Radclyffe - Honor Guards

"How bad is it?" Stark asked, her voice wavering for the first time since the assault had begun. Renee, Renee is there somewhere. She felt something that she hadn't felt even when she'd been standing in the midst of a hail of bullets. Agonizing, gut-wrenching fear. "Do we know anything about casualties?"

"I don't have any details. The only thing I know for sure is that we're under attack, and the city is not secure." Cam straightened as a voice finally sounded in her phone. "This is Trailblazer One. We need immediate coordinates for evacuation." She gave their current location, then listened. "Understood. Yes." She glanced at her watch. "ETA ten minutes. Clear the way for us." Cam closed the phone and leaned forward to speak to Davis. At the sudden movement, a wave of dizziness took her by surprise, and she was forced to close her eyes against the unexpected vertigo. She sucked in a sharp breath and braced her arm against the seat to steady herself.

"Cam?" Blair touched her lover's shoulder with concern. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but Cam's face was ashen. Suddenly, Blair's heart seized. There'd been so many shots, so many. Maybe Cam was hurt somewhere else. "Darling, please. Lean back. Let me look at you."

Blair's voice floated to her from far away, a lilting sound that made Cam want to drift on the sweetness of it and just sleep. Blinking several times, Cam shook her head vigorously, the movement causing the pounding behind her eyes to escalate and her mind to clear behind the surge of pain. Hoarsely, she instructed, "Davis. Evacuation route Bravo. No escort, but they'll clear the bridge for us."

"Yes, Commander." Felicia stared straight ahead, deftly maneuvering the Suburban through the ever-increasing traffic. She knew her job. She knew her duty. She functioned as the well-trained professional she was, but all she could think about was Mac. He might be dying, and he was alone. How can this be happening?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

0926 IX September 2001:

The FA7V has ordered all nonmilitary planes grounded and has canceled all flights in the United States.

093011 September 2001

"Davis, I'm patching NYPD traffic control through to you," Cam said. "They'll plot a route out of here for us."

Silently, Felicia adjusted the earphone from the NavCom, struggling to keep the image of Mac lying helpless and bleeding at bay while focusing on the directions relayed to her by an adrenaline-charged NYPD officer.

While Cam watched the street for signs of further attack, Foster's confiscated weapon in one hand and her cell phone in the other, Blair fought to clear her head of the kaleidoscope of nightmarish sounds and images that followed fast one upon the other. She could still hear the gunfire, smell the metallic odor of the bullets, see the neat round hole blossoming red in the center of Foster's forehead and Mac's body bouncing off the Suburban and crumpling to the ground. If all that weren't horror enough, she had visions of the tens of thousands of people in the World Trade Center who might be trapped, injured, or dying as a result of the plane crashes. It was more than she could absorb. Then a cold hand clamped around her heart. If we 're under this kind of attack here, what else might be happening? "Cam! My fath-—"

Shaking her head, Cam signaled with a tilt of her chin that she had an incoming call. "Roberts." She spared Blair a glance, her heart twisting at the panic she saw in her lover's eyes. She wanted to offer comfort, but she simply didn't have time. They weren't safe yet. "Egret is secure, but we've taken fire. I have casualties." She listened intently, narrowing her eyes against the throbbing pain at the base of her skull. "Negative...we've been internally compromised...Not in my opinion, no." She shook her head, and then regretted it as her stomach heaved. "No sign of pursuit. Negative.. I am not relaying my position. I will advise when I've determined that we are secure." She shook her head again, the pain eclipsed by anger and frustration. "On my authority."

Abruptly, Cam terminated the call, rested her head against the seat, and closed her eyes for a second. Mercifully, the nausea subsided. She opened her eyes and met Blair's. "That was the White House security chief. The president is safe. He's in the air, location and destination unknown."

"Thank God." Blair studied Cam intently, noting the fine mist of sweat on her forehead. "You don't look well."

"I'm all right."

"Cam—"

Cam set the phone aside and rested her fingers on the top of Blair's hand. "My head took a glancing hit and it's stirred up the headache. Not too bad."

Blair bit back another question. There was nothing to be done—Cam had to do what she was doing. "What were you arguing about with the White House?"

"The Armageddon protocol has been set in motion, and the idiots don't understand our situation here."

"What do you mean?" Blair asked quietly. She'd never heard Cam say anything quite so critical of her superiors. The Armageddon protocol, she knew, was a response plan initially orchestrated by the Reagan administration in preparation for a nuclear attack or some other massive strike aimed at eliminating the president and other high-ranking federal officials. A shadow government consisting of a predetermined list of appointees would be sequestered in undisclosed, secure locations until the threat was contained. Such action would ensure that the government would continue to function even if the president, his staff, and his cabinet were destroyed.

"Ordinarily, we would proceed to a safe house, but with Foster..." A muscle in Cam's jaw bunched tightly and her fingers turned white as she gripped the dead agent's gun—the one he had trained on Blair's heart. "With one of my agents involved in the assault, I have to assume we are completely compromised. I can't trust the safe house locations or any evacuation plan to be secure." We 're out here alone,

"Commander," Stark interrupted urgently. "I have Reynolds calling from command central."

Instantly, Cam held out her hand for the other phone. "Reynolds," she said sharply, "Mac Phillips has been wounded. He's in the...yes...yes. Status?...What about Parker?" She let out a breath, her eyes emptying of all emotion. "Evacuate and secure the building. Notify the FBI...wait...hold a minute." She passed the phone back to Stark. "I've got another priority call coming in. You work through securing the scene with him. See if he can get someone from the local FBI office. We need to keep this out of the news."

"Yes, ma'am." White faced, shivering in the sweat-soaked T-shirts and shorts she had been working out in, Stark extended her left hand. Her throbbing right arm was stiffening, and she cradled it against her abdomen to help contain the pain. She forced herself to think about the myriad details that needed to be addressed—most importantly, determining the identity of the unknown assailants. But what she desperately wanted to do was to ask for information about the situation at the World Trade Center. Her lover was there somewhere. But Blair was still in danger, and her duty came first. "All right, Reynolds. Listen up."

0941 11 September 2001

: American Airlines flight 77 has crashed into the west side of the Pentagon.

"Jesus Christ," Cam breathed as she heard the words she could not believe. Phone to her ear, she glanced at Blair. "They're evacuating the White House. A hijacked airliner just hit the Pentagon."

"Oh my dear Lord." Blair's eyes grew huge, brimming with agony and despair. "This can't be happening. Oh, Cam."

"We're leaving the city, Commander. Your orders?" Felicia's voice through the open partition that separated the rear compartment from the driver's area was hollow, eerily devoid of inflection.