Designated Survivor (27 page)

Fortier stepped back, the body of a security guard on the floor behind him, a round hole in his forehead with blood draining onto the grey cement floor.

“Unavoidable,” Fortier said.

Abbasi simply nodded, trusting the combat reflexes of all of the men he chose to work for him.

On a contract in Brussels one of his men killed two unarmed people who had just been at the wrong place rather than debilitate them. At the end of that mission, Arash transferred the contractor’s payment to his account then wrapped a garrote wire around the man’s throat as he sat and drank with the rest of the team and felt his life leave him.

They entered into the small room in the basement of the Homeland Security building and closed and relocked the door. They left the body of the dead guard where it was. The pool of blood on the floor was too big to hide or clean.

Moline opened the door to the hallway and looked out both directions. “Clear,” he said.

They moved out with Moline taking point and Baasch in the rear. Twenty feet down the cement block hallway was the access point for the elevator shaft but no buttons or sliding doors, just a simple handle to slide the large door open to the right for access to the shaft for maintenance.

“The elevator to the secure room does not stop here. It only goes from the lobby to the sub-level,” Abbasi said.

The men slid the door open and looked down then up the shaft.

“The elevator is at the top,” Khouri said. “It’s clear.”

“Very good,” Abbasi said. “Prepare yourselves. There will be guards at the bottom, but once into the room it should be less protected. You must eliminate all of guards before any have a chance to put the door into safety mode. Once that is done, we will not be able to gain entry.”

Baasch reached around into the elevator shaft and grabbed the nearest rung to the ladder built into the wall and swung his body in then started down. Khouri followed, then Moline and Fortier. Finally Arash Abbasi went into the shaft and worked his way down. His four men got to the ground, which was four feet below the level of the floor outside the shaft, and Abbasi stayed up on the ladder, out of the line of fire until they cleared the next room. He had no intention of dying before completing the mission.

Baasch and Khouri gripped the edges of the elevator door and prepared to slide them open and step out of the way as Moline and Fortier set up on the back wall of the shaft in the shadows, their bodies protected from oncoming bullets by the floor in front of them.

“Now,” Abbasi said.

The two men pulled the sliding elevator doors open. A row of armed guards and Secret Service agents stood along the wall and in front of the large metal door to the ETTF. The agent’s weapons were all under their jackets and holstered. The guards had their rifles in front of them on straps.

The guards and agents watched the door open, not comprehending at first why the elevator wasn’t on the other side. The first round of bullets came out from the dark shaft, the two shooters sweeping from opposite ends in towards the men in the center. One agent was able to pull his service Sig Sauer P229 and get two shots off as he fell to the ground. After several seconds the room fell silent with 11 dead men on the floor.

“Get to the door before they secure it from the inside,” Abbasi ordered.

Baasch and Khouri swung around from the edges of the door and into the room. Moline and Fortier were up onto the floor and behind them checking to make sure none of the guards were alive to shoot at them. Baasch grabbed the guard nearest the door and lifted him to his feet easily, grabbed the key card that hung on a lanyard around his neck and swiped it across the sensor until it beeped. The red glass panel lit up below it and he took the man’s still warm hand and placed it with the fingers spread and watched the laser move from top to bottom, reading the fingerprints, palm impression and body temperature from the hand.

After scanning the hand, the red light turned off and the panel went dark. Just as he thought it hadn’t worked, the bolt on the door slid open and Baasch dropped the man to the floor.

Moline and Fortier were through first, rifles raised and moving to the sides. Baasch and Khouri came in next moving up the middle.

Agent Rick Haggard was already in position after hearing the gunfire, his pistol out and aimed as the men entered. Gerald Moline was closest to him and received the Secret Service agent’s first shot through his chest, piercing a hole through his heart that began to bleed out inside him. The second shot struck his right cheek, removing the back half of his skull. The former British army officer turned terrorist collapsed to the ground.

Haggard already had his aim moved to the right to pick off Fortier as Baasch came through the door. The AK-47 fired off a three round burst, all striking the agent in the chest. He was thrown backwards onto the ground.

The three-dozen occupants of the room, consisting of most of the president’s cabinet and half of the Joint Chiefs of Staff were all on their feet as Abrams was moved towards the back to be blocked by as many bodies as possible.

“Bring me the president,” Arash Abbasi said. “Or my men begin shooting.”

CHAPTER 56

Grace had dropped to the floor behind the row of analyst’s desks when the sounds of gunfire erupted on the other side of the steel security door, dragging Ben Murray with him.

He’d seen Haggard stand up and move into the open and called to him to take cover, but the Secret Service agent held his ground and paid the price when the terrorists breached the doorway. Grace’s hand went to his back and pulled the Glock from its holster. He knew the first round was already in the chamber and he didn’t have to check it, for this very reason. The shooters would have heard the sound of the slide being pulled back then released to load a bullet and he’d be dead before he could get a shot off.

He heard Abbasi’s voice demand to see the president and knew it wasn’t a bluff. There were only moments before bullets would begin taking people down. Grabbing his phone he made sure the ringer was off and typed in a fast message and sent.

Motioning to Ben to stay still and quiet, Grace inched along the ground, staying as low as possible to try to get a view through the rows of desks. At one point he could see the legs of one of the men but nothing more.

His phone vibrated and he hit the button quickly and looked at the screen. Holden and Netty had been in the observation room reviewing video from the interviews with Graham. With them coming from the far side of the room they would have the terrorists flanked. He continued crawling along the floor, moving to a position that wasn’t straight across from the hallway to the detention cells so he wouldn’t be in the line of fire from his own team. He moved close to the wall near the main door and would be able to come up behind the shooters.

“Let me through,” Abrams voice came from the back of the room. “Let me through now.”

Grace dropped his head to the floor and closed his eyes, waiting to hear the sound of Abbasi’s gun as it killed the president. The clicking of her heels moved to the front of the room.

“Madam President, it is an honor. My name is Arash Abbasi.” His gun was aimed at her head.

“What is it you want, Mr. Abbasi,” President Abrams said.

Grace moved a few more inches and had a view from the back of the room. He saw the three remaining shooters with AK-47’s trained on the group of suits and uniforms, Arash Abbasi standing in the middle, a pistol aimed at the president ten feet in front of him.

He ran the scenarios through his head and knew he could take one man down before the other two had a chance to turn and shoot. If Holden and Netty were in location and reacted quickly, they would have the other two handled, leaving only Abbasi to worry about.

“I am a contractor, Madam President,” Abbasi said. “I do not kill for enjoyment or my own political gain. I kill for money, plain and simple. People hire me to do my job and I do it well. This is not personal. I have no loyalty to any nation or flag and am not an enemy to any nation or flag, only to men.”

FBI Director Monroe had moved up beside the president in the absence of her lead Secret Service agent. He had never carried a gun and didn’t have one now.

“Do you think you’re going to be able to walk out of here alive?” President Abrams said.

“Yes, I do,” Abbasi’s thumb moved up and pulled the hammer back on the weapon.

“Do you have any demands?” the president said.

“Yes,” he said. “Die.”

Arash Abbasi pulled his finger and fired the pistol. As the bullet left the barrel, Jim Monroe jumped to his left, pushing the president to the floor. The gunshot struck him in the left temple and exited the back of his head. His lifeless body fell on top of the president.

Grace was on his feet and sprinted up behind the closest man, who happened to also be the smallest. He had his pistol but couldn’t chance shooting towards the group of people. In a smooth motion he brought his left arm around the throat of Alexandre Fortier, shoving his chin up towards the ceiling and with his right hand grabbed the muzzle of the AK-47 and spun the man to his right, away from the group.

He counted on the man pulling the trigger on the automatic weapon and hopefully taking out at least one of his own men. The terrorist’s finger pulled back on the heavy trigger of the Russian made assault rifle. Three bullets exited the barrel as Grace continued to turn his body then throw him to the floor. His knee came down onto Fortier’s forehead and knocked him out. He’d seen Abbasi duck and move forward as they turned and had heard the whispered snaps of the Sig Sauer rifles. He knew he would turn to see the other two terrorists on the floor.

He turned and froze. Abbasi was on his feet, his left hand holding President Abrams in front of him, his pistol to the side of her head.

“Put your guns down,” Abbasi stared at Grace.

“Do you have him?” Grace said.

“I have him,” Holden stood twenty feet away with his rifle aimed at the side of Abbasi’s head.

Abbasi looked over at the tall black man with the gun pointed at him then back to Grace. He raised the Beretta into the air and released the hammer then threw the gun onto the floor in front of Grace. He then slowly let the president go and placed his hands on the back of his head.

“I wish to surrender and give my confession to the crimes I have committed in your country.”

“Confession?” the president said.

“Yes,” Abbasi said as Grace stepped in and yanked the man’s hands down behind his back and tied them together with a zip tie Netty handed him. “I am responsible for the destruction of the United States Capitol.”

CHAPTER 57

Holden and Grace held either arm of Arash Abbasi as they watched the black armored vehicle of the FBI SWAT team out of Quantico stop in front of them. There were two large SUV’s with tinted windows with it, one in front and one behind. A well armed and armored agent climbed out of the back of the truck as half a dozen more came from the front seats as well as the SUVs.

Grace could feel Abbasi shivering as they stood in the cold. He’d thought about putting a jacket around the man’s shoulders before bringing him up from the ETTF then chose not to.

Amanda Paulson was off to the side and met with the lead agent in the front vehicle. The convoy would transport Abbasi to the Federal detention center in Alexandria where he would be stripped and searched then dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit and put into the highest security cell in the building. He would stay there until his first court appearance in the Federal Courthouse across the street.

Two SWAT agents placed heavy handcuffs on the prisoner’s wrists then clipped the zip ties off. A set of leg irons was wrapped around his ankles. He was then assisted up into the back of the armored vehicle and the door was locked from the inside.

“Seems kinda anticlimactic,” Holden said.

“Yeah,” Grace said. “I know what you mean. Would much rather have him in a bag. How’d you two miss the shot?”

“He was blocked by one of his own guys,” Holden said. “I was going to double-tap, drop the guy closest to me then take him out with the second round, but Abbasi moved as soon as he fired at the president.”

“Really?” Grace said. “No hesitation?”

“Not that I saw,” Holden said. “Practically sprinted to grab the president.”

“Hmm,” Grace said. “How tall would you say Monroe was?”

“Couple inches shorter than me,” Holden said. “6-2 maybe.”

“And Abrams is five foot five in heels,” Grace said.

“True,” Holden said. “So how did he get a head shot on Monroe when he was aiming at her face?”

“Exactly.”

The front SUV went into motion and the loud diesel engine of the armored truck revved and took off behind it. The final SUV rolled past silently in contrast. As the vehicles hit the street past the gate their lights and sirens came on to speed up their trip to Alexandria.

“Grace,” Amanda walked up to him. “Good work in there. You and your team.”

“Thanks. I wish we’d been a little better,” Grace said.

“Don’t give it another thought,” she said. “The president is alive thanks to you.”

“But your boss isn’t,” Grace said.

“No, but he died to protect the president,” she said. “In the short time I got to work with him, I can say that his actions were fully in line with his personality. He wanted to give everything he could to his job and his country.”

“Well, he did that,” Grace said. “So what about you?”

“What about me?” Amanda said.

“You in charge now?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. The president asked me to step up as interim director.”

“Congrats?” Grace said.

“Sure,” she said.

CHAPTER 58

The used U-Haul truck sat in the right lane just ahead of the turn to the toll road that took traffic to the beltway, hazard lights flashing and hood up. The rear door was raised two feet. One man stood up on the front bumper staring under the hood.