Outside Madison Square Garden, New York City
It was absolute mayhem.
Thousands were streaming out of the exits, screaming, crying, shoving their way past those who were too slow to keep up with the panicked flow. Dawson could only watch as those knocked off balance were trampled, he and the others pushing through the crowd, trying to get into the stadium before it was too late and those who would do his country harm had full control.
They had quickly switched to civilian clothes, their weapons hidden, their body armor under jerseys confiscated from fans outside. His twelve member team, the best of the best, were attempting access at various points as the NYPD directed the flow of fleeing spectators away from the immediate vicinity, FBI SWAT teams still arriving though holding back, he deciding to keep them out of sight until the majority of those fleeing were out of weapons range.
He stuck to the sides as best he could, redirecting people into the center of the throng with well-placed shoves and shoulders, pushing as quickly as he could toward the entrance. He reached it, pushing through the doors as hundreds continued to stream past, he thanking God for every one of those that escaped, no matter how terrified they were.
It meant they would live.
NYPD was clearing the area and radiological teams were on their way, it expected that if this should go sour, Cesium-137 could cover the entire area.
But if that happened, they would have failed.
And failure wasn’t acceptable.
He hugged the wall, continuing to push through the crowds as he scanned the area, ignoring anything coming toward him with the flow. It was the ones going against the flow, the ones standing still, that were of interest to him.
They would be the hostiles.
Though he had yet to spot one, Niner the only other person pushing through like he was.
Wait a minute.
He spotted a man, standing in the corner, letting the crowds surge by, doing nothing. He appeared Middle Eastern and was watching the crowd, there excitement on his face, but no panic. The man turned toward Dawson.
Dawson spun, bending over slightly, faking a leg cramp. He glanced carefully behind him, the man having continued to turn, no longer looking toward him.
Dawson surged forward, drawing his knife, clearing the last few civilians and plunging it deep in the man’s neck, arterial spray spurting over the crowd, the new screams going unnoticed.
He grabbed the man under the shoulders and dragged him behind a kiosk, quickly searching him for comms.
Nothing but a cellphone.
He returned it to the man’s pocket then activated his own comm.
“Control, Zero-One. I’ve taken one down, Seventh Avenue entrance, behind the kiosk on the left side. He’s got a phone on him with a thumb scanner. Send in a retrieval team to get it and his body, or just take his thumb if necessary. We need to know what’s on that phone.”
“Roger that Zero-One, retrieval team proceeding now.”
Dawson spotted the women’s bathroom and headed for it, rounding the corner cautiously, finding dozens inside, cowering in fear. A woman screamed when she spotted the blood on him, slapping her hands over her mouth.
“I’m with the police.” He glanced back out the entrance, spotting no hostiles, the crowds thinning however, the chaos the terrorists probably wanted to create in the streets, accomplished.
So they’d probably start securing things shortly.
He turned to the civilians. “Everyone out, now. Just go straight down the stairs and outside and follow the instructions of the police officers.”
Nobody moved.
He pulled his gun, pointing it upward at shoulder level. “Now!”
Someone stepped forward, just a tentative step, but it was all the impetus those pressed against the far side of the room needed.
They bailed.
Fast.
And none too quietly.
Dawson watched as the last of them cleared the steps and breathed a sigh of relief just as gunfire rang out down the corridor, a body dropping into view. A cop rounded the corner, firing blindly behind him, most shots uselessly hitting the ceiling.
Dawson grabbed him, the startled man’s expression turning to panic.
“FBI! Stop shooting and help get these people out!”
The terrified officer nodded, his expression quickly calming as his training took over, his momentary panic pushed aside. Dawson left him tending the few remaining civilians, heading toward the gunfire.
“Zero-One, I’m coming up on your six,” whispered Niner’s voice in his comm. He glanced back to see the operator rushing up behind him as more gunfire erupted farther around the bend. Dawson advanced, weapon in front, Niner at his side as the thinned out crowds continued to rush past, eyes wide, cheeks stained with tears, more than the occasional yelp emitted at the sight of the two men in plain clothes advancing toward them.
“Two o’clock.”
Dawson squeezed his trigger, twice.
The man dropped, the suppressor keeping the sounds to a minimum, the chaos around them taking care of the rest. An army corporal in uniform skidded to a halt, grabbing the dead man’s weapon.
“US Special Forces. Drop the weapon!”
The corporal lowered the weapon, slowly raising his hands as he turned toward Dawson and Niner who quickly closed the gap. He slapped his Shoulder Sleeve Insignia. “US Army Ranger. How can I help?”
Dawson turned his attention down the hall. “Disable that weapon and get your ass outside. Right now I don’t want anyone with a gun who shouldn’t have one.”
“Yes, sir!” The corporal dropped to the floor, quickly unloading the weapon and removing the bolt before disappearing from sight as Dawson and Niner continued forward.
The PA system beeped, the alarm that had been sounding halted.
Here it comes.