"Do not take another step or you will be fired upon."
He could hear sirens screaming in the distance.
"Take off your jacket."
Police cars of all kinds were now racing across the grounds toward him, coming from all directions.
"Take off your jacket now. "
The voice echoed across the city, down toward the White House a half mile or so behind him, down toward the Capitol at the other end of the Mall.
"/ repeat, take off your jacket now. "
This was it. He could see the buses screeching away from the curb, surrounded by police cars. Another few seconds and a hundred pistols and rifles and machine guns would be pointed at his head. There was no way out but one.
"Mario Iabello" began to unbutton his coat — slowly, one button at a time. One sleeve came off. Then the other. Then the entire parka came off, and all eyes focused on the custom-made vest — packed in a circle around his waist were a dozen twelve-inch bricks of C4—and the long red ignition cord he carefully removed from the lining of the coat. Four Cobra gunships hovered, ready to pounce. Four pilots flicked off the safeties on their front-mounted machine guns, ready to fire.
And then Nadir Sarukhi Hashemi raised his face to the sky, shouted "Al-lahu Akbar!" and pulled the trigger.
The massive explosion was blinding, even on television.
Gogolov and Jibril couldn't believe what they were seeing. They'd done it. They'd accomplished what they set out to do. It didn't matter that the Viper was the only one to die. He'd died in a fireball in the heart of the snemy's capital. America would never be the same. Nor would Al-Nakbah.
"You 've got mail. "
Jibril could barely pull himself away from the television. The images were mesmerizing and soon they'd be gone. Soon the coverage would shift across the Atlantic. He just hoped none of his team did anything to knock out the satellite uplink stations on the Rock. It was a show the whole world had to see.
The newest message was from Gift Shop. What? Another motorcade was tieading up to the summit? Had they been wrong? Had they moved too fast? Jibril grabbed the satellite phone and speed dialed the G5- But there was no answer.
Bennett's motorcade was less than half a mile away.
Their headlights were on and their windshield wipers were cranked up to the highest setting. The storm was coming in faster than expected, and so were the lights of the business jet. The lead driver in the package saw it first and realized immediately what was happening.
"Incoming," he shouted as he slammed on his brakes and veered to the side of the road, hoping not to get clipped from the Tahoe right behind him.
Bennett hit the brakes, too, and pulled the wheel hard to the left, barely missing the back of Sa'id's vehicle ahead of him. He knew he should slam the VW into a K-turn and start racing for cover. But he couldn't look away. None of them could.
The jet was coming in fast and hard from their right. It was a Gulfstream, and it was heading straight for the restaurant. For a split second, Bennett froze. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He suddenly thought of Tariq and the advance team. They were about to perish in a firestorm meant for him. Bennett wanted to scream but couldn't. All he could do was watch as the plane slammed directly into the restaurant and set the summit ablaze.
Bennett could feel the anger rising fast. Every friend he had was dying in a war he couldn't stop. Now it was Tariq Abu Ashad, his guardian angel since Gaza Station. The guy was a saint — quiet and unassuming but one of the toughest and nicest guys Bennett had ever met. He was a Palestinian in love with America, and an American in love with Palestine, and now he was gone. Bennett slammed his fists on the dashboard. He fought to choke back the emotions forcing their way to the surface. But their was no time to mourn. The SEALs in the minivan were screaming at him to move.
"Go back, go back — let's go, let's go, let's go."
The chatter on the radios was deafening. Bennett could see all the taillights ahead of him turn white. He jammed his stick shift into reverse and hit the gas. All the other cars in the package were turned around, but Bennett didn't have time. He was now doing forty driving backward down Signal Station Road on the Rock in the rain.
"Sa'id, Doron — are they OK?" McCoy shouted over her radio.
The answer came back immediately from both Tahoes. The prime ministers were rattled but safe.
"Devil's Tower, Devil's Tower, this is Gold One, do you copy?"
"Gold One, this is Devil's Tower — what the hell is going on?"
"Code Red, we have a Code Red. A kamikaze just took out the restaurants We're coming back to you — repeat, coming back to you. Stand by one."
"Roger that, Gold One — we'll seal the cave behind you."
"Get CENTCOM on the line and tell him we're under attack."
"You got it, Gold One, we've already—"
Bennett couldn't tell what had happened. Was the transmission cut or did the watch commander simply stop talking?
"Oh my God, Jon!"
Bennett had never heard McCoy scream like that. He couldn't stop, not yet, but he could see what she was seeing. Not a hundred yards off the mountain to their right, another jet — a Citation — was screaming in at what had to be five hundred miles an hour.
A split second later, the plane slammed into the British military command post and the entrance to their living quarters. Another fireball lit up the darkening sky. The explosion mixed with booms of thunder. Sticks of lightning crackled on the horizon, and Devil's Tower was off the air.
FORTY-EIGHT
"Mr. President?"
MacPherson was still trying to process the explosion at the Washington Monument, but it was General Mutschler at the NMCC.
"What is it, General?"
"Gibraltar Station is under attack."
"What?"
"Two kamikazes — one took out the restaurant, the other took out the British military command. A third plane just touched down at the airport— it's unloading a team of terrorists. There's heavy fighting going on right now. Mortar shells are coming in from speedboats out in the harbor."
"What about Bennett and others?"
"They're still on the mountain — two main roads are cut off by fire. There's only one left."
"Jon, look out!"
They were fast approaching a hairpin turn but their wheels were in the gravel and there was a thousand-foot dropoff less than three yards to their right. Bennett was still driving backward and even Galishnikov was terrified of plunging over the side.
"I got it. I see it. Hold on — Gold Three, I'm making this turn. Follow my lead."
Bennett slammed on the brakes again and pulled the wheel hard to t e right. The red VW spun out and Bennett struggled for control. They were sliding toward the edge.
"Jon…"
Bennett could feel the muddy gravel underneath them and adjusted back to the left. It was just in time. They could suddenly feel solid road again and Bennett jammed the stick shift into second, then third. Both Tahoes and the minivan spun out on the turn as well, but everyone made it and now Bennett was on point, picking up speed as they blew south down Charles the Fifth Road. Seconds later, they hit the next hairpin turn and barely made it. Now they were heading east down Queen's Road doing sixty. That's when they first saw the billows of smoke coming from the airport.
"Gold One, this is Bennett, you there?"
Bennett couldn't remember his own code name if he even had one. And he didn't care.