First Strike (16 page)

At the last moment, the huge, heavy tank veered off course. Kent and the two men with him had expected it to crash into the front of the West Wing. They were waiting, guns levelled.

“Told you it was a bluff!” said Kent, his hoarse voice barely audible above the sound of the engines. “They'd never risk killing hostages and the President.”

But despite the fact that the tank was now heading away from them, the sound wasn't getting quieter. And it was coming from the other side of the building.

“Decoy!” one of the gunmen realised.

But he was too late.

Hawk One flew low and fast towards the back of the
White House. It barely cleared the trees. As soon as it was over the back lawn, the four black-clad men clinging to the skids let go, and hung beneath the helicopter on ropes.

Two missiles streaked out from the helicopter, detonating moments later against the toughened windows. The glass would resist bullets and even rocket-propelled grenades. But the missiles didn't break the glass—they blew out the whole window frames instead.

Seconds later, Hawk One sped over the roof of the West Wing. It didn't slow down. The four SAS soldiers slammed into the building—two through each of the gaping holes where the windows had been. They released their rope harnesses to land at a run as the ropes were whipped away and up behind them.

They were firing as they entered the building—already clued in by Jade that there were gunmen in each of the rooms they entered.

“Vulture One—gunman down. Press Secretary's office clear. Proceeding.”

“Vulture Three—two gunmen down. Annexe clear. Proceeding.”

Kent and his men turned at the sound of the twin explosions from the back of the building.

At exactly the same moment, the SAS men on the roof dropped on their ropes. It was the work of seconds to position shaped charges round the window frames, then kick back from the wall as they detonated. The glass was strong enough to survive the blast. But the window frames were not. The soldiers crashed back into the windows, their weight knocking the glass out of the frame and into the room.

Kent whirled round. The man beside him dropped instantly. The other gunman was dead less than two seconds later. Kent dived for the door, one of his falling comrades miraculously shielding his body.

In another room, a woman with a machine pistol saw an SAS man position his charge. The window crashed apart and the man hurled himself into the room. She had him in her sights, an easy kill.

Except the man was burning—his whole body was engulfed in flames. He must have been caught in the explosion. The woman smiled. Let him burn.

It was already too late when she realised that in fact the man was not burning. It was a length of curtain draped over his shoulder that was on fire. The soldier fired and shrugged off the burning blanket in a single easy movement.

“Vulture seven. Gunman down. Room clear, proceeding.”

The two gunmen outside the Oval Office turned at the first sounds of the SAS attack. Single aimed shots from behind were enough to take out each of them before they could react.

Kate, Al and Barney moved like shadows along the corridor. Each covered the other's advance as they headed for the room where they knew the hostages were being held. The room that any moment would become a killing ground.

The sound of the explosions from above startled Marshal Wieng. All his attention had been on the President, not on the surveillance screens, or on Dex Halford. But he had already fired. The distraction made no difference.

What did make a difference was Halford.

While Wieng had been concentrating on the President Halford had been working furiously—not on the handcuffs, but on the prosthetic leg they were attached to. It was difficult to undo it through the fabric of his trousers without looking down, without drawing attention to himself.

But he managed just in time.

Halford launched himself along the length of the table just as Marshal Wieng fired his machine pistol. The President remained absolutely still, paper-pale. Halford's arm connected with the barrel of the gun, knocking it sideways. Bullet holes drilled across the wall behind the President.

Wieng gave a roar of anger. He swung the gun viciously, slamming it into Halford and knocking him to the floor. Marshal Wieng looked down at Halford as the man struggled to get up again. He raised the gun and took careful aim.

Then he felt the cold barrel of another gun press sharply into his neck.

“I'll take that, if you don't mind,” John Chance told him. “The party's over.”

Chuck White hurried to the President. “Are you all right, sir?”

The President nodded. “Never mind me. What about everyone else? Have they freed the hostages?”

Marcie raised her gun. The two men with her mirrored the action.

“It's over,” she said, aiming straight at the two Chinese men. “Let's do it.”

On the floor in front of them, the hostages stared back, eyes wide and frightened. The Secret Service agents braced themselves for what they knew would be a suicidal attempt to reach the gunmen before they fired.

The gunmen were standing halfway between the two doors into the room, with a good view of both. So as soon as one of the doors was slammed open, all three of them turned and fired.

At empty space.

A second later, the other door crashed open. Dark shapes were silhouetted against the corridor outside. Red flashes filled the doorway. Three bodies dropped to the ground.

“Vulture One—three gunmen down. The eggs are safe. I repeat, the eggs are safe.”

It seemed like everything was happening at once. Rich and Jade watched it all play out on the screens in the Surveillance Room. They saw Kate, Al and Barney speak briefly to three SAS soldiers, before kicking open the door to the room where the hostages were being kept and jumping back out of the way. A moment later, the soldiers booted open the other door and opened fire.

It was like they were watching a drama unfold on
television. But unlike television, they knew it was for real—it was happening all around them. They could hear the explosions and the gunfire. They could smell the cordite. They knew everyone that they could see was real.

Jade kept up a constant description of what was happening. There was no time for feedback from Roberts as he passed information to the soldiers who needed it, so Jade had no idea if she was helping or not.

The entire attack took less than three minutes, but by the end of it Jade was exhausted. She slumped back in her chair. Then Rich's words brought her suddenly back upright.

“Look—that's Kent. Coming this way.”

Even as he said it, they heard the man clattering down the stairs above their heads.

“Kent's making for the Situation Room. For the President.”

“Are Chance and White still in there?” Roberts asked immediately.

“They are.”

There was the slightest pause. “Let's hope they see him coming. We have no radio contact with them.”

On the screen, Kent was walking slowly but deliberately along the corridor, his gun raised.

Until someone brought bolt cutters or found a key for the handcuffs, the only way to free the President was to take the table apart. Chuck lay underneath it, using his pocket knife as a screwdriver as he tried to remove the bracing strut. The President was leaning down and offering advice, which Chuck accepted over-patiently.

Halford had managed to slide the handcuffs off his false leg and was strapping it back on. Chance's attention was all on Marshal Wieng who was sitting at the table with his hands on his head. Even though the Wieng tried to keep his expression neutral, Chance could tell he had seen something behind him.

Keeping the gun aimed at Wieng, Chance glanced back over his shoulder—and saw Kent standing in the doorway, his own gun levelled.

“Looks like we've got ourselves a standoff,” Kent rasped. “Or have I been misinformed?”

But then he was suddenly propelled into the room, stumbling forwards as something hit him hard in the back. Halford grabbed Kent's gun as he went past, wrenching it free from the man's grip. Kent gave a shriek of agony as his bad arm hit the table, and he slumped to the floor.

“You've been misinformed,” said Rich from the doorway.

“Doubly misinformed,” said Jade, grinning beside her brother.

“Good to see you both,” their father replied with a wry smile. “What kept you?”

“Watching telly,” said Rich. “It had a happy ending.”

Chance hauled Kent round the table and sat him next to Wieng. “I'm pleased to hear that. You done yet, Chuck?”

Chuck appeared from under the table, and the President stood up, stretching his legs. A handcuff dangled freely from one ankle.

“Despite the distractions,” said Chuck, “yes, I'm done.” He turned to the main control panel at the end of the room. “I'll just switch off the lock-down and the doors will unseal so we can get out of here.”

“That will be a relief,” said Chance. “You have a nice house, Mr President, but I shan't be sorry to leave it.”

“Could do with redecorating,” said Rich.

All around the White House, doors unlocked and windows unsealed. The Secret Service agents behind the heavy metal door that connected the West Wing to the
main Mansion House heard the automatic bolts click undone. They pushed the door open.

In a sealed room hidden off the Chief of Staff's office, another door clicked. Even the badly damaged lock was cancelled as the lock-down was cancelled.

With a smile of satisfaction, Colonel Shu opened the door. She had heard the muffled sounds of the battle, and had no illusions about what must have happened. Even from the office, she could see the bodies of two of Kent's people lying in the corridor outside. She moved rapidly to collect the machine pistol one of them had dropped.

Smoke drifted along the corridors. They picked their way through debris and rubble, even stepping over bodies. Rich tried not to look too closely where he was putting his feet.

Dad had Marshal Wieng at gunpoint, while Chuck had his gun covering Jefferson Kent.

“I'm afraid you're not seeing my house at its best,” the President admitted, following behind with Rich, Jade and Halford. Chuck had finally managed to get the handcuff off his ankle.

“Quite a party though,” said Rich.

“Party's over,” Chance told him.

“It's the morning after,” Jade agreed. “Clear-up time.”

“Talking of which,” said Chance quietly as several
people appeared out of the misty air.

A number of SAS men in their black uniforms passed them, giving a thumbs-up and slapping Chance on the shoulder. But the three men now standing in the corridor had not taken a direct role in the raid.

Two were in army uniform, the stars on their uniforms marking their high rank. One of them looked distinctly sour. Behind them a man in an expensive dark suit seemed to be making a deliberate effort to keep in the background.

“General Sanchez,” said the President. “Good of you to join us.” He leaned to one side to get a better view of the man in the suit. “Oh, it's you. I take it I have you to thank for the damage to my wallpaper.”

“Indeed, Mr President.”

The sour-looking man saluted stiffly. “General Wilson, sir.”

“General Wilson has come to tender his apologies. And, more importantly, his resignation,” Sanchez said.

Wilson stepped forward, raising his hand, as if to shake the President's. But as it came up, Rich saw that the man was holding a pistol.

“Gun!” Chuck White yelled, launching himself at Wilson.

Chance also grabbed Wilson. Seeing his opportunity, Marshal Wieng turned to run.

But the man in the suit was standing in his way. “I don't think so,” he said quietly.

Kent too was making a break for it—the other way back down the corridor. He dodged round Jade and ran straight at Rich.

Rich didn't move. He braced himself to try to stop the man. Then suddenly, Kent was falling. Behind Kent, Rich could see Jade's leg sticking out—she had tripped him as he dodged past. Kent crashed to the ground. His head hit the floor, and he lay still.

Halford was covering Wieng now as Chuck held General Wilson tight.

“Why?” the President asked.

“You should have brought them home,” Wilson said. The contempt was obvious in his tone. “Those airmen, they shouldn't be left to rot in a Chinese jail. You should have negotiated and brought them home.”

Further down the corridor, Marshal Wieng laughed.

The President shook his head. “They're dead, General. The Chinese sent two delegates to brief me yesterday, just before all this happened. They asked us not to announce it until they have the murderers in custody, though we've
hardly had a chance anyway. The airmen were captured and executed as soon as they landed.”

“Then you should have declared war!” Wilson spat.

“On China? General Wilson, those men were murdered by the rebels in Wiengwei,” said the President. “The rebels who shot down their plane. On the direct orders of Marshal Wieng himself.”

Wilson froze. “You're lying.”

The President shook his head. “Ask him yourself.”

Wilson turned. He shook off Chuck's grasp and marched stiffly towards Wieng, ignoring Chuck's gun aimed right at him as the Secret Service agent watched his every move. “Is that true?” Wilson demanded. “Did you and Kent lie to me?”

Wieng's face was twisted into a grotesque smile. “Kent didn't know. I imagine he will be as outraged as you are.”

Both Chuck and Chance seemed to know what Wilson was intending. They grabbed him as he hurled himself at Wieng, dragging him back.

“We'll send him back to China,” the man in the suit said. “Don't worry; he'll get the justice he deserves.”

There was something in the way the man said it that made Rich shiver. He turned to look at Jade, now standing beside him. But it was the figure in the corridor
behind her that made him cry out in alarm.

The slim, black-clad shape of Colonel Shu was sprinting towards them, her long plait of hair swinging as she ran, her machine pistol spitting fire.

Rich pushed Jade to one side, diving away with a warning yell.

Chance and Chuck dragged General Wilson to the floor. Halford pushed Marshal Wieng into a doorway, holding a handgun at the man's throat. The man in the suit spun as a bullet caught him in the arm. General Sanchez was hit in the leg and collapsed with a cry.

In the middle of it all, the President turned to face Colonel Shu. She was standing in front of him, legs apart as she braced herself from the recoil.

Rich threw himself at her from one side, Jade from the other. But Colonel Shu had already fired.

The man in front of her was caught full in the blast of gunfire and thrown backwards into the wall.

A split-second later both Rich and Jade hammered into Shu. Jade's rolling body knocked her legs away, as Rich crashed into her chest and sent her flying. But she kept hold of the gun. She rolled as she landed, like a paratrooper, and came up with the gun aimed right at Rich's head.

A single shot. A circle of red in the middle of the pale forehead.

Then Colonel Shu was falling to the ground. Behind her, Kate Hunter lowered her handgun.

The President looked up from the body of the man who had hurled himself in front of Colonel Shu's bullets. He shook his head. General Wilson was dead.

The President was making phone calls from the conference area at the end of the mobile headquarters truck. Rich and Jade sat with their dad, Halford, Chuck and Kate. Ardman was on his cell phone, sounding increasingly agitated, and Captain Roberts was massaging the top of his wounded leg.

“I think General Sanchez is next in line for that wheelchair,” Chance told him.

“You don't need your leg anyway,” said Halford. “You can manage without.”

“I bet you miss yours,” said Jade.

Halford nodded. “I do. I can still wiggle my toes though. Weird, isn't it. Sometimes my leg itches. It isn't there, but it itches. And I can't scratch it. How's that work?”

Ardman had finished on the phone. “Talking of itches
you can't scratch,” he said, “I've just been talking to Goddard in London. Apparently our friend Ralph has regained consciousness.”

“That's great,” said Rich. “How is he doing?”

“Well, unfortunately no one seems to know. Goddard went to the hospital, but when the police on guard let him in to see Ralph, it wasn't him.”

“What do you mean, it wasn't him?” said Jade.

“It was a Mr Mellor who's recovering from a car accident. They seem to think Ralph was transferred to another room. But that room is empty and there's no record he was ever there.”

Chance laughed. “That sounds like Ralph.”

“Pity though,” Ardman went on. “I'd have liked to have thanked him for his help. As well as have a little chat about a few other matters.”

“I think I know why he left,” said Jade. “Before the fireworks.”

“Talking of fireworks,” said Rich to Chuck, “what's the deal with the Football then?” He lowered his voice. “I mean, was it really just a satellite phone all the time?”

“Not all the time,” said Chuck. “Back in the sixties it was a proper launch facility like everyone thinks. But these days it's all a bit different.”

“You don't need a big metal briefcase now,” Kate told them. “This is the era of miniaturisation and global communications. The briefcase is a blind—a decoy if you like. The President doesn't need anything that clumsy and bulky to authorise a nuclear attack.”

“Hell, these days,” said Chuck, “you could do it with something like, I don't know, a modified cell phone. Speaking of which,” he said to Jade, “you left Steve's phone in the Surveillance Room. But don't worry,” he patted his jacket pocket. “It's safe enough now. And Steve's making a good recovery even after being shot by Rich here, so he'll look after it for the President again soon.”

“Wait…” said Rich. “You mean, that phone was the nuclear launch device? All along?” He felt slightly faint at the idea that he had carried it in his pocket.

Chuck smiled. “Nowadays, all it takes is a phone call.”

“I guess I have a lot of thanks yous to say, and I guess this is the place to start.” The President was standing behind them. He looked tired, but confident as he shook hands with each of them in turn.

“That's quite a family you have there, Mr Chance,” said the President.

“Don't I know it.”

“One day we must meet without bullets flying and bombs going off in the background.”

“That'd be nice,” said Jade. “Mr President, sir,” she added.

“I thought it was a great party, sir,” Rich told him.

The President smiled. “You'll forgive me, but after being held hostage and threatened by madmen, I never want to go through anything like that again.”

John Chance put a proud arm round his daughter's shoulder and patted his son on the back. “You said that last time, Mr President.”

Although he smiled as he said it, only the President knew for sure if he was joking.