Radclyffe - Honor Guards

"All right," Blair answered from the shower. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

0842 11Sep0l

Report: Confirmed - Team Four aboard United Airlines flight 93 en route to San Francisco has departed from Newark Airport. 38 passengers and 7 crew members.

0843 11 September 2001

The instant Cam walked into the command center, she knew from the expression on Mac's face that there was a serious problem. "Report."

"Look at this." Mac indicated the computer screen where he was monitoring encrypted messages transmitted from the Department of Defense to a select group of high-level recipients.

0843 11 September 2001:

The FAA has notified NORAD that United Airlines flight 175 from Boston to LAX has been hijacked.

"That's the second plane." Mac's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. His body, however, was rigid with tension.

Two of them at once. Cam felt an instant unease and glanced at the bank of monitors that showed the building's exterior, the lobby, and the stairwells. Nothing seemed amiss—Foster and Parker were visible talking at the desk in the lobby. The street outside was clear. She turned her attention back to the computer as another message appeared.

0844 11 September 2001

: NORAD has scrambled two F-15 fighters from Otis Air National Guard Base in Falmouth, Massachusetts on intercept course to New York City.

"Whatever's going on, someone thinks it's headed this way." Mac's hands were clenched on the desktop.

"Call Captain Landry and see if you can get a local update from the NYPD." Cam's voice was tight, her mind sorting possibilities and struggling to make sense of something that could not be rationalized by a sane mind.

"Roger that," Mac responded grimly. As he reached for the phone, Cam gripped his shoulder hard.

"Wait."

Mac swiveled back to his console, and as he read, his blood ran cold.

0847 11 September 2001

: American Airlines flight 11 has crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

It had begun.

"Oh my God," Mac uttered in a hushed, stunned voice.

It made no sense. It was inconceivable. It was too monumental to be absorbed.

Cam narrowed her eyes and focused on her duty, which was all that she could do in the face of such horror. "We're evacuating. Now. Advise Stark to get the cars."

Out of habit, Mac swept the bank of monitors to his right.

"Commander!"

Cam followed his gaze, a tight fist closing around her heart. On the monitor, four shadowy figures burst through the lobby door, automatic weapons raised. Cynthia Parker came out from behind the counter, her extended arms jerking slightly as she discharged her service weapon. The first man through the door fell. The one immediately behind him leveled his weapon and the muzzle flashed. In the eerie silence of the black-and-white tableau, Parker's body lifted from the floor and flew backward, disappearing out of range of the cameras.

"Signal red alert and lock us down," Cam snapped, drawing her automatic. "Evacuate through the rear. Use the stairs."

As Cam ran toward the stairwell to reach the penthouse and her lover, Foster stepped from the elevator into the foyer outside Blair's door.

CHAPTER THIRTY

0900 11 September 2001 (Sarasota, Florida)

: The president of the United States has been informed by the White House chief of staff that a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center.

S tark heard her radio sound a red alert at the same instant Mac burst through the doors of the gym. Red alert—a direct assault on Egret. She didn't need to know anything else; she was already on her feet and reaching for her weapon. Across the room, Felicia did the same.

"Stark, back up the commander in the Aerie," Mac gasped, his pale face streaked with sweat despite the cool, air-conditioned atmosphere in the command center. "Felicia, we need to get the cars."

There was no time for questions or explanations. There was no conversation at all as Felicia immediately disappeared with Mac. Stark raced down the narrow corridor outside the gym toward the stairwell at its end, her heart thundering with the adrenaline rush, but her mind completely clear. She had trained for this moment for years. She darted into the equipment room and grabbed a bulletproof vest. One was all she could carry, but one was all she needed. Less than thirty seconds after Mac's orders, she was in the stairwell. As she pounded up the stairs, taking two at a time, a brief shaft of light streaked across her line of vision, and she knew that someone had just gone through the door above into the penthouse foyer.

090111 September 2001

When the knock sounded at her door, Blair settled a navy blue New York Yankees baseball cap over her hair, tucked her wallet into the back pocket of her jeans, and crossed the loft with a rush of anticipation. She and Cam so rarely had unscheduled time together that this unexpected outing felt like a gift.

Maybe after breakfast, I can talk Cam into going off-radio for a few hours. Diane won't mind if we make an unplanned visit. God, only two days and it feels like forever since we 've been alone together.

Her mind preoccupied with sweet remembrances of her last moments in Cam's arms and the promise of pleasures to come, she pulled open the door.

0902 11 September 2001:

United Airlines flight 75 has crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center, demolishing floors 78 through 87 .

0903 11 September 2001

Cam shouldered through the heavy metal stairwell door twenty feet from where Foster stood in front of Blair's apartment. In a fraction of a second, time slowed and her vision tunneled until all she saw was the man, the weapon raised in his hand, and the door to her lover's loft swinging open.

There was no time for analysis. No time for reason. The rules had been altered forever at 8:45 a.m., September 11,2001.

"Foster," she shouted, leveling her automatic, "drop the weapon!"

When he heard his name, Foster hesitated in the act of centering his weapon on Blair Powell's chest. Swiftly, he swung to his left in the direction from which the command had come, preparing to fire.

Cam didn't hesitate. She knew only one thing, the only thing that mattered. Secret Service Agent Foster's automatic had been pointed at the most important person in her world.

She shot him through the forehead, and he dropped without a sound.

Then she was running, Blair's scream replacing the silence that had filled her mind since she'd seen the assault team come through the lobby door and kill her agent.

"Oh my God, Cam!" Blair stood in the doorway, staring at Foster's inert form, the blood pooling beneath his head and soaking into the Oriental carpet beneath his body. Her eyes wide with shock, she stared at her lover's grim face. Cam's eyes were hard, darker than Blair had ever seen them. "What's happening?"

"We're under attack. Let's go."

At that moment, Cam heard the stairwell door opening behind her. She shouldered Blair back into her apartment and pivoted toward the stairs, crouching into a firing stance.

"Commander, all clear," Stark shouted as she ran up, breathing hard but her voice steady.

Swiftly, Cam took the Kevlar vest from her and extended it to Blair. "Put this on." Then she bent down, picked up Foster's service automatic from where it lay by his lifeless right hand, and held it out to her lover. "Can you use this?"

"Yes," Blair replied, the faintest tremor in her voice. She shrugged into the vest, knowing there was no time to argue and knowing that she couldn't. Whatever had happened, Cam was in charge. Had to be in charge. There could only be one leader in moments like this.