Designated Survivor (3 page)

“Long,” Grace said. “Start with him.”

CHAPTER 3

Jared Long’s service record was displayed all around them on the screens, detailing his history dating back to high school, ROTC in college then straight into the military.

“Six years in the Marines, five years so far in the Secret Service,” the analyst said. “Married, has a daughter.”

“What’s your name?” Grace turned to the analyst who stared blankly for a moment.

“Ben,” he finally said. “Ben Murray.”

“Who do you work for?” Grace said.

“Uhh . . . ”

“CIA? Homeland Security? NSA?” Grace pressured the man. “Look around the room, Ben. You don’t have to worry about your security training.”

Employees of the top-secret intelligence community are trained and taught to not disclose their occupation or employer to anyone but those closest to them, and even then only with great discretion.

“Department of Homeland Security, sir,” Ben Murray said.

“Great. We’re getting somewhere,” Grace said. “How long have you been with DHS?”

“Six years,” Ben said. “I’m the lead analyst helping get the Executive Terrorist Task Force Command Center ready for operation.”

Grace turned to the leadership at the conference table. “We need more like him,” Grace pointed at Ben Murray. “We need them to go through the records of every officer on that assignment.”

Arrington nodded.

“Ben, I need you to handpick six more analysts to get in here immediately,” Arrington said. “The best, the fastest, most trustworthy.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben said.

“Get me a list,” Arrington said.

“And what are they going to be looking for?” Admiral Darby said.

“Terrorists,” Grace said.

“In the Secret Service?” Darby said.

“And the Capitol Police, and any other law enforcement that was in or around that building at 8:14 tonight,” Grace said. “That’s why we need a team of Bens in here going over the service records of every officer and agent in that building. We need Homeland Security analysts who are used to looking for profiles that are too perfect.”

“Average grades in college, recently married or single, no kids, rented apartment, military then on to the Secret Service or Quantico,” Arrington said.

“That sounds awful vague,” Admiral Darby said.

“That’s the point. It’s supposed to be so bland you never look at it twice,” Assistant Director Paulson said. “Nothing stands out. They’re clean enough to pass the background investigations to get hired.”

“But Jared Long doesn’t fit that profile,” Darby said. “He has a long military record and a family.”

Grace was looking up at the screens showing the Marine’s record. “I know. I think there’s something else at play here. I just don’t know what yet. But if the Secret Service and Capitol Police were infiltrated, we start with the standard profiles. We’ll figure out Jared Long as we go.”

“I have some names for you,” Ben said. “I know several of them personally and the others by reputation. All of them are assigned or are on the list to be assigned to the ETTF, so they have highest clearance and access.”

“Thanks,” Arrington said.

Grace stepped over and reviewed the list with him and they marked six of the ten names based on nothing more than gut feelings.

“Can we get a car to go pick them up without alerting them first?” Grace said.

“I’ve never seen you this cautious,” Arrington said. “Sure. I’ll get my driver to make the rounds and get them.”

“Make sure no cell phones come with them,” Grace said. “Who do we have on the ground at the Capitol?”

“I’ve activated all available agents, FBI SWAT and the Hostage Rescue Team,” Assistant Director Paulson said. “HRT is actively trying to get communications up with whoever is inside the building but no land lines are being answered.”

“We have SEAL Team Four at Quantico standing by,” Admiral Darby said. “And a couple hundred troops ready to bring in.”

“Great. What about CIA, Director Leighton?” Arrington said.

“We don’t have anybody on site but can offer any intelligence assistance. Langley is on high alert,” Leighton said.

“Fine,” Grace said. “This may come down to finesse over firepower anyway.”

“I hate to be the one to suggest it,” Leighton said. “But should we retrieve the designated survivor?”

“What for?” Grace said.

“Accountability,” Leighton said. “Deniability. We technically answer to him right now. If this all goes pear shaped, we can at least try to avoid standing in front of a congressional hearing if he gives the approval to move.”

“You mean this hasn’t gone pear shaped yet?” Grace said. “Who is the designated survivor anyway?”

“Richard Graham, secretary of transportation,” Arrington said.

“Shit,” Grace said. “Couldn’t it at least have been somebody from education? So who knows where Graham is?”

Director Leighton looked around then raised his hand. “I’ve been briefed by the president,” he said.

“What about security detail, do you know who’s covering him?” Arrington said.

“Standard protocol for the designated survivor,” Leighton said. “A couple dozen Secret Service, secure location outside the Beltway.”

“Is the secretary’s family with him?” Grace said.

“He’s single, but I think he brought a, well, a companion,” Leighton said.

“Great. America is being taken by terrorists and our acting President is holed up with his girlfriend,” Grace said.

“Not exactly,” Leighton said. “More like his boyfriend.”

“Oh, okay,” Grace said. “And is this public knowledge?”

“No. He maintains he’s an available bachelor about town and has been seen with several high profile women in D.C.,” Leighton said. “While he’s been with the same partner for 12 years.”

“All right. Good for him. So we need to get to Graham and bring him back here,” Grace said.

“Here? Do you think that’s safe?” Paulson said.

“I really don’t know,” Grace said. “I just want to get him moving to see if it puts anything else in motion. They may be watching for him to appear so they can attack again.”

“We’re going to use him as bait?” Leighton said.

“You have a better idea?” Grace said.

CHAPTER 4

The screens showed detailed maps and live satellite views of the countryside outside Charlottesville, Virginia and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Grace stared at them as he moved the maps slowly to see everything nearby.

“We have Darby ready with the SEALs,” Arrington walked up to him. The rest of the group was talking at the table.

“I want my own guys for this,” Grace didn’t move his eyes from the maps.

“Definitely not. This is the acting president,” Arrington said. “We can’t have your group of shooters going in to get him.”

“They’re the only ones I trust to go with me,” Grace said. “You saw those Secret Service guys turn on each other.”

“I’ve given you free run since this started. You’re the best asset the NSA has. Hell, you’re better than anyone the CIA and FBI have combined. But this requires a bit of diplomacy. Plus there’s a dozen Secret Service agents protecting him. How do you think they’d react to your long haired goons knocking on the door?” Arrington said. “SEALs need to be first in.”

Grace turned to Arrington.

“Fine. But let Darby know I’m in charge,” Grace said. “And make sure the SEALs know that.”

CHAPTER 5

It had been barely two hours since the attack on the Capitol as Grace and Arrington rode the elevator up from the sublevel of the Homeland Security building to the sixth floor, then climbed a set of stairs and opened the door to the roof. Grace stopped and looked to the west as the glow of Dulles airport lit the sky. A Boeing 777 airplane dropped down behind the trees to land on the nearest runway.

“Stick to the plan, Grace,” Arrington said. “It’ll be clean and simple.”

“You know me, Derek. I like simple.”

“Since when?” Arrington said.

The downdraft of a helicopter coming to land on the roof hit them as the sound of the engine drowned out any more conversation.

“Just stick to the plan!” Arrington yelled.

Grace put his hand to his ear then motioned like he couldn’t hear his boss and turned to board the Bell 407 helicopter that had touched down.

As he pulled the seat belt on in the back seat of the chopper Grace turned to see Master Chief Petty Officer Murphy beside him.

“Are you it?” Grace said.

“No sir, I’m SEAL Team Four leader. I came ahead to pick you up. The rooftop pad couldn’t handle the larger birds,” Murphy said. “We have a short hop to a secured runway where my team is waiting with the larger aircraft. If you’d like to brief me then I’ll convey orders and get us airborne again as quickly as possible.”

“Sounds good,” Grace said.

Murphy tapped the seat in front of him and the pilot lifted the white helicopter off of the roof and began to move forward.

Arrington watched as they lifted up off the building and headed south to loop around the busy airport. He turned and closed the steel door behind him.

Grace gave MCPO Murphy only the details he needed to know as they flew across Route 28. They barely got a thousand feet up and the pilot was bringing them down again to the private runway outside the Udvar-Hazy Smithsonian Air & Space Museum. No runway lights were on and Grace barely made out the blinking taillights of a pair of helicopters in the darkness. As they landed at the north end of the museum, two Blackhawks sat with their engines running. Grace watched the black machines and the five SEALs checking them out.

“Looks like our rides are ready,” MCPO Murphy said.

“I thought you guys used Seahawks and Chinooks?” Grace said.

“Our birds are on the ground at Little Creek, sir.” SEAL Team 4 operates out of a base near Norfolk, Virginia. “We were up here for some training and didn’t have any helos with us. The Marines are giving us a lift today.”

Grace nodded to the SEAL team leader and followed him out of the small helicopter and across the tarmac to the large Blackhawks.

“This is Mr. Grace. He’ll be with us tonight and we’ll be taking our orders directly from him,” Murphy announced to his team then turned to Grace. “They’ll get you geared up.”

“It’s just Grace,” he said. “Honored to work with you guys tonight. I’ve spent a bit of time with Team 6 overseas.”

Grace stepped beside one of the choppers and pulled on the bulletproof vest and helmet provided to him. The SEAL helping him reached to hand him a Sig Sauer P226-Navy 9mm pistol, the standard issue SEAL sidearm.

“Thanks, but I brought my own,” Grace lifted his shirt to expose his Glock 19 on his side.

“May I check it?” the SEAL said. “We’re very particular.” The patch on the man’s vest said Hendricks.

Grace handed Hendricks his weapon and the man looked it over, released the magazine to see it filled with 17 nine-millimeter bullets in the optional oversized magazine and one in the chamber.

“You ready, sir?” Murphy walked up and Grace turned to him to hear over the rotors spinning above them.

“Not my first rodeo, as they say,” Grace said.

“Very well, sir,” MCPO Murphy said.

Hendricks handed the Glock back and Grace holstered it then climbed up into the helicopter. The interior of a Marine Blackhawk helicopter is bare and uncomfortable. The seats are metal frames with canvas stretched between them to save weight and to be easily removed if needed.

The team split up and loaded onto the two aircraft, Murphy on one with two other men, Hendricks and the remaining two men of the six-man SEAL team boarded with Grace. Each chopper had a single Marine pilot up front. Straps were barely pulled down and connected to hold the men in their seats when the helicopters lifted straight up off of the ground then turned and went full throttle.

“Flight time of 32 minutes, sir.”

“Thanks,” Grace said.

Grace looked out the window to see the lights and buildings only a few thousand feet below them. He pulled his personal phone out of the front left pocket of his khakis, checked for a signal, then typed in a message and put the phone back in his pocket.

He leaned his head back in his helmet against the steel wall of the aircraft and closed his eyes. A little more than two hours earlier he was drunk and passed out on his floor after celebrating his return from a mission with his team. He’d been pleased that they hadn’t fired one bullet in the exfiltration of a high level member of the Russian government that had been turned and used as an asset for the United States for nearly a decade. Intel had come in that put the man’s life in danger and the team retrieved him. After the mission Grace went back to follow through on a promise to an asset that had aided in the rescue, only to have a shootout with a dozen Russian mafia bodyguards. His team ended up on the winning side of the battle. The body count didn’t bother him. When he first entered the game years earlier it didn’t take long to accept that in any altercation, one of the sides has to win and more often than not in his business, the other side has to die. He’d rather be on the winning side than the dead side.

“Sir, we’re four minutes out,” one of the SEALs spoke through the microphone, the sound blasting into Grace’s headphones, waking him from an uncomfortable nap. He sat up and grabbed the button to transmit to the helicopters.

“This is Grace. We’re diverting from the scheduled flight plan. Circle wide to the west of the target and come in low. There’s a clearing four clicks due west of the house. We’re landing there.”

He gave out the coordinates of the new landing location.

“Sir, our plan was to land outside the house for easy extraction,” Murphy’s voice came from the other helicopter.

“Change of plans,” Grace said. “We need to land then proceed on foot to recon before making ourselves known. This is an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

The pilots made adjustments and the aircraft turned left to compensate for the new orders and coordinates. A few minutes later they were almost touching the trees near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains outside Charlottesville then dropped below the tree line and the two helicopters landed thirty feet apart in the clearing Grace had chosen from satellite imagery he’d studied back at the ETTF. Engines were wound down quickly to cut noise. As the field became quiet the pilots turned out the lights, leaving them in almost complete darkness.