As the door to the mobile HQ was pulled open, General Wilson looked up. He was still trying to persuade the Vice President of the best course of action. He got to his feet, pointing down the length of the vast truck.
“Who let that joker back inside the cordon?” he bellowed. “Get him out of here.”
“That's not very hospitable,” Ardman called back as two soldiers hurried to restrain him. “Especially as I've brought guests.”
The soldiers hesitated, then stepped aside as two more people stepped up into the truck. One was in uniform; the other wore a plain but expensive dark suit.
“General Sanchez, sir!” Wilson saluted, unable to disguise his astonishment.
“Wilson,” Sanchez replied, saluting back. “I don't think you know Mr Smith from the Pentagon.”
“Mr Smith?”
“It will do for the moment,” replied the man. “Mr Vice President, sir,” he went on, “there's a car ready to take you to the Pentagon where you are required to chair a meeting with the Secretaries of State, Defense, and Homeland Security.”
The Vice President was looking pale and confused. “I thought the Secretary of State was in the Middle East.”
“Well, perhaps you'll have a short wait for her return,” said Mr Smith. “At the Pentagon.”
The Vice President swallowed. He barely glanced at Wilson or Ardman. It was clear he had met Mr Smith before and knew exactly who he really was. “Of course. I'll, er, leave you to it.”
“That would be best, sir,” General Sanchez agreed. “Now, Wilson, you got somewhere private we can talk for a minute. Mr Ardman has filled us in on what's been happening and I'd like to hear how you're responding. I gather Captain Roberts has been authorised to use any means necessary to ensure the safety of the President. I'm hoping you're going to tell me that's still the case. Am I right?” He followed General Wilson
to the conference area at the back of the truck.
Ardman and Chance hung back.
“Not going along to see the fireworks?” Mr Smith asked quietly.
“I'll let you wash your dirty laundry in private,” said Ardman.
“With respect, that is completely unacceptable,
sir
.” General Wilson's angry shout echoed round the headquarters.
“Or as privately as you can,” said Ardman.
“I've given Sanchez five minutes to talk the General round. After that it's my turn. I'll play him back his conversation with the Vice President and ask some pertinent questions about where this incontrovertible Pentagon intelligence came from. That ought to persuade Wilson to hand over command without any trouble.”
“If it doesn't, you may have to shoot him,” said Ardman, with the flicker of a smile.
“I may indeed,” said Smith.
He didn't sound like he was joking.
It took less than twenty minutes for General Wilson to hand over command to General Sanchez and agree that Captain Roberts was still authorised to take whatever
action he deemed necessary to rescue the President. Not that he had a lot of choice. General Sanchez outranked Wilson anyway, but without Wilson's willing cooperation, things could become difficult. While it was damning, Ardman's recording of Wilson wasn't absolute proof of treachery.
Captain Roberts, his leg now properly strapped up and the intravenous drip no longer necessary, had graduated from his stretcher to a wheelchair. Two soldiers lifted it into the headquarters truck, where a workstation had been prepared.
“The only direct contact we have at the moment is a voice link to Agent White,” General Sanchez said. “I'm getting it patched through.”
“As soon as we find someone who knows what frequency he's using to broadcast, then we can use that for the whole team,” Roberts pointed out.
“Trouble is, the device he's using broadcasts on an awful lot of frequencies. We're trying to isolate the one that's getting through to the network relays,” Sanchez told him. “Shouldn't take long, but it isn't one of the usual channels.”
Mr Smith was talking on his cell phone. He gestured to one of the technicians close by, and she leaned across
and flipped a switch on the control desk in front of Roberts.
Immediately, Chuck White's voice came loud and clear through nearby speakers: “â¦was hoping you could send more people along the escape tunnel, but it's blocked off now.”
“This is Ardman,” Ardman replied, “Captain Roberts is now in charge of this operation, and is on the line. It sounds as if things are happening at your end.”
“They are getting kind of urgent. Any news of the helicopters yet?”
“General Sanchez here. There are obviously problems sanctioning the use of the SAS on American soil. But I don't think we have any choice. Wilson's compromised, and I'm not going to risk using any of his people on this. Roberts and his guys are the only others available and they're already in play. Getting a team of Marines here from Quantico is possible, but then they would need to be briefed and of course they haven't trained for this. It would just take too long.”
“So what's the deal?” Chuck asked.
“The deal is that Captain Roberts is in charge, so he gets to decide what he wants to do. And if that includes commandeering help from outside his immediate chain of
command, I am not going to override the commander in the field.”
Ardman had his own cell phone out. “Captain Roberts?”
Roberts nodded. “Like the General says, we don't have a lot of choice. Your team will please consider themselves part of the US military under my direct command.”
“They'll love that.” Ardman pressed a speed dial button. His call was answered immediately. “Yes please,” he said quietly into the phone. “Code name: Eagle.” He snapped the phone shut. “They're all yours, Captain Roberts.”
Before Ardman had finished speaking, the four screens in front of Roberts snapped into life. One showed a general view of an airbase. Three black helicopters started to lift into the air, angular brutal shapes against the morning sky.
The other screens showed views from inside each of the helicopters. There were six black-clad men in each, faces masked behind respirators. Assault rifles held ready.
One of the men gave a thumbs-up. His voice came through the speakers, filtered through his mask: “Hawk One to Eagle Control, we are in the air. Flight time to target nest: seven minutes. We need a GoâNo go in five.
After that we will be visible to the Magpies and must commit.”
“Understood,” Roberts replied. “GoâNo-go in five or less. The skies are clear. The military here and the Secret Service on the White House roof have been briefed and will ensure safe passage to the nest.”
“That's a relief. Thank you, Eagle. We have just received the alternate frequency channel. Switching to that now.”
The female technician leaned over again to adjust another control. “We just got the channel through from the Pentagon. That should work even within the jamming radius.”
“Thanks.”
Ardman clasped Roberts on the shoulder. “Good luck,” he said quietly.
“Seconded,” Sanchez agreed.
“I'd wish you luck too,” Smith murmured. “If I was really here.”
On the main monitor, the helicopters were black dots disappearing into the distance. The image switched to a view of the White House.
“Time to target nest now six minutes.”
“You getting this, Agent White?” Roberts asked.
“Loud and clear. Tell them we'll warm the place up for them.”
In the Oval Office, Chuck turned to the others. “You ready?”
John Chance was checking his machine pistol. “Ready.”
The two American Special Forces soldiers, Al and Barney, nodded.
“Always,” said Kate Hunter.
Rich nodded. He looked pale.
Jade swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Ready.”
It was probably her imagination, but Jade thought she could already hear the approaching thump of the helicopters.
There was a side door from the Oval Office that led into the President's secretary's office. From here, there was access into the Cabinet Room and from there another armoured door opened back into the main corridor.
“So far all their attention has been on the main door. I'm hoping they don't even realise we can get out this way,” said Chuck.
“Unless they're waiting for us,” said Chance.
“We'll give covering fire,” Barney told them. “You guys make for the stairs.”
“Just to reiterate,” Chance told them all. “We don't know where they've taken the President. Kate, Al, Barneyâyou make for the hostages. The SAS will also be heading that way as you know, so you will support them. Chuck
and I will make for the Situation Room. From there we can stop the jamming and more importantly unseal the doors.”
“And what about us?” Rich asked.
“You want us to stay here?” said Jade. For once, she was inclined to agree to keep out of trouble.
It was Chuck who replied. “We want you to get to the Secret Service operations room and monitor what's happening.”
Chuck gave Agent Steve's cell phone to Rich. “You're through direct to Captain Roberts. Tell him anything he needs to know. Anything you can. He'll have voice contact with the assault team, but he's blind.”
Rich took the phone. “Understood.”
“And this operations room,” said Jade. “How do we get to it?”
“It's hidden,” Kate told them. “Concealed so well that even Kent and his guys haven't found it.”
“There's a secret door under the stairs,” said Rich. “I'll show you.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help grinning at Kate and Chuck's look of surprise.
“Hawk One approaching final marker. If you're going to pull the plug this is your last chance.”
Captain Roberts glanced at General Sanchez, who gave the slightest nod.
“Understood, Hawk One,” said Roberts. “You are Go. I repeat, you are Go.”
“Acknowledged. Hawk Two and Three moving to roof. Hawk One standing by.”
Roberts leaned forward slightly in his wheelchair. “Get ready, Leopard. Won't be long now.”
Out on Pennsylvania Avenue, a massive M1A2 tank stood by the gates to the White House. Its engine idled as it waited for the final order.
In the Situation Room, Steve, who had been pulled from the tunnel, was slumped in a chair beside the President. The metal briefcase was still attached to his wrist, and now lay on the conference table.
“Don't do it, Mr President,” said Halford. “No matter what they threaten, don't do it.”
Marshal Wieng slammed his fist into Halford's face. “Shut up!”
On the other side of the table, Kent jabbed his machine pistol into the President's cheek. “Tell us how to open it.”
He leaned forward, twisting he gun painfully, grinding it into the President's face. The briefcase was coated with dust from the tunnel. As Kent moved, he saw something catch the lightâthe faintest glimmer on one of the catches.
“What is that?” Kent murmured. He moved the gun from the President's cheek and leaned across. It was an awkward movement with his arm in the sling, and he grunted with pain as he moved.
“What have you found?” Wieng asked.
Lorraine hurried to join Kent. “A sensor,” she said. “On the catch.” She rubbed at the other catch, to reveal the pale glow. “Wouldn't be visible if it wasn't for the dust.”
“Some sort of defence mechanism? A booby trap?” Kent wondered.
Lorraine shook her head. “I think it's a fingerprint scanner.”
Kent laughed. “And whose fingerprint do you think it takes to open the case?”
Halford's eyes met the President's, and he knew that Kent had guessed correctly.
There was a noise from outside. It had been growing slowly in volume while all their attention was on the
briefcase. But now it was impossible to ignore. On one of the screens at the end of the room, they could see two helicopters approaching the White House. They flew low over the camera and disappeared from sight.
Lorraine ran to the control panel. Another view of the White House flashed up.
“Where are they?” Kent demanded. “Where did they go?”
They all looked up. The noise of the helicopters was still loud above them. But there was no sign of them on the screen.
“There they are,” said Lorraine, as the two dark shapes appeared the other side of the White House and flew off into the distance.
“Are they trying to scare us or something?” Kent wondered.
“Go and check everything is OK upstairs,” Marshal Wieng told Lorraine. “Let the others know what just happened. Tell them it's nothing, they need to stay calm. And find out where Colonel Shu has got to.”
Lorraine took a handgun from the waistband of her trousers and left.
“And you,” said Marshal Wieng, pointing at the President, “open the briefcase. Now. Or I will shoot your
friend then cut off your thumbs and use them to open it myself.” He pressed his gun into the back of Halford's neck.
Al eased open the door from the President's office, just enough to see that the corridor outside was clear. He pushed it open fully, both he and Barney ready to open fire if there was anyone outside.
But the corridor was empty. Kate beckoned for Al and Barney to follow her towards the main door to the Oval Officeâthe quickest way back to where the hostages were being held.
Chance gestured for Rich and Jade to follow him as he headed the other way, towards the stairs down to the basement. Chuck White followed behind, pulling the door closed behind them, and constantly checking they had not been spotted.
They were almost at the stairs when they ran into trouble. A gunman appeared around the corner of the corridorâheading straight for them.
The sound of the helicopters right above the White House was almost deafening, which was why the gunman who rounded the corner in front of them was looking up at the ceiling, obviously wondering what was happening.
The man caught sight of Chance just as the butt of the gun slammed into his stomach. He doubled over, dropping his own weapon. A second blow left him unconscious on the floor. Chuck ran to help Chance drag the body into a side room.
Alone in the corridor, Rich and Jade froze when Lorraine arrived at the top of the stairs. She raised her pistol in surprise, pointing it right at them.
Rich didn't hesitate. He put his hands up, and tried to look scaredâwhich wasn't too difficult. “Please, don't shoot. Please.”
The helicopters seemed to be moving off now, and the woman opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a word, the gun was kicked from her hand. She had made the mistake of taking her eyes off Jade for just a second as she was distracted by Rich. Jade's foot slammed into the red-haired woman's wrist.
Lorraine's second mistake was now to turn towards Jade. Rich's fist crashed into her jaw, and she reeled backwards. She stumbled and fell, but she was close to the gun. Her hand closed around it. She sat up, bringing the gun to bear.
John Chance's hand came down in a heavy karate chop on the back of her neck. The woman slumped sideways.
“Let's add her to the collection,” said Chance.
The two helicopters paused over the White House for only twenty seconds. Just long enough for the six SAS men inside each chopper to abseil down to the roof. Then they flew on, away over the Potomac River and out of sight.
Two Secret Service agents stood on the roof, watching as the SAS attached ropes to the side rails. One of the SAS men came running over to them.
The agents were standing beside a large open case. Inside was the hand-held surface-to-air missile system that would take out any unauthorised aircraft that tried to approach the White House.
“Good morning,” said the black-clad figure.
“Hi,” one of the agents replied. “Welcome to the White House. You feeling as useless as we are right now? There's no way into the White House from up here, you know. Else we'd be inside sorting out the bad guys.”
The SAS man nodded, and pointed to the missile. “Can I borrow that?”
The agents exchanged looks. “It's only good for ground-to-air, you know. And we'll need authorisation before we can just hand it over,” one of them said.
“Fair enough. Do us a favour then, will you?”
“What?”
He pointed at the low concrete stairwell on the other side of the roof. “That's the way down into the West Wing, yes?”
“Yes, but it's sealed off from inside. A dozen hand-grenades won't get through there.”
At the edge of the roof, dark figures were preparing to jump out on their ropes. The SAS man checked his watch.
“Hand-grenades might not get through,” he agreed. “But a Stinger missile might. And if not, it'll make enough noise to wake the dead and get our chums in there looking the wrong way. So fire on it in twenty-three seconds, please.”
He didn't wait for an answer, but walked calmly to the side of the roof and attached his rope.
“Leopard, you may start your run.”
The command echoed round the inside of the tank. The driver immediately accelerated along the White House drive. The vehicle had the new LV100-5 engine, which gave it far greater acceleration towards its impressive top speed of 45mph. With the electronic limiter removed, the tank could got even fasterâup to
60mph on a paved surface. But speed was not the main consideration todayâ¦
Halfway up the drive, the tank turned and started across the main lawnâstraight for the West Wing.
“What the hell?” Kent stared at the image on the monitor. “They can't be serious.”
“It must be a bluff,” Wieng agreed.
The dark shape of a battle tank was heading across the White House lawn, leaving deep tracks behind it in the grass.
Then from above came the sound of a colossal explosion and the whole building juddered.
“See what's happening!” Wieng yelled at Kent. “And start killing the hostages.”
Holding his gun in his good hand, Kent ran from the room.
Wieng levelled his own machine pistol at the President. “Play time is over. I am sure there are booby traps that only you know about. So open the case, or I'll shoot you both here and now.”
The President held his gaze for a moment, then he looked away, beaten.
“OK,” he said. He reached out for the briefcase. As
soon as his thumbs pressed against the clasps, they clicked open. “It's all yours,” said the President. “God help us.”
Chuck had told Rich how to call up a map of the White House on the main screen in the Surveillance Room. The map showed each room, and the position of every camera together with the key number of that camera.
“This is serious stuff,” said Jade, impressed.
She sat next to Rich while he keyed the screens to the cameras in the West Wing.
“Can you hear me?” said Jade into the cell phone. They had agreed she would pass on information while Rich worked the surveillance controls.
“Loud and clear,” Captain Robert replied. “What can you tell me?”
“The gunmen are getting excited and nervous since that huge explosion on the roof.”
“That was just to keep them on their toes. And looking the other way.”
Jade quickly passed on the details of how many gunmen there were in each of the areas as Rich found them on the cameras.
“Then there are three with the hostages and two outside the Oval Officeâthough Kate, Al and Barney are
ready and waiting to deal with them when you start the attack.”
There were others in various rooms or patrolling the corridors. Rich pointed out Kent, hurrying to the stairway. They heard him clatter above their heads as he raced upstairs.
On the screen showing the corridor outside the Surveillance Room, Chuck and Chance stepped out of the Secret Service office where they had hidden to let Kent go past. They headed slowly and warily towards the Situation Room.
Another screen showed the scene in the Situation Room itself. “Oh, God,” said Rich. “The President has opened the briefcase. I repeat, he's opened the Football.”
“Come on, Dadâhurry up!” said Jade.
She held her breath, but it was very clear that Chuck and her dad were not going to be in time to save the Presidentâor to stop those nuclear missiles from being launchedâ¦
Marshal Wieng stared at the open briefcase. “What is this?” he demanded. His voice was harsh and angry.
“What does it look like?”
Inside the briefcase was a telephone. An old-fashioned
telephone with a chunky plastic handset resting on a cradle. The main part of the phone had large pushbuttons, and a speaker grille.
“It's a satellite phone,” said the President quietly. “Oh, it's pretty old technology now. But it means that the President of the United States can always contact his commanders in the field, or in the air.”
Wieng was shaking his head in disbelief. “Butâthe nuclear codes. The launch instructions. Firing the missiles.”
“It's not as easy as that,” said the President. “Press a few buttons and destroy the world? In your dreams, Marshal Wieng. These days you have to call up the Joint Chiefs and ask them to initiate the launch. You really think they'll do that for you? Do you?”
Marshal Wieng was shaking with fury. “Then you are no use to me at all.”
“None,” the President agreed, holding Wieng's entire attention. He leaned back in his chair, the handcuff securing him firmly to the table dug into his lower leg. “So what are you going to do about it? Shoot me?”
“Yes.” Marshal Wieng raised his gun. He aimed over the table, taking care to stay well out of Halford's reach. Handcuffed to the table by his leg, just like the President,
the man posed no threat at all. No one could stop him now.
Marshal Wieng fired.