it lasted. These were rough men. They were used to operating in the shadows, in faraway places. They had no experience in the spotlight. They had no desire to walk the corridors of power. Yet they were being celebrated tonight, and as the applause went on and on, each of them seemed deeply moved. And I have to admit that even as a cynical war correspondent, I found my eyes welling up with tears. These guys had saved my life, and I would be forever grateful.

  The president turned next to the Iraqi children. He briefly explained who they were, though he omitted the details of the cruelest things that had been done to them. But he made it clear enough how much they had suffered. He did not ask them to stand, but everyone in the room stood for them. We all cheered them, me included, as if hoping that the applause might somehow wash away the more nightmarish moments from their memories.

  As much as I didn’t want to, I had to concede Taylor was a master at this. Yes, there were still threats out there. Yes, ISIS was still a clear and present danger. But the president wasn’t entirely wrong. America had won some real successes on the battlefield. We were doing some things right. These were all bona fide heroes, and they deserved the president’s attention and respect and the respect of the nation. I could hardly fault Taylor for the address he was delivering. It was beautifully crafted and touchingly delivered. I hoped he would still lay out the enormous challenges ahead of us. But the American people had been through a terrible ordeal. There was a time and a place to come together and celebrate what was going right. This was that time. This was that place. Even I was moved by it all.

  When we all sat down again and the room had settled, the president surprised me by asking me to stand. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was caught off guard. I should have known it was coming. It’s why he had invited me. It’s not that I thought he’d cut me out of the speech given the dustup we’d just had in the Oval Office. But my thoughts were elsewhere. I’d been caught up in the moment, in the tributes to the others, in my emotions, and I had temporarily forgotten that I, too, was going to be singled out.

  The president began to explain the role I had played in the hunt to find him and in saving his life and the lives of these children. His words were simple and direct but exceedingly generous and kind, especially given the history between us.

  But as he spoke, something happened that I did not expect. I heard a boom. We all heard it. It shook the House chamber. Then we heard another and a third.

  At first it sounded like thunder. But as the shaking intensified, I knew exactly what was happening. I shot a look to Harris, and it was clear he knew too.

  The Capitol was under attack.

  9

  It took Harris only a fraction of a second to react.

  “Get them out—all of them—now!” he ordered the head of the First Lady’s detail.

  For a moment, the agent hesitated. Technically, this wasn’t Harris’s call to make. The agent looked at me, then down at the president. I was still on my feet, not sure what to do. When the booms had begun, the president had briefly paused, midsentence, distracted by the sounds and the vibrations. But then—perhaps assuming he was merely hearing thunder—he had once again found his place on the teleprompter and continued delivering his speech.

  Now, however, hearing the commotion in the gallery, he stopped again and looked back up at me and those around me. He could see Harris—whom he knew personally—talking to the agent in charge of his wife’s safety. From that distance, he couldn’t have heard what Harris was saying. But he didn’t have to hear the words. He could see the look in Harris’s eyes. This wasn’t thunder. Washington was under fire.

  It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. I saw the First Lady’s lead agent talking into his wrist-mounted radio. Then he was on his feet. I turned and saw two enormous Secret Service agents bound up the stairs of the rostrum. They grabbed the president and pulled him away from the podium. I stared as they literally lifted him off his feet by several inches, carried him down the stairs, and whisked him out a side door. The First Lady’s detail started moving as well. They pulled her out of her seat and raced her past us, up the stairs and out of the gallery. As I watched them go, I just stood there, frozen in place, paralyzed with fear and shock and disbelief. Then I saw more Secret Service agents race to Vice President Holbrooke and pull him out of the chamber, even as the Capitol police detail assigned to protect the Speaker of the House moved to evacuate him as well.

  I was still standing there, not moving, not running, not reacting at all. And it wasn’t only me. In those few seconds, no one in the chamber except the Secret Service and the Capitol police was reacting. Not yet. We were all too stunned by what we were seeing and hearing around us.

  Suddenly I could hear Harris shouting my name.

  “Collins—Collins—do you hear me? We need to go, now!”

  I heard the words but couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Harris’s voice seemed distant and hollow. But then I saw my brother jump up. He grabbed me by my suit jacket and pulled me into the aisle. At the same time, I saw General Ramirez and his men jump to their feet. And then everything snapped back. It was as if I had suddenly reconnected to time and space—to reality.

  “Move, J. B.—go!” Matt shouted.

  But I couldn’t leave—not yet—and it wasn’t because I was in shock. “The children!” I shouted back. “We need to get them out!”

  Harris hesitated. He was trying to get me to the door and back to the motorcade. But Matt and the Delta guys were already moving toward the kids, and I was right behind them. I could see the fear in the children’s eyes, but they responded quickly and obediently as Matt and I motioned to them to get up and follow us out of the gallery.

  Just then, an immense explosion rocked the chamber. Chunks of plaster and Sheetrock came raining down on the House and Senate members below.

  We burst into the hallway, where we met a team of Capitol police officers rushing toward us. They assured us they would take the children and their chaperones to a secure location. A moment later, they were moving the Iraqi kids and their handlers down the hallway and soon they had all disappeared around a corner.

  Another explosion rocked the building. The hallway lights flickered. More plaster fell from the ceiling. People were screaming and scrambling to get out of the building. Harris ordered us to follow him, and Matt and I raced for a nearby stairwell. When we reached the ground floor, we slammed through the doors and followed Harris down another long hallway.

  Now we were hearing one explosion after another in rapid succession. The entire building was shaking. The Capitol was taking direct hit after direct hit, and I suddenly had flashbacks to the ISIS onslaught against the Al-Hummar Palace in Amman.

  How many attackers were coming? How soon would they be here? Were the mortar rounds raining down on us filled with chemical weapons, as they had been in Amman? If so, was there sarin gas pouring through the halls of the Capitol? We’d never be able to see it or smell it. Had we already inhaled it? If so, how much longer did we have?

  As we rounded a corner, we were halted by Capitol police and Secret Service agents brandishing automatic weapons. Some of them were donning full chem-bio suits, blocking our path back to the motorcade. A chill ran down my spine. We had no protection from poison gas, and I had no idea how we were going to find any. Harris flashed his FBI badge and credentials. He was cleared to pass, but Matt and I weren’t.

  “They’re with me,” Harris shouted.

  “I don’t care,” a lieutenant shouted back. “I can’t let them through.”

  “They’re guests of the president,” Harris insisted. “We’re supposed to be in the motorcade.”

  “I have my orders,” came the reply. “No civilians in or out of this c
heckpoint.”

  Harris was enraged. I could see it in his eyes. But he was a government man, first and foremost. Moreover, he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t about to storm through a checkpoint in a crisis. Instead, he turned and motioned for Matt and me to follow. We backtracked down the hallway, took a left at the next corridor, then a right and another left, running at full speed. Still recovering from my injuries, I wasn’t entirely able to keep up with either him or Matt, but I wasn’t too far behind. I’d been faithful in doing my rehab exercises, and fortunately it was paying off.

  A moment later we reached another exit. Two heavily armed Capitol police officers—also in chem-bio suits—were guarding the door. They checked Harris’s credentials, then urged him to stay inside.

  “No, we have a car!” Harris shouted over the deafening, nonstop explosions. “We’re supposed to be in the motorcade!”

  “The motorcade’s gone, sir!” one of the officers yelled.

  “Gone?”

  “Most of it. They had to get POTUS out.”

  “Fine—but I need to get back to the bureau immediately. I’m part of the ISIS unit. And I suspect that’s who’s hitting us.”

  “Maybe, but it’s not safe out there, sir,” the officer shouted back.

  “We’ll take our chances,” Harris insisted. “Now move aside—that’s an order.”

  I wasn’t sure Harris was making the right move. Yes, the Capitol was under a withering assault. But weren’t we safer here than dashing out into a massive winter storm with mortars raining down death and sarin gas possibly blanketing the Capitol grounds?

  Before I could say anything, though, both officers stepped aside and Harris bolted out the door. Matt dashed out after him. For a moment, I couldn’t move, once again paralyzed with fear. I’d seen this film—twice—and I hadn’t liked it either time. But as I watched Harris and my brother reach the sedan we’d arrived in, I didn’t want to be left behind. If I was going to die, it was going to be with them. So into the storm I went, bolting across the plaza.