All Necessary Force (44 page)

He reached the trailhead twenty minutes later and felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and saw that Carl wouldn’t be helping anything on the attack anymore.

74

C

losing in on Washington, D.C., just outside of Springfield, my phone vibrated. Opening it up, I saw a blinking icon with the label
PEPCO IMEI
north of Fort Belvoir. Buckshot had found the other team, only five miles to our east.

Decision time.

We were hightailing it to the Calvert Cliffs State Park to take out the ringleader, but now we had a target of opportunity that we could destroy right here. I’d already called Kurt and given him an update on the threat to the nuclear facility, sending him and the Oversight Council into a frenzy of coordination for a police response. That would undoubtedly take precious time. I was sure I could beat that response to Calvert Cliffs, but bypassing the terrorists nearby might mean reaching critical mass on the power grid. It was a Solomon’s choice.

I toyed with having Kurt triangulate the police to the grid here as well, although I knew in my gut they wouldn’t make it before the strike. There was just too much bureaucracy. The assholes might be lining up on a substation right now.

Retro called. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

“Bird in the hand, man. That’s what I think.”

That was enough to push me over the edge. I gave Jennifer instructions, and we began the hunt for the third team. We wound around surface streets north of Fort Belvoir, crossing Telegraph Road and continuing to the east. Eventually we ended up on a small service road for a substation sandwiched in between two older, established neighborhoods.
Driving up it, I saw a large field of knee-high grass in front of the substation, along with the Pepco truck.

We stopped short, huddling around my Suburban. Decoy and Retro began checking their kit, getting ready for the fight. Seeing the armament being loaded, Jennifer began doing the same.

I said, “Okay, they’re here and setting up for a strike. Decoy and Retro go left. Jennifer and I will go right. Follow the fence line until we meet up. No doubt they’ll be setting up somewhere on the perimeter.”

Decoy said, “Rules of engagement?”

“Smoke them. No questions. Shoot first.”

I felt Jennifer’s eyes on me, and when I glanced her way, she stared at me for a long pause, then flicked her eyes at Retro and Decoy. I got the hint. I told the men, “Get your shit together. We leave in one minute.”

After they’d returned to their Suburban and out of earshot, strapping on magazines and checking weapons, Jennifer said, “Why are we shooting first? We’re not in a car. We can surprise them. Maybe they have information we can use.”

I should have realized that when she’d said she was part of the solution, she didn’t understand what that meant.
I should scratch her right here
. Even after her experiences in Europe, she was living in the land of the civilized.

“Jennifer, we aren’t cops, and this isn’t an arrest. It’s combat. Look, I get we’re in the United States and it doesn’t feel right, but that’s what it is. We kill whoever we find. Just like Normandy. Pretend they’re Nazis or something, but don’t let me down. Shoot first. Can you do that?”

She gazed off into the tree line for a few seconds, making me wonder again about taking her along. She turned back and checked her weapon, saying, “Yeah. I can do that. If they’re bad, they’re dead. But this had better be worth it. We kill a crew of innocent power company guys…”

With a little embarrassment and a lot of relief, I realized I had completely missed the reason for her reticence. She had no qualms about killing the terrorists. Well, maybe some, but she was more worried about killing innocents. Something I completely understood.

After she trailed off, I said, “That won’t happen. This
is
their vehicle.
Look, I see where you’re going, but Retro and Decoy will automatically discriminate and it’ll be pretty damn clear if they’re bad. Don’t worry. We aren’t going to kill anyone that’s not a threat, but we’re also not going to give them a fair chance. If they’re bad, they’re dead.”

I signaled Decoy and Retro, then began running down the right-side fence line, Jennifer behind me. We circled the perimeter, scanning for a target. We got about halfway around before an explosion cracked through the site, on Retro’s side of the perimeter.

Shit. The EFP.

I continued on, making sure Jennifer was keeping up. She doggedly followed, running with the Glock in a two-handed grip, the sights bobbing and weaving with her stride, exactly like she’d been taught.

I heard the crack of gunfire, a quick snapping, then nothing. I rounded the corner of the fence line and saw Retro standing over the body of a man, with Decoy searching him.

Then Retro’s chest exploded, followed by the rapid fire of someone emptying a magazine. Decoy turned to the threat and was hit in the shoulder, spinning down next to the dead terrorist. The bullets began to come my way. I dove to the ground and rolled behind a log as rounds cracked into the earth around me. I popped my head up, trying to locate the shooter. I saw him fifty meters away in the wood line, spraying his pistol all over the place. The weapon locked open on an empty magazine, and he took off running deeper into the trees.

I rose on a knee for a shot, knowing the odds of me hitting him were very small. He pulled out a cell phone and began hitting keys, then his head exploded in a fine red mist. He snapped to the left like he was hooked to a bungee cord as two more rounds slapped him in the chest.

I trained my weapon on the source of the fire, seeing Jennifer break out of the wood line. She reached the body and kicked his gun away. She caught my eye, then bent down and began searching him.

I sprinted to Retro and Decoy, starting to triage the damage. Jennifer arrived as I was peeling back Retro’s shirt.

She saw the wound and said, “Oh, God… Pike…”

75

R

afik was unloading the trunk when his cell phone went off again. He hoped he’d see success, but dreaded what he would find. It was Keshawn, sending that he’d accomplished another attack. The news brought a sense of calm.

We’re close. Very close.

He packed the large rucksack with the two remaining EFP trays and pulled out the tripods necessary to aim them. He leaned them against the car, wondering how he was going to take them into the trail network without someone questioning him. He glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention. All he needed to do was get into the wood line fifty meters away, but there were many, many people coming and going in the parking lot, and he would most likely be walking with other strangers, just like before.

He saw a man walking with a tripod and a camera. Going the other way, toward the shore and the cliffs. The sight gave him courage to dive right in. He shouldered the rucksack, then picked up the tripods, heading rapidly toward the trailhead leading back to the nuclear plant.

He made it into the woods without any undue scrutiny and began rapidly climbing back the way he had come, wanting to get the EFPs established as soon as possible.

Forty minutes into the trek, he reached the waypoint to leave the trail. He walked north for thirty meters when his phone vibrated again. He took a pause on the side of the trail, breathing hard, praying for good news. It was a simple text from Farouk, saying “done.” It was the prearranged code word for a catastrophic event. The loss of the team. It
was the third time he’d received it today. The text made him weak, wanting to sit down.

Farouk is dead. I’ve lost my last trusted man. Allah the Merciful, help me on this path.

He gained control of his emotions, clinically analyzing what had transpired.

Someone knows the makeup of the teams.

He had no idea how, but knew this wasn’t simply bad luck. Someone had deciphered his plan, dissected his organization. Some predator was now hunting them. Someone with skill.

Time to go to the final option.

He dialed Keshawn, the last remaining man.

“Why are you calling? You said only use text for security. In case someone’s listening.”

“Get out of your truck. Right now. Someone knows our plans.”

Rafik waited for a moment, hearing only breathing. Then, “What do you mean?”

“Keshawn, don’t question me. Just do it. Then come to my location with your remaining devices.”

“I’ve already done it. I never took the truck.”

Rafik was initially incensed at his protégé ignoring his orders, but quickly tamped down the emotion. In this case, the rebellious streak may have worked in their favor.

“I need you to bring the remaining devices to me for a final attack.”

He gave Keshawn instructions, telling him where he was and how to locate the shooting position. As he hung up the phone, he saw a Park Service ranger coming down the trail, looking at him strangely.

For the first time, he remembered he’d left his pistol in the car, and felt a bolt of fear.
Allah, why have you forsaken me?

“Hey, where you headed?”

Remembering the man he had seen before, Rafik said, “I’m going to take pictures of the cliffs. I want to get a shot down the coast.”

The ranger cocked his head, saying, “Well, you’re going the wrong way. This trail goes to the cliffs, but it’s the long one. Why are you going into the woods?”

Rafik rapidly walked back to the trail, looking left and right to make sure they were alone.

“I can’t tell which trail goes where. The signs aren’t that great.”

The ranger looked at his tripods and relaxed, laughing. “Yeah, we need to fix them. The paint’s pretty much gone, huh?”

Rafik closed up to him. “Yes. Which way should I go?”

“Just follow this trail the way you were going. But if I were you, I’d head back to the parking lot and take the red trail. It’s the shortest. And probably safer.”

“Why is it safer? Because it’s shorter?”

“Uhh… yeah. That’s it.”

Rafik dropped his tripods and brought out a knife, whipping it straight into the man’s chest. He bowed out, his face a caricature of shock, mouth in an O and eyes wide. Before he could realize what had happened, Rafik pulled out the knife and raked it across his throat, splitting it wide open. As the man fell, Rafik grabbed his body and dragged it through the underbrush to a fallen log, hiding the remains from view of the trail.

He retrieved his tripods and sprinted into the forest, wanting to get out of sight of anyone who might be coming. He thought about the man’s response. About the danger. It didn’t make sense to say that to someone walking in the park, especially since he’d seen plenty of families using this trail earlier in the day. The Americans were petrified of anyone getting hurt in public places.

They know someone’s here. I’m running out of time.

76

J

ennifer sprinted back to the Suburban for a medical kit while I began conducting initial treatment of Retro. Decoy held a wad of his shirt against his shoulder wound, doing what he could to help.

“How’d they get the drop on you?” I asked. “What happened?”

“There was only one guy checking out the EFP damage. We smoked him, then this guy came out of the wood line, blazing away. We fucked up. We both thought there would be only one, like the guy in the truck. You drill his ass?”

“Jennifer did. Two in the chest, one in the head.”

He raised his eyebrows, letting that sink in, then said, “How’s Retro?”

“He’s hit, but he’s going to make it. Just needs to get to a hospital, like you.”

I hoped I wasn’t lying, because it was bad. Retro had a neat hole in his chest, and a ragged exit wound on his back. Jennifer returned with the medkit and threw it on the ground between us, and we both went to work. Jennifer packed the entrance and exit wounds with Kerlix, capping it off with a special rubber bandage for sucking chest wounds that incorporated a flutter valve to release air. I prepped an IV and got it going, hoping to increase the fluids in his system to mitigate the loss of blood. His pallor was gray, his lips going blue.

Jennifer said, “His pulse is thready. He’s going into shock, and he’s lost a lot of blood.”

He doesn’t get to a trauma center soon, and he’s dead.

I said, “Help out Decoy. He’s got an in-and-out to his shoulder.”

I dialed Kurt and filled him in on what had occurred, saying, “I need a medevac right now, or Retro’s going to die. A helicopter. I don’t think I can get him to a hospital soon enough.”

Like the good commander he was, he completely ignored the fact that two active-duty Taskforce members were out hunting terrorists with me, getting right to the heart of the issue. “Pike, I’ll do what I can, but the emergency response system is overloaded. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get you rotary wing any quicker than driving. You need to make a hard call. You stay there, he might bleed out because I can’t get anything.”

“What about the fucking president? Can’t he get something done?”

“You want the president to choose one life over another? He won’t do that. If there’s a helo available, it’s headed your way, but if not, it means it’s on another medevac.”

“No, I don’t want him to choose one life over another. I mean that the guy owns helicopters. Send me Marine One. This LZ is big enough.”

I heard nothing for a split second, then, “That’s genius. Stand by.” I waited, the phone mute, then heard Kurt say, “It’s launching right now, with the White House doc. Give me a grid.”

I relayed the grid to the open area in front of the substation, then Jennifer and I moved Retro down to the makeshift LZ, getting him as comfortable as possible.

I said, “Decoy, can you handle exfil?”

“Yeah. No issues.”

“It’s all yours. Helo’s probably ten minutes out.” I smiled. “Don’t forget to lock the Suburban when you leave.”