“You never get used to the thrill,” he was saying. “In a couple of seconds you go from a standstill to a hundred fifty knots.”
“And if something goes wrong?” the Princess asked.
“You go swimming,” Robby answered.
“Mr. Avery,” the hand-held radio squawked.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Washington’s on the line.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” Avery walked down the driveway toward the communications van. Longley, the leader of the British contingent, tagged along. Both had left their raincoats there anyway, and they’d need them in a few minutes. They could see lightning flashes a few miles away, and the jagged strokes of light were approaching fast.
“So much for the weather,” Longley said.
“I was hoping it would miss us.” The wind lashed at them again, blowing dust from the plowed field on the other side of Falcon’s Nest Road. They passed the two men carrying a covered plate of sandwiches. A black puppy trotted along behind in the hope that they’d drop one.
“This Ryan fellow’s a decent chap, isn’t he?”
“He’s got a real nice kid. You can tell a lot about a man from his kids,” Avery thought aloud. They got to the van just as the first sprinkles started. The Secret Service agent got on the radiophone.
“Avery here.”
“Chuck, this is Bill Shaw at the Bureau. I just got a call from our forensics people at that house in Howard County.”
“Okay.”
At the other end of the connection, Shaw was looking at a map and frowning. “They can’t find any prints. Chuck. They have guns, they have ammo, some of the guns were being cleaned, but no prints. Not even on the hamburger wrappers. Something feels bad.”
“What about the car that got shot up in western Maryland?”
“Nothing, not a damned thing. Like the bad guys jumped in a hole and pulled it in behind them.”
That was all Shaw had to say. Chuck Avery had been a Secret Service agent all of his adult life, and was normally on the Presidential detail. He thought exclusively in terms of threats. This was an inevitable consequence of his job. He guarded people whom other people wanted to kill. It had given him a limited and somewhat paranoid outlook on life. Avery’s mind reviewed his threat briefing. The enemy here is extremely clever . . .
“Thanks for the tip, Bill. We’ll keep our eyes open.” Avery got into his coat and picked up his radio. “Team One, this is Avery. Heads up. Assemble at the entrance. We have a possible new threat.” The full explanation will have to wait.
“What’s the matter?” Longley asked.
“There’s no real evidence at the house, the lab people haven’t found any prints.”
“They couldn’t have had time to wipe everything before they left.” Longley didn’t need much of a hint either. “It might all have been planned to –”
“Exactly. Let’s get out and talk to the troops. First thing, I’m going to get the perimeter spread out some. Then I’ll call for more police backup.” The rain was pelting the van now. “I guess we’re all going to get wet.”
“I want two more people at the house,” Longley said.
“Agreed, but let’s brief the people first.” He slid the door open and both men went back up the driveway.
The agents on perimeter duty came together where the driveway met the road. They were alert, but it was hard to see with the wind-driven rain in their faces and the stinging dust blowing from the field on the other side of the road. Several were trying to finish sandwiches. One agent did a head count and came up one short. He sent a fellow agent to fetch the man whose radio was evidently out. Ernie tagged along with him; this agent had given him half a sandwich.
“You want to retire to the living room?” Cathy waved at the seats a few feet away. “I’d like to clear these dishes away.”
“I’ll do it, Cath,” Sissy Jackson said. “You go sit down.” She went into the kitchen and got the apron. Ryan knew for certain that Cathy had warned the Jacksons — Sissy at least, since she was wearing what on further inspection seemed an expensive dress. Everyone stood, and Robby walked off to the bathroom for a head call.
“Here we go,” Alex said. He was at the wheel now. “All ready?”
“Go!” O’Donnell said. Like Alex, he wanted to be out in front with his troops. “Thank God for the weather!”
“Right,” Alex agreed. He flipped the van’s headlights to high beam. He saw two groups of agents, standing a few yards apart.
The security force saw the approaching lights, and, being trained men, they kept a close eye on it despite knowing who it was and what it had been doing. Thirty yards from them there was a flash and a bang. Some men reached instinctively for their guns, then stopped when they saw that the vehicle’s left-front tire had blown and was fluttering on the road as the driver struggled to get the truck back under control. It stopped right in front of the driveway. No one had commented on the ladders before. No one noticed their absence now. The driver got out and looked at the wheel.
“Aw, shit!”
Two hundred yards away, Avery saw the truck sitting on the road, and his instincts set off an alarm. He started running.
The van’s door slid back, revealing four men with automatic weapons.
The agents a few feet away reacted in a moment, but too late. Barely had the door moved when the first weapon fired. A cylindrical silencer hung on the muzzle, which muffled the noise, but not the tongue of white flame that hovered in the darkness, and five men were down in the first second. The other gunmen had already joined in, and the first group of agents was wiped out without having fired a single return shot. The terrorists leaped out of the side and back doors of the van and engaged the second group. One Secret Service agent got his Uzi up and fired a short burst that killed the first man out of the back of the van, but the man behind him killed the agent with his weapon. Two more of the guards were now dead, and the other four of the group dropped to the ground and tried to return fire.
“What the hell is that?” Ryan said. The sound was hard to distinguish through the noise of the rain and the recurring thunder. Heads throughout the room turned. There was a British security officer in the kitchen and two Secret Service agents on the deck outside the room. Their heads had already turned, and one man was reaching for his radio.
Avery’s service revolver was out. As team leader he didn’t bother carrying anything but his Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum. His other hand was in any case busy with his radio.
“Call Washington, we are under attack! We need backup right the hell now! Unknown gunmen on the west perimeter. Officers down, officers need help!”
Alex reached back into the truck and pulled out an RPG-7 rocket launcher. He could just make out the two State Police cars two hundred yards down the road. He couldn’t see the cops, but they had to be there. He elevated the weapon to the proper mark on the steel sight and squeezed the trigger, adding yet another thundering noise to the flashing sky. The round fell a few feet short of the target, but its explosion lanced hot fragments through one gas tank. It exploded, bathing both cars in burning fuel.
“Hot damn!”
Behind him, the gunmen had spread out and flanked the Secret Service officers. Only one was still shooting back. Two more of the ULA shooters were down, Alex saw, but the rest closed in on the agent from behind and finished him with a barrage of fire.
“Oh, God!” Avery saw it, too. He and Longley looked at each other and each knew what the other thought. They won’t get them, not while I’m alive.
“Shaw.” The radio-telephone circuit crackled with static.
“We are under attack. We have officers down,” the wall speaker said. “Unknown number of — it sounds like a fucking war out there! We need help and we need it now.”
“Okay, stand by, we’re working on it.” Shaw gave quick orders and phone lines started lighting up. The first calls to go out went to the nearest state and county police stations. Next, the Hostage Rescue Team group on alert in Washington was ordered out. Their Chevy Suburban was sitting in the garage. He checked the wall clock and called Quantico on the direct line.
“The chopper’s just landing now,” Gus Werner answered.
“Do you know where the Ryan house is?” Shaw asked.
“Yeah, it’s on the map. That’s where our visitors are now, right?”
“It’s under attack. How fast can you get there?”