Peter Kirsanow - Second Strike

“They’re too good for that, Mike.”

“Good has nothing to do with it, Congo. Don’t give them any reason to fire, but don’t give the other windbreakers a chance to do anything. Use your best judgment. Then take them out.”

Knox weaved between a stopped cab and an oncoming ambulance. “Mike, Dan says Olivia left for the OEOB a few minutes ago.”

There was silence for a beat. “Stay focused. Make sure they don’t have backup; make sure they don’t set off another vest,” Garin said. “And make sure you don’t get waxed by Secret Service in the process.”

WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM, WASHINGTON, D.C.,

AUGUST 18, 1:43 P.M. EDT

President Marshall watched and James Brandt listened to the chaos on the screen in the Situation Room.

First responders were massed throughout the entrance to Union Station and Columbus Circle performing triage operations, identifying and separating those victims likely to survive from those who would soon die. Dozens of stretchers were lined up on the pavement near Columbus Fountain awaiting patients. EMTs moved about swiftly, tending to the injured and carrying patients toward ambulances. Audio captured commands and screams and cries while handheld cameras bounced and swayed, displaying horrific scenes of agony and death.

Unofficial casualty estimates ranged from 120 to 150 dead and more than four hundred injured, but several reporters acknowledged that at this stage the figures were guesswork. Marshall had been told by Homeland Security that the numbers could easily triple by the end of the day.

The expression on the president’s face shifted constantly between anger and anguish. A terrorist act that would claim scores of lives had occurred on his watch. Although his administration was barely six months old and the previous administration had been notoriously lax about matters of security, responsibility for this failure fell to the Marshall administration alone.

The newscasts were reporting that the blast appeared to be the work of a suicide bomber. There were few witnesses since most who could’ve provided useful information had been killed or maimed by the explosion. Most of the security cameras in the vicinity of the attack had been damaged or destroyed. DHS told Marshall, however, that one cabdriver fortunate to have somehow avoided serious injury reported seeing a jumpy guy with a white windbreaker near the entrance to Union Station seconds before the blast. According to the driver, the jumpy guy “looked like one of those folks beheading people on TV.”

Standing protocols were implemented almost instantly. Both government and private sector office workers were advised to remain where they were until further notice. Those people traveling about the District—whether workers, tourists, or errand runners—were asked to return to their headquarters, hotels, and homes. Off-duty members of the safety forces were summoned to assist and be ready to be deployed in case of further attacks.

There was a brief debate regarding the advisability of suspending ground transportation and air traffic in and out of the city. They settled upon temporary partial suspension, to be adjusted as developing circumstances warranted.

The security apparatus of the nation’s capital operated smoothly, competently, and efficiently. All necessary resources moved swiftly into place. None of which provided Marshall any solace. In his mind, he had failed the American people. Whatever legacy the remainder of his term might produce—whether strong economic growth or foreign policy success—it would be marred by this day. What troubled Marshall the most was the sense that the day’s events—the bad ones—weren’t over. The commander in chief reassured himself, in part, with the thought that the best security personnel in the world were handling the matter. But he drew most comfort from the knowledge that he had given Mike Garin sanction to do what he did best.

WASHINGTON, D.C.,

AUGUST 18, 1:47 P.M. EDT

At that moment, Garin was doing nothing except continuing his surveillance of the Russian embassy. There were no signs of activity. The sounds of distant sirens had dissipated, but there was an energy, a tension in the air, as police and other government vehicles sped down nearby streets. Clearly, the authorities weren’t sure the threat was over.

Garin was certain there was more to come. No matter how severe the attack had been, the true threat was still within the walls of the Russian embassy. The Butcher had said as much. There was to be a diversionary strike, then the main strike, to be backed up by Bor. Preventing the main strike was out of Garin’s hands. But he found it interesting that there was a backup.

Olivia was the first to discover the backup plan.

Sitting in the SCIF, she was continuing to scan the Hammacher file, but the critical components of the plan had already coalesced in her mind. The plan was aggressive and bold, even hideous.

If Olivia’s conclusions were correct, Russia was about to strike the United States in a way seemingly indifferent to the principle of mutually assured destruction. Mikhailov was taking an enormous gamble, a reckless gamble. Maybe she was wrong, maybe Mikhailov knew something she didn’t, but Olivia believed the gamble was an uncharacteristic mistake by the Russian president, one that would have catastrophic consequences.

Olivia rapidly skimmed through the rest of the text. She found nothing that changed her original conclusion, but she wanted to be sure before she informed Brandt, who was next door, in the White House. For a moment she considered calling Garin with the information, then instantly rejected the thought. She’d seen him operate close-up. He could stop this. But she had no authority to pass on the information without clearance from either her boss or the president himself, even though the president said he had Garin’s back.

Olivia walked quickly out of the room and through the OEOB and the plaza separating the OEOB from the White House.

One down, two to go.

Even if the last two segments of his mission failed, Stepulev believed he’d already accomplished the objective. The bombing at Union Station had exceeded their expectations. Although he had driven clear of Columbus Circle by the time of the blast, the roar of the explosion had been extraordinary and the radio news had already estimated deaths likely would be in the hundreds. An event of that magnitude at a transportation hub in the nation’s capital easily would constitute the “distraction” desired by his superiors.

Stepulev hadn’t, however, anticipated that the bombing would cause Washington traffic to so quickly come to a crawl. He had little experience driving in the city. He’d made several detours around his planned path and determined that dropping off a windbreaker at the second strike point would prolong the mission to the point of jeopardizing the third and most spectacular strike. He would be discovered and interdicted.

So Stepulev proceeded directly to the last strike point. Although he’d been given latitude to change the progression as circumstances dictated, he thought it best to give his superiors notice, so he palmed his cell and hit a preset.

Bor answered. “Congratulations. So far.”

“Traffic congestion is greater than anticipated. As a result I am proceeding to the third strike point. Tell Moscow.”

“I will,” Bor said. “You should know Moscow had calculated you would complete two strikes at most. If you are able to execute the third target it will be an unanticipated bonus.”