Vince Flynn - Transfer of Power

Reavers gained on him, and when he thought he had a chance, he dropped his weapon clear and leapt, both hands extended.

Reavers caught Harris’s right boot, and they came to a skidding halt.

Only half of Harris’s upper body was on the roof. The other half was dangling over the edge, the parachute fully inflated by the driving storm continuing to tug him from Reavers’s grip.

With Reavers preventing him from floating away, Harris got enough play in one of the main straps to undo the clasp and let it go. The chute instantly flattened and began snapping in the wind With the tension reduced, the other clasp was free and released in seconds. The parachute then floated away for about fifty feet until it hit the southeast corner of the West Wing. There it came to rest flapping in the wind, hugging the building.

RAPP HONESTLY THOUGHT they were about to pull off the infiltration without a hitch. And then he heard the call that Whiskey Four was in trouble. His ears perked up, and his eyes intently watched the small monitor at his feet. The terrorist on the screen was sitting with his back to the door. Rapp could see the Tango’s AK-74 leaning against the table within arm’s reach.

After several tense seconds it came over the radio that Whiskey Four was okay and that the team was proceeding into the mansion. Rapp eased a bit, and then he saw the Tango come forward in his chair. Rapp’s body shifted forward as he continued to watch the small screen at his feet.

The Tango had seen something on one of the monitors, but Rapp couldn’t see what it was. When the terrorist’s left hand reached out, Rapp noticed what looked like a radio sitting on the console.

“Go!” The word came from his mouth without any thought or pause.

Rielly turned the key, twisted the knob, and shoved the door open. Rapp was moving through the opening instantly, his silenced MP-10 hugged tight, and his left eye boring down the sights. The terrorist’s head was framed perfectly. The radio was coming to his mouth. He had already got the name Rafique out and was just starting to say something else.

Rapp squeezed the trigger once and held it for a second.

Two rounds spit from the end of the silencer and hit the Tango directly in the back of the head. The hollow-point Glaser rounds breached the skull and released a total of six hundred sixty lethal miniature projectiles. The terrorist was propelled forward, his head landing on the console and his radio dropping to the floor.

Rapp moved quickly for the terrorist’s radio, saying over his lip mike, “I need help. Get the Whiskey Team over here on the double.”

Keeping his gun trained on the open door that led out into the hallway, he grabbed the radio and brought it up to his ear. The voice he heard on the other end caused Rapp’s skin to crawl. It was Aziz.

Rapp had to think fast. Speaking into his own headset first, he said, “Control, we may have to go with jamming. Be ready to do so on my command.” Rapp thought about how to play it. Afterjust a second or two he brought the radio to his mouth and hoped his clipped Farsi accent would work.

“Everything’s all right. It was nothing.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Aziz asked, “Who is this?”

Rapp hesitated for only a second. Into his lip mike, he said, “Control, jam everything! I repeat, everything!”

AZIZ LOOKED AT the door to the presidents bunker and then at the electronic device in his hand. He spoke into his radio for a third time and then held it to his ear.

Nothing came back. Without having to be asked, Bengazi tried his radio.

The result was the same. Aziz calmly checked the digital pager clipped to his hip and then looked at Bengazi.

“Take Ragib, check the stairwell, and try to reestablish radio contact.”

Aziz then turned to yassin, who was sticking a long spikelike object through one of the holes he had drilled.

“Keep working,” he told the plump little man.

Aziz walked down the hallway, following his men, and when they reached the stairwell, he waited for them at the bottom.

As Bengazi and Ragib disappeared into the stairwell, Aziz tried his radio again. It still didn’t work. Now he began to get nervous. If the radios failed, that was one thing, but if the Americans were jamming them and they covered the frequencies of his digital pagers, that would be something entirely different.

The countdown would begin on the bombs, and if the Americans did not stop jamming the signal, there was nothing he could do to stop them from going off. He had only several options, and he didn’t have a lot of time to think them through.

RAPP STOOD NEXT to the main doorway of Horsepower looking down the hall, waiting for a Tango to come around the corner any second. Rielly had ventured into the room and was staring at the dead terrorist. Rapp brought his hand up and motioned for her to get behind him.

She didn’t see his gesture, and Rapp said, “Anna, get over here, and stay behind me.” Rapp looked back down the hall again and said, “Whiskey Four, where in the hell are you?”

“We’re in the tunnel. We be there in a second.”

“Hurry up.”

Commander Harris, who was in the lead, passed a tired Milt Adams and sprinted up the stairs. He arrived in Horsepower with his weapon up and sweeping the room.

Rapp heard him enter and turned.

“We need to take these guys out quick before they figure out what’s going on.”

“What about the bombs?” The other three black-clad SEALS entered the room.

“We pray they don’t go off while we’re shooting, and we worry about them later.”

“Slow down a minute.” General Campbell’s voice came over their radios.

“We need to make sure we know what we’re doing first.”

“We’ve got one Tango upstairs watching a half a dozen hostages or more.”

Rapp spoke rapidly.

“We’re blind in the mess, but we know there’s at least three Tangos watching over the hostages. There’s nothing else to discuss. These guys are going to get real antsy if they don’t start hearing something on their radios. We need to move now.”

“I agree.” Harris backed up Rapp.

“What’s the Tango in the Roosevelt Room doing?” asked Rapp.

“Nothing. He’s just sitting in his chair, but Aziz and several others are on the move.”

“Where’s Delta?”

“They’re on their way in.” Rapp looked at Harris. “The mess is down the hall, first left and then first right. Take your team and clear the room. I’ll go upstairs and take care of the loner.”

“Why don’t I give you Mick?”

Rapp shook his head.

“Thanks, but I don’t need him. I’ve got video on what he’s doing.

“You’re flying blind.

“You need the extra man more than I do.” Rapp started to move for the other door. He grabbed Riellys hand and said to Harris and the boys, “Good luck. I’ll see you in about twenty seconds.”

When Rapp reached the back steps. Milt Adams was slowly climbing the staircase from the tunnel. He looked exhausted. Turning to Rielly, Rapp said, “Wait here with Milt.”

Then on the way up the stairs to the Oval Office, he remembered all of the bombs. Into his lip mike he said, “Control, you’d better start thinking of a way to get us out of here.”

BACK AT LANGLEY, Kennedy was already on the job.

Things were moving along at a frantic pace. General Campbells Joint Special Operations Command staff was busy monitoring every aspect of the mission and telling the general only the things he needed to be most concerned about. Fortunately, everyone in the room had received enough training and, in some cases, real-life experience that they knew to keep their mouths shut unless what they had to say was imperative. During a frenetic operation like this, it was easy to swamp the lines of communications.