Murray McDonald - Critical Error

Rebecca had walked back across to the Starbucks cafe and was just finishing her coffee as the first black suburban swept past, it’s blue lights flashing and clearing the road ahead. Another quickly followed.

Rebecca had seen motorcades many times before. She lifted her phone and hit the dial button twice. As it connected, she stood up and left Starbucks, not by the 18th St exit but onto H St., not missing a stride as the explosion shook the windows behind her.

The Palestinian Embassy was on the same block as the Alibi Club but around the corner on 18th St NW, rather than on I street.

The Secret Service agent in the third Suburban jumped as the flash of light appeared to his right directly opposite the Presidential Limousine. He knew two things from the location of the flash. It was no accident and they were very lucky. The Beast had hardly flinched as the explosion occurred. The car remained on course and unharmed. All five cars instantly accelerated as the radios broke into life.

“Lead to Cadillac One, is POTUS OK?” POTUS was the acronymic codename for the President Of The United States.

The driver and agent in the Beast, formally referred to as Cadillac One, had seen the flash like the others but had not even felt the smallest wave pressure. So it was with some confidence that they lowered the darkened glass between the President and themselves.

“Lead, Cadillac One is intact, no effects felt. I repeat no effects felt. Will double-check with POTUS.”

“Return to White House.” The lead agent issued the instruction to the motorcade as he awaited confirmation from Cadillac One.

As the screen descended, the agent was faced with a scene of carnage. The President lay on his side, holding his stomach. His chest and body were covered in blood while his assistant’s head lolled back as blood ran from her mouth and down her chin, her white blouse crimson with blood.

“Oh my God! Lead, change of destination, Walter Reed, I repeat Walter Reed and make it quick.”

Sam heard the explosion in his hideout and fought against looking. The explosion was nearby, he knew that much and he also knew it wasn’t large. A diversionary type explosion, he thought. He thought back to all of Rebecca’s goings on throughout the day. She didn’t suddenly have something else that needed to be done, did she? She wouldn’t, he thought. No, she couldn’t have. She couldn’t be implicated in anything to do with an action against the President. As the night air filled with the sound of sirens coming ever closer, Sam knew it was Rebecca’s work. He gave it ten more minutes and rolled to his left. He could see one of the sniper positions clearly from there and unless he was staring straight back, he wouldn’t be seen.

The sniper was nowhere to be seen. Sam rolled to the right, the other sniper was not there either. He rose onto his knee. They were all gone. He ventured a look down at the roof below. Six men had become two. Rebecca, he knew, had diverted the President, saving his life and robbing Sam of an opportunity. She had probably also saved his own life but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or angry. He’d figure it out once he had dealt with the old men.

He looked over the lip of window at the two remaining guards. The Secret Service agents had obviously been pulled out. Not unsurprising in the circumstances. The President wouldn’t be going anywhere near there for a very long time. However, the old men would have based their security requirements on the Secret Service being there. With them gone, there was probably a high probability they would make a break for it themselves. Sam realized he had to hurry.

The two guards below were not like Lawson’s. The beefcakes were gone and had been replaced by real professionals but professional what? They were extremely confident in their abilities but unlike the Secret Service, they were not covering the angles. These guys were not trained defenders, they were attackers thought Sam. And just like in football, each had their own specific purpose. They would look for where they would come from themselves and concentrate their efforts there. The Secret Service never took such chances, they just covered everything.

Sam also noted a lack of intercoms. They really had expected the Secret Service to do their job for them. With the cacophony of sirens from just around the corner, Sam did not have to worry in the least about noise. Even without the silencers he had on his MP5 and Sig, he’d have been fine. He watched for a few minutes as both men wandered aimlessly from front to back of the roof, checking down below and occasionally lifting their eyes skywards towards to the taller rooftops. They really did not expect any company. They were probably moaning about having to babysit some old codgers. He watched as they came together again on their almost constant wandering. He had already perched himself ready, praying they didn’t look up on that occasion. Fortunately they didn’t and Sam dropped the fifteen feet and his 210 lbs onto the men below. The three of them landed in a sprawl, Sam coming off best. He had used the two men to break his fall. One, he was certain had a cracked collarbone, the other he knew had a broken leg. There was no way it would have bent that way otherwise. He almost felt sorry as he cable-tied them both, trying to make them as comfortable as possible. A fresh sock and elephant tape ensured they would also remain fairly quiet, although the guy with the funny leg was making one hell of a racket despite the gag.

Sam entered the loft space via the hatch and checking below, dropped down into the building proper. It was deceptively large and a number of doors led off the passageway. Sam tried a few and found nothing but bedrooms. He needed to go down. He made his way to the end of the corridor and peered over the balcony. Another two men stood below him, chatting inanely about football.

“Get ready to move out!” The shout from below made it clear time was running out.

The men below split. One heading up and one down. One to tell the guys on the roof and the other to prep for leaving.

Sam slipped back towards the loft hatch and noticed a small alcove just to the right of it. He pushed himself back into the space and waited as the guard moved towards him.

As the guard was halfway up the ladders, Sam stepped forward and kicked them away. The guard’s legs desperately searched for some purchase in mid air like some childish cartoon. But gravity always wins and the guard crashed to the floor. It was only when he hit the ground that he realized somebody had deliberately removed the ladder. As he started to look around, Sam’s right fist hit him square in the jaw. 210 lbs of pure energy connected with the very confused guard and almost raised him back into mid air. He crumpled to the ground with little or no fight left. More cable-ties and another fresh sock secured and silenced him.

Three down, at least another two left, thought Sam — the one who shouted up and the guy who went down. Sam walked down to the second floor and quickly ascertained it also was empty. His guys had to be downstairs. Time was running out.

Sam had to make a quick decision. If he wanted these guys, this was his chance and it wouldn’t come again. Sam pulled out the Sig and chambering a round, he walked down the stairs as if he had every right in the world to be there.

The first guard he came across hardly gave him a second glance. Sam swung his pistol and brought it crashing into the side of his head. The guard had stupidly assumed his three colleagues above would have either stopped anyone coming in or warned them of any oncoming threats. The third option, that an intruder might get past them without warning, did not even figure in their range of potential threats. Sam had found, throughout his service, that arrogance about ability was just as dangerous as inability.