Berg shifted the submachine gun into his left hand, and kept it trained on the smoking inferno past the open doorway. With his right arm extended, he snatched the ringing phone from the floor, half expecting to be shot through the wall. Retreating into the relative safety of the kitchen, he placed the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" he said, fully prepared for the possibility that the call was a distraction.
A female voice answered. "Karl? Is that you?"
"Who is this?" Berg said, the voice triggering hazy memories.
"Karl, this is Seraph. I need you to listen closely."
"Nicole? How is this…"
"I don't have time to explain, but right now you must listen. I have General Sanderson on the line, and he has proposition for you."
"I don't need a deal to save my life."
"Yes you do. Daniel Petrovich, my husband, is in your safe house."
"What? Oh no, Nicole. What did you do?"
"I'll explain later. The General has a mutual proposition. There's very little time."
"Put him on," Berg said, and listened to the General's proposal.
Fifteen seconds later, Berg disconnected the call, and called out to Keller.
"Keller! Hold your fire!" He received no response.
He really hoped Keller was already dead.
Petrovich heard Berg order Keller to stop firing, followed by Parker in his headset.
"Withdraw from the house immediately. The agents are no longer a threat. Move fast. Police units are ten seconds out."
"Understood. On my way," he said, and dashed through the conflagration in the hallway.
He nearly took the entire staircase in a single leap that sent a shockwave of pain up his leg from the damaged knee, and caused one of his fractured ribs to fully break. For a brief moment, he thought he might have been shot leaving the room. Farrington broke into the house and pulled him to his feet.
"We need to get the fuck off this street," he said, yanking Daniel through the door and into the fresh air.
Just as they cleared the vestibule, police cars screeched to a halt on 34th Street, blocking their exit from O Street on that side.
"Coming up on 33rd Street intersection. Police units just passed N Street on 34th. You need to be there now. I see police lights," said Parker.
Special Agent O'Reilly's small caravan of agents drove down 33rd Street, passing Prospect and approaching N Street. Sharpe had given her the suspected address on O Street, and they were to approach cautiously, verify the location, and set up car surveillance to confirm Keller's presence. Sharpe had confided in O'Reilly. He didn't put the CIA past being involved in today's fiasco, and found it oddly suspicious that Keller had fled the Pentagon to hide in some undisclosed location hidden deep in the heart of Georgetown. To him, it didn't add up to anything but trouble for the FBI, and Sharpe wasn't taking any chances. Tomorrow, he would have to explain a lot of things to his superiors, and he might need to draw a little attention away from the task force. A possible CIA mole in his group was a great distraction.
As her car passed N Street, she noticed several things out of place at once. First, she saw a dark SUV stopped in the middle of the next intersection, and then police lights suddenly appeared in her rearview mirror, but no sirens sounded. Strangely, she also saw police lights dancing on the sides of some of the structures deeper into O Street, which couldn't be cast by the cars behind her. As her car approached the SUV, more of O Street came into focus, and she grabbed her car's radio to contact task force headquarters. She dropped the radio when she saw two masked men running toward the black SUV. One of them was limping, and they were both carrying military style weapons.
"Stop the car!" she screamed, and the tires immediately screeched to a halt.
She bailed out of the car and ran toward the vehicles behind her, holding her FBI badge extended in one hand and her pistol in the other. Police cars skidded and stopped, as confused officers jumped out.
"FBI! Take cover!"
O'Reilly didn't want to take a bullet from a Washington, D.C. police weapon, so she held the badge high with her left hand. Instead, she caught a 5.56mm round from Farrington's rifle, which tore through her forearm muscle, and skipped off the bone, passing straight through her raised arm. She stood there in shock, with the arm still raised, as her badge toppled down the length of her arm, and twenty nine more 5.56mm bullets poured over the vehicles, miraculously failing to hit any of the agents or police officers. O'Reilly, still on her feet, whirled around with her Glock and fired on the men nearing the SUV. A few of the agents' service pistols joined her own weapon, and she saw the effects of their bullets shatter the back window of the 4Runner before a D.C. police officer tackled her to the ground.
Another burst of automatic weapons fire tore into their cars, shattering windows, puncturing metal and connecting with flesh. Screams punctuated the echoes of gunfire, and O'Reilly leaned her head back to see one of her agents sitting with his back against the side of a car holding his right shoulder. Blood spurted through his fingers onto his bulletproof vest. Under the car, she saw another agent hit the street pavement with a sick thud. A police officer dashed past her and started to pull the bleeding agent back when the next fusillade erupted.
Parker yelled at them through the open driver’s side door, but Daniel couldn't hear over the gunfire. Farrington's first warning burst at the nearby police cars stirred up a hornet's nest of return fire, and bullets continued to crack past Petrovich, as he limped toward the SUV. From a position along the rear driver’s side of the 4Runner, Farrington calmly fired a second, well-aimed, burst of fire into the gaggle of police vehicles bottlenecked on 33rd Street. His second, shorter burst connected with at least two of the officers, and dropped them to the pavement.
As the truck window next to him shattered, Farrington shifted his rifle toward the police officers advancing through the O Street neighborhood, and emptied the rest of his magazine in controlled bursts, concentrating on the lead officers. Empty shells from Farrington's rifle pelted Daniel as he reached the SUV, causing him to stop and fire his freshly reloaded MP-9 in the direction of the officers on 33rd, who appeared to be regrouping in the absence of Farrington's automatic fusillade. Aiming high above their heads, Daniel fired with the hope of discouraging any further bravery, and avoiding police casualties.
The volume of fire from police officers on 33rd Street nearly stopped altogether, and Petrovich jumped into the back seat of the car, moving to the far side of the rear bench seat. Farrington followed, reloading his weapon, and immediately firing out of the missing rear window. Parker accelerated the SUV down 33rd, and Petrovich jammed his way into the front passenger seat to provide firepower forward of the vehicle if necessary. Pain fired through his entire chest when he climbed over the seat and jammed the headrest into his ribs. He settled into the seat, taking a few seconds to recover from the blinding agony that brought him close to a blackout. He reloaded the MP-9 with a new magazine from his vest and lowered his window. They drove in silence for several seconds, surprised to meet no resistance as they approached Wisconsin Avenue.
"Fuck!" yelled Parker, as the intersection of Q Street and 33rd filled with police cars and flashing blue lights.
Parker didn't have much time to react, and most drivers would instinctively slam on the brakes, effectively disabling their own vehicle for the police. To Daniel's surprise, Parker yanked the car left without slowing, and somehow squeezed it between a signal light post and a small tree. Daniel was showered with small pieces of plastic and glass when the passenger side mirror disintegrated upon impact with the signal post. Parker's side of the vehicle slid along a red brick property wall, exploding his side mirror, and catching the rear bumper of the SUV.