THE INSIDE OF USNS Bob Hope looked like the parking garage from hell, with vehicles jammed in so closely that a rat would have had a difficult time passing between them. To board a tank, an arriving crew had to walk on the decks of the vehicles, crouching lest they smash their skulls into the overhead, and they found themselves wondering about the sanity of those who’d periodically had to check the vehicles, turning over the engines and working the guns back and forth so that rubber and plastic seals wouldn’t dry out.-
Assigning crews to tracks and trucks had been an administrative task of no small proportions, but the ship was loaded in such a way as to allow the most important items off first. The Guardsmen arrived as units, with computerized printouts giving them the number and location of their assigned vehicles, and ship crewmen pointing them to the quickest way out. Less than an hour after the ship tied up, the first M1A2 main-battle tank rolled off the ramp onto the quay to board the same tank transporter used shortly before by a tank of the 11th Cav, and with the same drivers. Unloading would take more than a day, and most of another would be needed to get WOLFPACK Brigade organized.
1235
THE DAWN PROVED to be a pretty one, Aref Raman saw with satisfaction as he pulled into West Executive Drive. It would be a clear day for his mission. The uniformed guard at the gate waved hello as the security barrier went down. Another car came in behind him, and that one went through as well. It parked two spaces from his spot, and Raman recognized the driver as that FBI guy, O’Day, who’d been so lucky at the day-care center. There was no sense in hating the man. He’d been defending his own child, after all.
“How are you doing?” the FBI inspector asked cordially.
“Just got in from Pittsburgh,” Raman replied, hefting his suitcase out of the trunk.
“What the hell were you doing up there?”
“Advance work–but that speech won’t be happening, I guess. What are you in for?” Raman was grateful for the distraction. It allowed him to get his mind into the game, as it were.
“The Director and I have something to brief the Boss about. Gotta shower first, though.”
“Shower?”
“Disinfec–oh, you haven’t been here. A White House staff member is sick with this virus thing. Everybody has to shower and disinfect on the way in now. Come on,” O’Day said, carrying a briefcase. Both men went through the West Entrance. Both buzzed the metal detectors, but since both were sworn federal officers, nothing was made of the fact that both were carrying side arms. The inspector pointed to the left.
“This is a treat, showing you something in the place,” he joked to Raman.
“Been in a lot lately?” The Secret Service agent saw that two offices had been converted into something. One marked MEN and the other WOMEN. Andrea Price came out of one just then, her hair wet, and, he noted as she passed him, smelling of chemicals.
“Hey, Jeff, how was the drive? Pat, how’s the hero?” she inquired.
1236
“Hey, no big deal, Price. Just two rag-heads,” O’Day said with a grin. He opened the MEN door and went in, and set his briefcase down.
It had clearly been a rush job, Raman saw. Some minor functionary had had the office, but all the furniture was gone and the floor covered with plastic. A hanging rack was there for clothing. O’Day stripped down and headed into the canvas-enclosed shower.
“These damn chemicals at least wake you up,” the FBI inspector reported as the water started. He emerged two minutes later and started toweling off vigorously. “Your turn, Raman.”
“Great,” the Service agent griped, removing his clothing and showing some of the lingering body modesty of his parent society. O’Day didn’t look at him and didn’t look away. Didn’t do anything except dry off, until Raman was behind the canvas. The agent’s service pistol, a SigSauer, had been set atop the clothing rack. O’Day opened his briefcase first. Then he pulled Raman’s automatic, ejected the magazine, and quietly worked the action to remove the chambered round.
“How are the roads?” O’Day called.
“Clear, made great time–damn, this water stinks!”
“Ain’t that the truth!” Raman kept two spare magazines for his pistol. O’Day saw. He put all three in the lid-pocket before unwrapping the four he’d prepared. One he slid into the butt of the Sig. He worked the action one more time to load a round, then replaced it with a new, full magazine, and two more for the agent’s belt holder. Finished, he hefted the gun. Weight and balance were exactly the same as before. Everything went back in place as O’Day returned to dressing. He needn’t have rushed. Raman evidently needed a shower. Maybe he was purifying himself, the inspector thought coldly.
“Here.” O’Day tossed over a towel as he put his shirt on.
“Glad I brought a change.” Raman pulled new underwear and socks from his two-suiter.
“I guess it’s a rule you have to be all spiffy when you work in with the President, eh?” The FBI agent bent down to tie his shoes. He looked up. “Morning, Director.”
1237
“I don’t know why I bothered at home,” Murray grumped. “Got the paperwork, Pat?”
“Yes, sir. This is something to show him.”
“Damned right it is.” And Murray doffed his jacket and tie. “White House locker room,” he noted. “Morning, Raman.”
Both agents completed dressing, made sure their personal weapons were tucked in the right place, then stepped outside.
“Murray and I are going right in,” Pat told the other in the corridor. They didn’t have to wait long for Murray, and then Price showed up again, just as the FBI Director reemerged. O’Day rubbed his nose to tell her all was done. She nodded back.
“Jeff, want to take these gentlemen into the office? I have to head to the command post. The Boss is waiting.”
“Sure, Andrea. This way,” Raman said, leading O’Day. Behind them, Price waited and did not head toward the command post.
In the next level up, Raman saw TV equipment being prepared for installation in the Oval Office. Arnie van Damm buzzed out the corridor entrance, trailed by Cal-lie Weston. President Ryan was at his desk in the usual shirtsleeves, going through a folder. CIA Director Ed Foley was in there, too.
“Enjoy the shower, Dan?” the DCI asked.
“Oh, yeah, I’m losing the rest of my hair, Ed.”
“Hi, Jeff,” the President said, looking up.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Raman said, taking his usual place against the wall.
“Okay, Dan, what do you guys have for me?” Ryan asked.
“We’ve broken an Iranian espionage ring. We think it’s associated with the attempt on your daughter.” While Murray talked, O’Day opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder,
“The Brits turned the connection,” Foley started to say. “And the contact here is a guy named Alahad–would you believe the bastard has a business about a mile from here?”
1238
“We have him under surveillance right now,” Murray put in. “We’re running his phone records.”
They were all looking down at the papers on the President’s desk and didn’t see Raman’s face freeze in place. His mind started racing, as though a drug had been injected into his bloodstream. If they were doing that right now . . . There might still be a chance, a slim one, but if not, here was the President, the directors of FBI and CIA, and he could deliver them all to Allah, and if that weren’t sacrifice enough… Raman unbuttoned his jacket with his left hand. He eased off the spot on the wall he was leaning against and closed his eyes for a quick prayer. Then, in a rapid, smooth movement, his right hand went to his automatic.
Raman was surprised to see the President’s eyes move and stare right at him. Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Ryan should know that his death was coming, and the only shame was he’d never quite understand why.
Ryan flinched as the pistol came out. The reaction was automatic, despite the briefing on what to expect, and the sign from O’Day that it was okay. He dodged anyway, wondering if he could really trust anyone, and saw that Jeff Raman’s hands tracked him and pulled back on the trigger like an automaton, no emotion in his eyes at all–
The sound made everyone jump, albeit for different reasons.
Pop.
That was all. Raman’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. The weapon was loaded. He could feel the added weight of the live rounds in it, and–
“Put it down,” O’Day said calmly, his Smith out and aimed now. An instant later, Murray had his service weapon out.
“We have Alahad in custody already,” the Director explained.
Raman had another weapon, a telescoping billy club called an Asp, but the President was fifteen feet away and …