First Strike (14 page)

The dart struck Steve in the upper leg, and the Secret Service agent slumped immediately. Kent stared at Rich in disbelief. He grabbed Steve round the chest, struggling to keep him upright, but the unconscious man was a dead weight. He slid to the floor, leaving Kent exposed.

Immediately, both Kate and Chuck opened fire.

Kent dived back behind the doorway. Rich heard him cry out and guessed he'd been hit. Halford hurried to check on Steve's unconscious body. Kate and Chuck were out into the corridor, guns at the ready.

“Help me with him,” Halford told Rich. “We can't leave him here. We'll have to carry him.” He glanced up at Rich. “But yes—good one.”

“Thanks.”

Together they lifted the man, and Halford hooked his arm under the chain attached to the Football briefcase. They staggered out into the corridor.

Kate and Chuck had taken cover in alcoves on opposite sides. Chuck fired a burst along the corridor as someone appeared at the other end. They quickly moved back round the corner.

“We can't stay here,” said Kate. “We're almost out of ammunition.”

“And it won't take them long to send someone round to come at us from behind,” Halford pointed out. “We can't defend ourselves from both directions.”

“Oval Office,” Chuck called back to them. “It's where I tried to get the President before. We'll be safe in there.”

Chuck and Kate gave covering fire as Rich and Halford half carried, half dragged Steve across the corridor. The Oval Office was only a few metres away, but it seemed to take forever. As soon as they were inside, they dumped him on a sofa near the door.

Halford hurried back to the door. “I'll cover you, move!”

Kate and Chuck ran for the doorway as Halford stepped into the corridor and fired his pistol rapidly.
Bullets smashed into the door frame as the gunmen at the other end returned fire.

Then more gunfire—this time from the other direction. The carpet at Halford's feet exploded and he dived out of the way of the line of bullets that ripped across the doorway.

Chuck stepped forward, firing rapidly. Then his gun clicked on empty and he was forced to step back into the room.

Unable to get back through the door, Halford took cover in an alcove. He loosed off several more shots before his gun, too, was out of ammunition.

“We have to help him!” Rich shouted above the gunfire. He ran to the door.

But Chuck grabbed him and pulled him back. “It's too late. I'm sorry.”

Several of Kent's team were advancing down the corridor. Marcie—the woman who had been supervising the hostages—had her gun trained on Halford. He raised his hands in defeat. But his expression was defiant as he glanced quickly at Rich and Chuck.

Then Chuck was slamming the door shut and operating an electronic lock. There was a heavy
thunk
as deadbolts shot into place. The bullets hitting the door
sounded like hailstones on a thin roof.

“Will it hold?” Rich asked. But he was more worried about what would happen to Halford, and where Jade was, than about himself.

“Oh yes,” said Kate. “It's designed to withstand quite a blast. The windows too.”

“There are agents permanently on duty on the roof, with stinger missiles to shoot down any incoming helicopters or planes,” Chuck explained. “But if an attacker got off a missile, this office would take the hit and not even need repainting.”

Steve was still out cold on the sofa.

The office was just as Rich had expected. He'd seen it in photographs and on TV and films. The enormous presidential seal on the carpet, the two sofas between the main door and the desk—the famous wooden desk made from timbers from the Victorian British ship HMS Resolute. There was another door to an outer office, and Chuck was sealing that too.

“We'll be fine in here. No one can get in.”

“Yes,” said Rich. “But we can't get out. We're trapped.”

Kate and Chuck exchanged looks, and to Rich's surprise they smiled.

“You reckon?” said Chuck.

Jade was glad she'd had time to change out of her dress into combat gear. Barney had sent someone to find her camouflage trousers and a green t-shirt. She was especially glad to lose her shoes. The army boots were loose, even though she'd laced them as tight as she could. But she had made this same journey in high heels, and it wasn't an experience she was keen to repeat.

She'd made it clear she didn't want to be offered a gun—she was sure she'd never use it even if she knew how. Jade was beginning to wish she'd turned down the bullet-proof vest as well. It was stiff and uncomfortable, but she knew wearing it might save her life.

A couple of hours ago, she had made the journey in the dark, alone and uncertain of where she was going or what she'd find at the other end. This time she was not alone, and all four of them had torches.

The light picked out the crumbling brickwork of the curved walls, the uneven floor with its dark pools of standing water. Cobwebs hung like ragged curtains, and rats scuttled in the shadows. Jade was so glad she hadn't been able to see them before. She had heard them, though, just as she had listened to the drip-drip of the condensation falling into the puddles and distant,
muffled sound of traffic and sirens above.

And she had almost cried with relief when she saw light seeping round the heavy metal doorway. The bolts had been rusted stiff, and her relief became frustration as she struggled to slide them back. But she had managed, and emerged blinking through a concealed door into the back of a small outhouse full of gardening equipment on the edge of Lafayette Park, just across Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House grounds to the north.

The biggest stroke of luck had been arriving at the military cordon in time to spot Ardman and Dad flagging down an ambulance.

It seemed ages ago. Since then, she'd told Ardman, Dad and Captain Roberts everything she knew about the situation in the White House—what she'd seen for herself, and what Kate had told her. And now here she was, going back. She must be mad, she thought. But she knew she had no option. Dad knew it too—he'd only made a token attempt to talk her out of it, but Jade knew what the bad guys looked like, she knew the layout of the place, and she knew that Rich was in there somewhere. She had no choice.

“Not far now,” said Jade. She remembered rounding this corner, and scraping her ankle on what must have
been that pile of fallen stones from the tunnel roof.

“Lucky we've got you,” said Al.

“Yeah,” Barney agreed. “This tunnel isn't marked on any of the plans I've seen.”

“It was built as a secret escape route for the President, decades ago. That's what Kate Hunter told me. So I guess that's why it's not on the plans. It starts in the Oval Office, leads down between some of the basement rooms, then out across the White House lawn.”

“OK, let's take a minute,” said Chance. “I'll go in first when we get there. Jade, you'll come last. If there's any trouble, anything at all, then you run like hell and tell Captain Roberts what's happening. You still getting this, Roberts?”

Jade heard the reply in her earpiece. Robert's voice was punctuated by static and crackles, and he was barely audible.

“Yes, but you're beginning to break up. Any further, and that jamming device they've got will do for the comms. So from here on, you're probably on your own. Your friends just called and said they'd be joining the party soon. We'll give you one hour, and if we don't hear back or get some sort of signal for them to come in, then they'll be joining you anyway.”

“Understood. Let's make that exactly one hour from…” Chance checked his watch. “…Now.”

Roberts' voice was barely understandable now, there was so much static. “You certain your guys know what they're doing?”

“Absolutely,” Chance replied. “It's just
us
I'm not sure about.” He slid back the bolt on his machine pistol and released the safety catch. “OK, guys. Let's do it.”

Rich was looking right at the portrait of George Washington that dominated the wall of the Oval Office. It was huge, almost life-sized. Chuck and Kate had drawn his attention to it.

“What about it?” he asked. “It's Washington, I know that.”

“Maybe this'll surprise you,” said Kate. She reached out for the side of the frame, but before her hand reached it, the frame began to move. Kate gave a gasp of astonishment and stepped back.

Chuck raised his gun. “What the hell..? No one should know about this.”

The whole picture was moving, swinging out from the wall towards Rich and the others. It was hinged down one side, like a door.

And through the door stepped a figure in dark combat gear. His shape was bulked out with a bullet-proof vest, and he was carrying a machine pistol identical to the ones that Chuck and Kate were holding.

Behind him came two more men in identical gear, also with guns. And behind them Rich could see a smaller, slighter figure he recognised at once.

“You OK, Rich?” John Chance asked. “It's good to see you all again.”

Jade pushed through the picture-doorway and grabbed Rich in a tight hug. “You're all right!”

“I was,” he said, pulling away. “Now I've got cracked ribs and crush injuries.” But he was grinning.

“So what's the situation?” Chance was asking.

“The bad guys have the President, and plan to launch a nuclear attack on China. Meanwhile we're kind of trapped in this one room,” Chuck told him.

Chance nodded. Business as usual. “Good job I'm here then. It's time we sorted things out.”

Wounded and frustrated, Kent was in a foul mood. His arm was caked in blood, but luckily the bullets had both gone right through. The bone was shattered, and he had the arm supported in a sling made from torn-up strips of tablecloth. It hurt like hell, and someone was going to pay.

He had resisted the temptation to shoot Halford as soon as he'd been overpowered. Maybe the man meant something to the President—he was obviously trained and yet he didn't seem to be with the Secret Service. Some British guest who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Kent consoled himself with the thought that he could always shoot him later.

A pleasure deferred was a pleasure increased.

Now he was preparing to vent his fury on another
target. Hank had collected up the grenades the dead Special Forces men had with them. Under Kent's direction he was removing the explosive cores and lining them up along the bottom of the door to the Oval Office.

Kent held the last grenade himself. As soon as Hank had finished, he'd set off the explosives and blow the door down. It might be bullet-proof but he doubted it could withstand such an explosion. Kent could already imagine stepping through the shattered remains of the door and gunning down that traitorous bitch and her colleague—and the kid who'd denied him the Football.

That wouldn't happen again, Kent decided. If he had to hack the man's hand off to get the briefcase back, then he would. He grimaced at a rush of pain in his arm. But he was not hurting as much as his country. And soon they'd both be healed.

“Nearly done,” said Hank.

“That's fine,” Kent told him. “Those jokers ain't going nowhere. Except maybe to hell.”

“We were hoping to sneak in without anyone knowing, and clean up this mess quickly and relatively quietly,” said Chance. “Looks like that isn't going to be possible.”

“I'm afraid not,” Chuck agreed. “Kent will have people
watching that door, waiting for us to make a move.”

Chance tried his radio. It gave nothing but static. “Useless.”

“They've got some sort of jammer linked into the White House communications network,” said Kate. “It blocks out cell phone and radio too. I don't know how it works, but one of Lorraine's jobs was to jam all the radio communications when we arrived, then set it up in the Situation Room downstairs to block the landlines.”

“That has to be a priority,” Chance decided. “The assault team will need working communications to have the best hope of success.”

“Can we get a message to Captain Roberts so they know to focus on the comms?” Barney asked.

“Without a working radio or phone?” Al pointed out.

“We could send someone back down the tunnel with a message. Bring the attack forward too,” said Barney.

“You volunteering?” Kate asked.

“I'm not leaving here without the President,” Barney told her.

Chance had tuned and was looking at Rich and Jade. They both guessed what was coming next.

“No way,” said Jade. “You need me here, remember.”

“We've got Chuck and Kate now,” Chance told her.

“Still no way.”

“And I'm staying too,” said Rich quickly. “I need to see this through. To get Dex Halford away from those guys.”

“Dex can take care of himself.”

“So can we,” Rich shot back. “So we stay.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets defiantly, and felt something he had forgotten he had. “Anyway, there must be some way round this jamming. Some frequency that works or whatever.”

He took out the cell phone he had taken from Steve earlier.

The Secret Service agent was sitting groggily on the sofa, but he stood up when he saw what Rich had. He quickly checked his own pockets.

“Yeah, sorry, Chuck told me to look after it for you,” said Rich. “I guess you want it back.” He tossed the phone across to Steve, who gave a gasp of horror before managing to catch it.

“You had that all this time?” Chuck asked.

Rich nodded. “But it doesn't get a signal, of course.”

Chuck took the phone from Steve. “There is one number it will call. One number it could call from the middle of a nuclear war or the bottom of the sea.” He thumbed a sequence of buttons and held the cell phone to his ear.

The call was answered immediately.

“I bet you never thought that phone would ring, Major,” said Chuck after he'd given his name and Secret Service number. “Well, don't worry, this isn't what you think. This is the only number I can call and I need you to put me through to the Pentagon Operations Room…” He listened for a few moments, then said: “Yes, Major. This order does come direct from the President himself.”

“If the President really was here, we could just walk out down the tunnels,” Jade said quietly to Rich.

“More fun this way,” said Rich.

While Chuck was talking urgently to the Pentagon, John Chance put an arm round each of his children. “You can both leave now if you want. You don't have to stay. You've done enough. More than enough—both of you.”

“We're staying,” said Jade.

“But maybe you should send Steve down the tunnel,” Rich added. “If they can't get the Football, then at least they can't launch the missiles, no matter what else they do.”

“Good idea,” said Kate. She hurried over to talk to Steve and helped him to the secret door.

“I'll be OK,” he assured her. “I'm just a bit groggy. Good luck, you guys. I'll be waiting for you outside. You
want me to take that?” he asked Chuck, pointing to the cell phone.

Chuck considered. “Right now it's the only communication link we have. I'll hang on to it, if that's OK. The bad guys don't know we have it..

Steve nodded, and stepped past the painting and into the escape tunnel. Chuck handed the cell phone to Chance. “They're patching in Captain Roberts. And they've sent a team over to see General Wilson. Would you believe he's not told the Pentagon anything about what's happening here and the only information they have is from Ardman?”

“I'd believe it.”

Chuck sucked a deep breath through his teeth. “Well, hopefully we won't be his problem for much longer. And he won't be ours.”

Halford stumbled and fell the last few steps. Marshal Wieng hauled him to his feet and shoved him along the corridor.

The President was already in the Situation Room, seated at the conference table. Behind him, a screen showed a distant shot of the military vehicles on Pennsylvania Avenue. The woman with flame-red hair
was holding a Secret Service-issue pistol to the President's head.

Halford was shoved into a seat close to the President. He spread his hands on the table. “Good morning, Mr President.”

The President nodded. “Not sure what's good about it. But it may get better.”

“Silence!” Marshal Wieng shouted. “I haven't yet decided what to do with you. Do you think your military will launch an attack on China to save their President's life?”

The President smiled thinly. “No.”

“Then without the Football, there is no point in keeping you alive.” He raised his gun.

“If he was going to shoot you, he'd have done it before now,” said Halford.

Wieng moved the gun across so it was aimed at Halford. “The President is a useful hostage, you are right. But there's nothing to stop me shooting you, is there?”

“Nothing at all,” Halford agreed. “But the more hostages you have the better for you. And you have no idea who I am or even if I'm important. Remember, you can't change your mind if you get it wrong. You can only kill me once.”

Wieng's lip curled as he considered this. Marcie came into the room behind him. She was holding two sets of handcuffs.

“I found these in the Secret Service offices,” she said. “Thought they might be useful.”

“Very useful. Cuff these two to the table legs.”

Marcie moved towards the President. “I also found one of our people in there—Tony. He's dead. Someone broke his neck.”

Wieng gave a grunt of anger. “Stop,” he decided. “I want him to do it.” He jabbed the gun at Halford. “Give him the cuffs.”

Without comment, Halford took the handcuffs. He leaned to look under the table, and reached past the President to attach one handcuff round a metal support strut between the main legs of the table. He gave it several hard tugs to show it was secure and the strut would hold. “Happy?”

Wieng nodded. “I am still hoping that Mr Kent can recover the Football. So you'll forgive me if I keep you both alive for the moment. I may indeed have need of you.”

The handcuff was not long enough to reach up to the top of the table, so Halford attached it to the President's
lower leg. He snapped the cuff shut, and the President grimaced as he felt it tight on his ankle.

“Sorry, sir,” Halford murmured.

Marshal Wieng motioned to the red-haired woman. “Lorraine, check it is secure.”

She examined the cuffs and pulled again to make sure the strut was solid. It was—there was no way that the President could pull it free of the table. She took the second set of handcuffs and attached one end to the equivalent strut on the other side of the table.

Halford moved round to be close enough. “Allow me,” he said, taking the free end of the handcuffs and snapping it closed round his own ankle. “Happy with that?”

The woman glanced at the closed handcuffs to check they were secure. “That's fine. He's not going anywhere.”

“So, any chance of breakfast?” Halford asked.

Wieng slammed the butt of his gun into Halford's face, knocking him sideways.

“Guess that's a no,” said Halford, rubbing his bruised cheek.

Then from above them came the sound of a massive explosion. Halford felt the room shake. For a moment he thought that help had arrived.

But then Wieng said: “Don't worry. That's merely Mr Kent amusing himself.”

Even in the Roosevelt Room, which was well away from the Oval Office door, Kent felt the thump of the blast wave against his chest. Smoke billowed down the corridor. Kent and Hank stepped back into the corridor, ready to fire at anything that moved. Kent now had a pistol that he could use one-handed. He trained it on the thinning smoke.

But as the corridor cleared, he could see that the door to the Oval Office was still there. The wood had been stripped away to reveal the armour plate beneath. It was battered and scorched, but intact. Enraged, Kent strode towards the door, determined to kick it down if he had to.

Hank grabbed his good arm, holding him back. “Careful. The floor's gone—look.”

Sure enough, the corridor ended in a ragged mess of carpet and wooden floorboards. Dust and smoke rose from the hole. Kent gave another cry of rage and frustration. He turned to go, but then he saw something that made him stop. Something in the clearing smoke and falling dust and debris. Something beneath the floor.

Hank had seen it too. “There's a hole. Like a tunnel or something down there.”

If it was a tunnel, it was blocked now by the fallen rubble from the explosion above. But that was not what changed Kent's mood from anger to elation. Lying at the bottom of the hole was a man. He was unconscious, a livid bruise darkening on his forehead where he'd been hit by falling debris he'd been too groggy to avoid.

Grimy but undamaged, the metal briefcase attached to the man's wrist gleamed as it caught the dust-filtered light.