Vince Flynn: Pursuit of Honor

“Mitch, what do you want me to do?” Coleman asked.

“Drop him off and make sure he gets in. I don’t care if you have to shoot your way in. Can Max jam these signals if I need him to?”

It took a moment while Coleman relayed the question. “He says no problem, but he wants to know if you want him to block all signals or just these two.”

“For now just these two, but let me think about that. Hurry up and get Slick on that roof!”

“We’re already in front of the building and there’s a guard out front.”

“Show him your DHS creds and call me if you have a problem. I’ve got Art here.”

As Rapp turned to go back to the group he heard some choppers coming in. He craned his head skyward as three Blackhawks came in and landed a few hundred yards away, just south of the Reflecting Pool.

“That’s HRT,” Harris announced, as Rapp walked up to the group.

Harris gave him a nervous looked and mouthed the words, Do something!

Nash was now arguing with one of the on-site commanders. Rapp listened for a good ten seconds and then stepped in. He looked at the two on-site commanders and asked, “Does he have any other hostages?” As Rapp finished asking the question, Wicker’s voice came over the net telling him he was in the building and on the way to the roof.

“We don’t think so, but we think he killed at least eight people. There are five up there on the steps and three more just inside.”

“Any idea where he is in there?”

“We’re pretty sure he’s around that inside corner on the north side of the building.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Three people told us he was on the north side. None of the eyewitnesses said he was on the south side.”

“Who cares?” Nash said impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going in there.”

Rapp placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Let’s talk about this.”

Nash knocked his hand away and made a fist. “Get the hell away from me.”

Rapp backed up and put his hands up, palms out. “Don’t you even want to try?”

“No. If I go in there, he lets her go.”

“Or he blows her head off right in front of you.”

“Shut up, Mitch. I’ve spent too many years doing things your way. Not tonight. That’s my daughter in there. I’m calling the shots.”

Wicker’s welcome voice came over Rapp’s earpiece, “Got him. Range 310 yards. No wind. Give me twenty seconds.”

Rapp was thinking of Wicker when he looked at Coleman and said, “Fine . . . but if we’re going to do this your way, you’re gonna call Maggie first. You tell her you love her, you tell those boys you love them, and then you go in there and make the exchange.”

The words got to Nash. He slowly started to nod in recognition that it was the right thing to do. He pulled out his phone, stared blankly at it for a moment, and then started to walk away from the group while he dialed the number.

Rapp followed him and when Nash put the phone to his ear, Rapp pulled an epipen from his pocket, flicked off the protective cap, and jabbed Nash in the back of the neck. Rapp held the pen in place for a second and then dropped it and reached for Nash’s phone. Reavers stepped in and caught Nash as he collapsed to the pavement.

Art Harris pulled up next to Rapp with a worried look on his face and asked, “What in the hell are we going to do now?”

“That depends on how much time we have, Art.” To Reavers he said, “Leave him. Let’s go.” Rapp broke into a sprint for his vehicle. “Slick, give me updates. If you hear me say Bingo, you take the shot.”

“Roger that.”

When they got to the car Rapp told Reavers to grab his shit out of the backseat. Rapp popped the trunk and stripped off his suit coat. He slid on his bulletproof vest and Velcroed the sides before putting on his tactical vest. He grabbed his M-4 rifle from its hard case and snatched up a thick silencer. Reavers trotted behind him with an identical rifle and vest.

When they got back to the command post, Harris was waiting for them with his arms across his chest. “Just what in the Lord’s name do you cowboys think you’re doing?”

“Don’t start, Art. Get out of my way.”

“I can’t do that. This is an FBI op. You guys can’t operate around here. Look at all the media.”

Rapp stopped and took note of all the cameras. “Good point.” Turning to Reavers, Rapp asked, “You got a balaclava?” referring to the black ski masks they sometimes wore on operations. Reavers produced one from his tactical vest at about the same time Rapp did. They put them on but left them up on their foreheads like watch caps.

“Oh, shit,” Harris said with genuine concern. “You guys can’t do this. Just wait for HRT.”

The phone Rapp took from Nash started ringing. Rapp looked down at the smiling photo of Shannon. He glanced at Harris and said, “No time.” Rapp pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear. “Hello.”

There was a long pause and then, “Who is this?”

“I’m one of Mike’s friends.”

“Where is he?” Karim asked angrily.

Rapp looked around said, “Ahhh . . . He just started vomiting.”

“Coward,” Karim scoffed. “I will make sure the media knows that your hero vomited before facing me.”

“Yeah . . . well not everyone can be a tough guy, right?”

“Who is this?”

Rapp looked up and saw Lewis and Hakim. “Dr. Lewis! I’m monitoring the situation here. Mr. Nash is obviously very traumatized by this.” Rapp tried to think of the words Lewis would choose. “He just got off the phone with his wife and boys. He wanted to say good-bye to them. He wanted them to have some closure.”

“Well, put him on the phone. It is time to make the exchange.”

“Hold on.” Rapp looked down and hit the mute key. He marched straight over to Hakim and said, “Are you honestly sick of seeing innocent people killed?”

Hakim looked up at the building bathed in lights and said, “Yes.”

Rapp thought it through one more time. “All right . . . then you’re going to get your chance to prove it. I’m going to hand you this phone and I want you to bait him like you’ve never baited him before. I want you to work him into an absolute fury.”

Hakim nodded. “I know just what to say.”

“Mitch,” Lewis said, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“No time to argue,” Rapp snapped. “Slick, are you good to go?”

“Affirmative.”

Rapp grabbed Hakim and dragged him through the police and up the edge of the steps. Harris followed. “Art,” Rapp said, “take the phone from him if he tries to warn him.”

Harris pulled out his gun.

Rapp looked at the keypad, took a deep breath, and took it off mute. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, and I must warn you I am not alone. If anyone other than Mr. Nash approaches the building I will kill the girl.”

“Understood.” Rapp handed the phone to Hakim and pulled the black mask down over his face.

“Karim, this is your old friend. I see you are still hiding behind the skirts of little girls.”

Rapp turned away from Hakim and said, “Bingo! I repeat . . . Bingo!”

Rapp took the steps three at a time. Reavers was right at his side. “You’ve got my six. We go in on the right side.”

“Tango is down.” Wicker’s voice came over the net. “I repeat, tango is down.”

Wicker’s words were welcome but Rapp didn’t have time to celebrate. There was one bad guy down, but still one to go. They pushed up the last flight of stairs, their footfalls nearly silent. As they neared the big columns, Rapp could hear someone shouting from inside the immense space. He had a moment of indecision. Should he stop and assess the situation or rush headlong into it and keep surprise on his side? He decided on the latter and already had a picture in his mind’s eye. They reached the threshold and Rapp sliced through the farthest opening on the right. His left eye was perched behind his Eotech holographic sight. The red bull’s-eye glowed in the middle of the square aperture.