David Golemon - Ancients

"The Korean assault on our task force was an overt act of war and the American people insist I respond in kind. Now, for me trying to keep the peace, the world press is crucifying me! Your ally's actions were wrong in the least and criminal at the most. Either you will get Kim to listen to reason or we can carry this madness to its obvious conclusion."

Niles watched as his oldest friend's knuckles grew white on the handset and he saw the jaw muscles working at a furious clip.

Now the sugar, Jim, offer the sugar, Niles thought.

"We have evidence of an outside entity being responsible for these quakes and it is being forwarded through official channels now. Official and not private, for the reason that I want it to leak out, because the world must know that we were not responsible for these quakes that your ally North Korea is blaming us for. If you do not heed the evidence we send to you, Mr. President, circumstances will force me to defend this nation's soldiers, seamen, and airmen as well as those of our allies, and I will do so with vigor. Do we understand each other clearly?"

The American president listened to the return tirade and then closed his eyes and visibly relaxed.

"Have your people study the names and evidence we have sent and then I will await your call. Until then I have ordered our military to set DEFCON Two for defensive reasons. No more American lives will be lost without us shooting back." Again he listened to the other end of the line. "Very well. I will await your decision."

The president slowly placed the phone into its cradle on the coffee table in front of him. The secretary of state, newly arrived from his address to the United Nations, where he had condemned the actions by Korea and the unhelpful silence of both the Russians and Chinese, awaited his new orders.

The president looked at his watch and then glanced at the director of the FBI, who sat off by himself in a small chair to the sofa's left.

"When will you round up this man in Chicago?"

"The HRT unit is in place as we speak. They should have break-in in exactly ten minutes," he answered as he looked at his wristwatch.

"Good. Mr. Secretary, you may proceed back to the UN and address the Security Council and lay out all the evidence that Dr. Compton has provided you. I understand his people are working on learning more background on the technology used and the people using it. I believe it's time to share what little we do have on this Coalition faction. Mr. Director, take that son of a bitch in Chicago alive if you can."

"Yes, sir, that is the plan."

The president felt in control for the first time in days. He nodded his thanks to all in the room.

"Gentlemen, with the exception of Dr. Compton, you are excused."

The secretary of state along with the directors of the FBI and the CIA stood and left the room, excited to be moving against the man who might have been responsible for the American lives that had been lost.

When the door closed, the president half slid down into the sofa. He rubbed his hands over his face and then looked at Niles. "This job really sucks, bookworm."

"You're the one who wanted it. By the way, thanks for giving Colonel Collins a blank check as far as Hawaii goes."

The president raised his chin once and then let it fall again to his chest. Then he half smiled.

"You may have saved our bacon, Niles. Tell your people ... tell them--"

"You can tell them when this thing is over, Mr. President. All they have done is what they've been doing for a hundred years."

"I just hope I can face them and others when this is over. As of right now, I'm responsible for getting a lot of American boys getting killed."

Niles leaned forward and looked at his friend. "That's not true." He looked at his watch. "The man responsible is just about to realize that it's he who's not the secret any longer."

The Hostage Rescue Team (HRT) of the FBI was in position. As Agent in Charge George Weston watched the thermal monitor from the large house across the street, he was confused as to what he was looking at.

"Walk-in freezer?" he asked the technician sitting at the bank of monitors.

"Probably; by far the largest one I've ever seen. Then again, look at the house--who has that much money?"

"Evidently this Bozo does. Anything changed in the last two minutes?"

"No. We still have three hot bodies in the room the house specs say is the den, and three in the kitchen."

The AIC was worried about the room that the thermal scan was picking up, shading it a solid blue on the monitor. The warm bodies were easy to discern, but if someone was in that cold room, his team would not know it until they broke in.

"Is there any movement at all from the warm bodies in the den and kitchen?"

"None."

The AIC raised his walkie-talkie. "Red One, are the sniffers picking up anything?" he asked. He watched the monitor that showed the green night-vision image of the HRT Red One unit, whose job it was to check for minute traces of explosive materials by using the "sniffer," a small portable computer that smelled the interior air that escapes around windowsills and doorways. They were able to get so close because, surprisingly, the arrogant Mr. Tomlinson had no security grid around the house.

"Negative. Clean, cool air only; no nitrates are indicated and no chemical trace other than household deodorant and disinfectant are evident," the field tech answered.

He made his decision even as his eyes moved to the cold spot in the house.

"Okay, advance technical units move away. Strike team, we're a go in two minutes, on my order and by the book."

He did not need a response from the HRT as he saw that they were moving into position. His eyes moved to the cold spot and he frowned. He then forced his eyes away and saw the window, door, and upstairs teams reach their IPs.

"Stand by ... Move, move, move!" he said into his radio.

As the command team watched from across the street, the first team used a ram to break through the thick double doors and then a flash-bang grenade flew inside, and then smoke canisters quickly followed. The flash and boom echoed loudly even from across the way as agents dressed in black charged through the door just as more smashed through the front and back windows. Up on the roof of the three-story house, a rappeling unit jumped from the expensively shingled roof and smashed through the upstairs windows.

Two full detachments of HRTs, one from Chicago and the other from Kansas City--a full twenty heavily armored and armed men--were inside the large residence in less than thirty seconds.

As he watched through the window, forsaking the monitors, Weston saw more flash-bang grenades go off. He was relieved when there was no initial gunfire coming from the large mansion. Maybe this traitorous bastard Tomlinson will go down without a fight, Weston thought.

"Down, down, down on the fucking floor," came the shouts over the open microphones of the assault element. "One, study is secure. Kitchen is secure; five men and one woman in custody."

"Is Tomlinson one of them?" he asked, looking at the monitor that showed the cold room on the thermal camera.

"One, Tomlinson is--"

Suddenly and without warning, the Tudor mansion disintegrated. The explosion was so powerful that the entire HRT assault element vanished in a microsecond. The explosion ripped through the mansion and blew outward toward the surrounding homes.

Weston was killed a split second after he saw the thermals on the cold room suddenly go red. The house they had borrowed for a command post blew apart and collapsed. The two houses in the back and two on the sides of the Tomlinson residence blew inward and started burning. All told, with the sacrificial lambs the Coalition had left inside the house along with the twenty assault members of two HRT units and fifteen other FBI agents and Chicago police officers, forty-one died in the explosion.