Vince Flynn - Transfer of Power

“Good. I do not trust them. With all of their technology, who knows how they might have tried to trick us.”

Bengazi nodded in agreement.

“As you requested.” He handed Aziz the notepad that was under his left arm.

“Here is a list of all the hostages by name and position. I circled the most important ones.”

Aziz leaned back in the chair and flipped through the pages, his chin resting on his chest.

“Seventy-six total hostages.”

“That is correct.”

Aziz found what he was looking for on the third page-it was the name of the first person he would kill. He tapped the name with his finger and then asked, “How many Secret Service agents?”

“I did not include them with the seventy-six hostages. They are on the next page. Nine alive, four of whom are in need of medical attention. We also have several marines and other military types mixed in with them.”

“Do you have them separated from the others?”

Yes. They are upstairs, as you planned.”

“Bound and hooded?

“Aziz asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course.”

“Have any of the civilians tried to distinguish themselves as leaders?”

“None so far.”

Flipping the notebook back to the first page, Aziz said, “When the first one stands up”-he held up his forefinger-“and tries to show bravado, I want you to come and get me. I will deal with him personally. We are spread thin enough as it is. I do not want to have to worry about some cowboy giving us trouble from within.”

Bengazi nodded and suggested, “I think it might be a good idea to let the civilians go to the bathroom.”

Aziz looked at his watch. It was a reasonable request, and one that would help calm them.

“Fine, but leave the Secret Service agents and the marines to wallow in their own excrement.”

“Yes, Rafique. Do you wish to inspect the explosives?”

“No. I trust that you have done your job. Now I have to make a phone call.” Aziz pointed at the TV.

“They are getting ready to meet at their Pentagon.”

Bengazi nodded.

“If you do not need me for anything else, I have some details to attend to.”

“One more thing,” said Aziz, as he tilted his chin upward.

“How is our little thief coming along?”

“All of his equipment is in place, and he has started work.”

With a shrug, Bengazi added, “He tells me he is on schedule.”

“Good. Keep an eye on him.” Aziz lowered his chin.

“He is, after all, not one of us.”

“I told him not to go anywhere other than the bathroom unless he calls me first,” Bengazi said with a smile.

“I told him there are booby traps everywhere and I wouldn’t want him to accidentally set one off.”

With a smile, Aziz placed a flat hand on his radio and said, “If I need anything, I will call.” He watched Bengazi start for the door and said, “Muammar, relax. They will not be coming tonight. The politicians are in charge right now. They will keep the FBI at bay until we are ready.”

Bengazi nodded. “I know; you told me how things would proceed, but the time for them to attack would be now, before we get settled in. The hostages are still strong and fresh. They could give us trouble. In three days we will have them weakened and confused. If I were them, I would attack now.”

Aziz grinned at his friend.

“You have to understand how Washington works. The military will advise to move quickly and with overwhelming force, but the politicians will want to move with caution.”

“What about the FBI?”

“They will stay in the middle and take orders like they always do.

Relax, my friend, they will not be coming for a while… With a look of amusement, Aziz added, “In fact, I will probably have to provoke them into attacking.”

Bengazi raised his thick eyebrows.

“When the time is right.”

Precisely. You are wearing the special clothes I gave you?”

Bengazi shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?” asked Aziz with a touch of anger.

“I don’t feel right abandoning the other men if it comes to that.”

“The plan will not work if everybody is in on it, Muammar.

I am ordering you to put them on. If the Americans come, it is our only chance.” Bengazi nodded reluctantly and then left. Aziz watched him go and thought about his plan for escape. It had a chance of working. Some things had to go their way, but at the very least, it gave them a fighting chance. If he could just get his hands on the president, none of it would matter.

Aziz returned his attention to the TVS, where the networks were now talking to their Pentagon reporters. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on the TV carrying CNN.

Aziz listened as the correspondent announced that the vice president and other federal authorities were holding an emergency meeting at the Pentagon. The terrorist smiled as he looked around the opulent Situation Room. Such meetings were usually held in the very room he occupied. THE JOINT CHIEFS briefing room is located in the inner sanctum of the monolithic five-sided building that houses the United States Department of Defense-the E Ring. The wide hallway that cuts in front of the modern crisis center is cluttered with more stars and bars than any other government building or military base in the world. Colonels and captains that walk the corridor find themselves saluting as often as a private fresh out of basic training. The E Ring is not known for being a lighthearted, casual workplace, and on this particular day the mood had taken on an even more serious tone.

Two marines stood post by the wide double doors as Washington’s biggest players filed into the soon bristling room.

With aides in tow, the president’s entire cabinet trickled into the room until it was filled almost to capacity. The secretary of the interior was first, followed by the secretary of health and human services, and then the secretary of state. Within five minutes the entire cabinet had arrived, minus the attorney general. The room quickly took on the sound of a crowded bar as aides talked to their bosses and propped them on the most recent news.

When FBI Director Roach and Special Agent Skip Mcmahon entered the room, they were hit with a flurry of questions. Fortunately for Roach and Mcmahon, General Flood entered the room with the other members of the Joint Chiefs just seconds later. Flood walked to the far end of the table and placed a large black ceramic coffee mug on the table.

“Everyone take a seat.” Flood’s commanding voice carried through the large room, and the talking was instantly reduced to a trickle.

“Let’s go, people.” Flood clapped his hands together and pointed at the chairs arranged around the forty-foot rectangular conference table.

“We have a lot of work to do.”

As the attendees took their seats. Vice President Baxter entered the room with Attorney General Tutwiler and Dallas King. The three of them proceeded to the opposite end of the table from General Flood, where chairs had been saved for them. The secretary of state, a close friend of President Hayes, leaned over and immediately began asking Baxter just what in the hell was going on. While he was doing so, CIA director Stansfield entered the room with Irene Kennedy and Mitch Rapp. Flood pointed to three seats near his end of the huge table and then motioned for one of his aides to close the doors.

An Army major walked over to the tall double doors and swung them closed with a finality that let everyone know the meeting was starting.

“People,” announced Flood, “I’m not going to pussyfoot around on this.

There are a lot of rumors going around about what happened over at the White House this morning-some of them scratch the surface, but most of them are way off base.