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Decker stopped as she passed the agent guarding the media cabin on her way to the aft galley. He waited for her to say something as she just stood there. She wanted so badly to go in and stay with Cal, but she knew she had a job to do. Cal Martin would be safer in there than he would be fighting alongside her.
As the agent started to say something to her, Decker kept walking, headed for the stairs to the lower-level galley. Leaving Cal killed her, but she knew that was the only way to keep him alive. For his own good.
Decker’s reasoning for making Cal stay behind had been purely selfish. She knew he was more than capable of handling himself in the situation they were in – perhaps even better than most people on board.
She had read his personnel file from his time with a former top-secret covert government group known as Project Archangel. He had been trained in armed and unarmed combat tactics by some of the best special operations instructors in the world. He was a black belt in Krav Maga and had spent years before Project Archangel honing his skills with rifles and handguns as a National Rifle Association instructor at the private shooting range where he once worked.
But there was another side to Cal. It was a side that she had witnessed firsthand and was confirmed by the psychological evaluation profile in his file. Cal Martin was a loose cannon, driven only by his belief in whatever cause he was supporting at the time.
As a woman, it was a quality she found incredibly attractive about him. He was a man that would do whatever it took to achieve his goals. The man seemed to have no fear when it came to the pursuit of the greater good. There was just something incredibly sexy about a man with both the drive and ability that Cal possessed.
As his girlfriend, however, those qualities scared the hell out of her. His aggressive, impulsive nature would get him killed one day. Decker was sure of it. She had watched him risk everything to save an ex-fiancée in an unsanctioned mission to Cuba over a year ago. More recently, Decker had been told of his attempt to go it alone and assault a compound full of armed operatives to rescue her while she was held hostage in Tampa. It made her cringe to think what lengths he might go to if he saw her fighting.
Decker wasn’t taking any chances, although she had seen a marked transformation in Cal’s demeanor since their first date in Tampa. She had noticed that he was a different person around her as they had grown to know and love each other over the last six months. He was much more mellow and relaxed than when they first met. Getting him to even meet with the President had taken quite a bit of convincing. Instead, Cal wanted to just lay low and forget about the greater good for a change. His greater good had seemingly become her. She loved him for it, but she knew that it would drive him to want to save her against all odds, even if it put everyone else around them in jeopardy. With the fate of the leader of the free world at stake, Decker just couldn’t allow it.
As Decker made her way down the stairwell, she found the aft galley and Agent Nunez standing with his weapon trained on a cargo access panel. The 747-800 was specially configured with two fully equipped galleys. The aft galley was mostly used for food storage, holding freezers capable of storing enough food for as many as two thousand meals.
“Agent Nunez,” Decker called out as she made her way around the stainless-steel food preparation islands toward the rear of the galley.
“Over here,” he said, holding up a hand without looking at her. He was a small man, only an inch or two taller than the five-foot, six-inch Decker. He had also taken off his coat and was wearing a black body armor vest over his white shirt. His earpiece was still connected, but hanging down over his shoulder.
“Michelle Decker,” Decker said as she approached the agent.
“Jimmy Nunez,” he said without turning around. “You cover rear security; I’ll watch this door.”
“What about the elevator?” Decker asked, pointing to the service elevator used to deliver food stores from the cargo area when the plane was restocked.
“Disabled,” Nunez replied tersely. “This access panel connects to crawl space that goes to the left main landing gear. If they’re going to get in this way, it’s through that panel. Just make sure we don’t get cornholed down here, Agent Decker.”
“Right,” Decker replied as she rolled her eyes. Maybe leaving Cal was wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as she turned her back on the smug agent. Now I have no one to stop me from kicking this prick in the junk.
Decker took up a position of cover a few feet from Nunez and faced the door she had just entered. She heard more gunfire outside, followed by an explosion as the aircraft rocked gently.
“They’re trying to blow the doors,” Nunez said. “Whoever these guys are, they’re professionals.”
“Any idea where we landed?” Decker asked. She heard another explosion as more gunfire erupted outside.
“Best guess is Midway Island,” Nunez said. “That was the nearest location before all the electronics went to shit.”
“I thought this thing was shielded from everything?”
“Direct attacks, yes. EMP attacks, yes. This has to be barrage noise jamming on every possible frequency we use. We can’t even get satellite signals,” Nunez replied after another explosion.
“And we don’t have a better plan than trying to defend this position? Seriously?”
“Landing without ground support at a location we never vetted is not something we generally train to, and especially not after whatever the fuck happened up there that made everyone pass out,” Nunez replied. “The pilot locked himself in the cockpit and stopped responding to our calls.”
“So, it was an inside job,” Decker said, still watching her area of responsibility behind Nunez.
“Ya think?” Nunez replied crassly. “This jet is brand new. It has much better and lighter armor than the previous jet. Trying to go out there and fight them is suicide. They’ll pick us off as soon as we get out there. As long as we stay here and hold the key entry points, we can just wait them out until help arrives.”
Decker turned to look back as she heard a thump behind her. “Are you sure that’s the only way in here?”
“It’s the only way in through the maintenance corridor to the landing gear,” Nunez replied. “There is another entry to the cargo area next to the elevator.”
“Did you hear that?” Decker asked. “Sounded like it was coming from your side.”
“Relax, I’ve got—” His reply was interrupted by a brilliant white flash of light accompanied by a loud explosion.
“Flash bang!” Decker yelled as she scrambled to cover. Her ears were ringing and her vision was blurred. As she tried to adjust, she peered around the corner.
She heard gunshots as she ducked back behind the stainless island. She could hear the rounds skipping off the top as they zipped by.
Decker wanted to yell out to Nunez, but she didn’t want to give away her position. She had to move. Keeping her weapon ready, she crouched behind the island, walking toward Nunez’s last known position.
She heard more rounds as she reached the opposite end. She could see a pool of blood on the floor. As she peered around the corner, she found Nunez’s lifeless body, lying prone with blood and brain matter oozing from his head.
Decker continued looking around the island. The room was dimly lit, making it hard to see anything beyond the freezers. She ducked back into cover just as she heard more gunfire.
She moved quickly back to her original position of cover, hoping to get a shot. As she rounded the corner, she saw three men dressed in black wielding AK-47s. She flicked off the safety and fired.
As she turned to move again, she was knocked to her back, causing her to lose her grip of her MP7. She struggled to breathe as she tried to get back up. She regained her grip on the weapon as she climbed to her knees before she felt the hit in the center of her back and doubled over onto the floor face first.
* * *
Spectre checked his watch. Decker had only been gone for five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Watching her walk out had made his stomach turn. He had lost nearly everyone in his life that he cared about, from his parents to his ex-fiancée to his best friends. Losing Decker seemed unfathomable.
The watch was a crude reminder of the stakes of the game they were playing. It had been given to him by Charles “Ironman” Steele, a man Spectre had once thought to be the enemy. Ironman had given Spectre the watch shortly before Spectre turned himself in to a deadly Chinese intelligence operative named Xin. He had been trying to trade his life for Decker’s safety, but the watch had saved his life and allowed him to exact vengeance instead.
Spectre heard the sound of jet noise in the distance and strained to look through the bulletproof glass to find its origin. As he looked out, he found a black speck on the horizon. He watched it make a sharp turn and steeply descend toward them. As it grew closer, Spectre made out the twin tails of an F/A-18 Hornet. The cavalry had arrived.
Spectre ducked as the F/A-18’s bullets shredded the Humvee just a few hundred feet from Air Force One. He watched the terrorists scatter as they ran from the burning wreckage and tried to pull the wounded away.
“Are we going to die?” one of the male reporters asked as Spectre watched the terrorists shoot a MANPAD at the climbing F/A-18. Spectre caught himself wishing he were still in the cockpit as he watched the Navy pilot flare and dodge the heat seeking missile. Anything is better than being helpless in here.
“Just stay down and be calm,” Spectre growled. His patience with the sheltered Ivy League reporters was running thin. He hated being a babysitter.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” another reporter said between sobs.
Spectre groaned as he turned his attention back to the Hornet outside. He realized the brave pilot putting it all on the line was their last chance at survival. It was their only offensive weapon. Nothing good ever happens on defense, Spectre thought, remembering one of his Sensei’s old sayings.
He watched the Hornet come back around for another attack. “Jink, dude!” he yelled as he watched the missile impact the left engine. The jet left a thick trail of smoke as it climbed away.
“Now we’re fucked,” Spectre said, shaking his head.
“What do you mean?” the reporter asked.
“That Hornet was our only chance at fighting these guys off,” Spectre replied.
“Who are you anyway?” the reporter replied. “How do you know all of this?”
“Me?” Spectre asked. “I’m nobody. Just a guy who’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Spectre raced back to the window as he heard another explosion. Another Humvee was destroyed. He looked up in time to see the now single-engine Hornet climbing away.
“Holy—” Spectre began. Before he could finish a missile streaked toward the Hornet, impacting the fuselage. He watched in horror as it burst into flames. Get out of there man. Get out! What seemed like an eternity later, he saw the ejection seat depart the aircraft and a parachute open. At least the guy made it out, Spectre thought.
“Correction, now we’re fucked,” Spectre declared.
“The Secret Service will protect us,” a female reporter said.
“Really lady?” Spectre asked. “Do you even know where we are?”
“Well, no,” she replied.
“Well, unless we landed at Guam or Hawaii, there is no cavalry to come save us,” Spectre replied. “We’re at least a thousand miles from help. Maybe more.”
There was an explosion and more gunshots. Spectre looked out the window to see that the fighting outside had subsided. His stomach turned as he made the realization that they were coming from inside the aircraft. Decker. Please, God, let her be ok.
Spectre wanted to vomit as he faced the real possibility that the hostiles had made it on board. The gunshots grew louder and closer. Spectre knew it was only a matter of time before they took the aircraft. They had superior numbers and something even more valuable in combat than that – the initiative.
Spectre let out a deep sigh as he heard more gunshots. He opened the door slightly. The Secret Service agent that had been guarding the door was gone. Spectre guessed he was either dead or had fallen back in a last-ditch effort to protect the President.
“Everyone get down on your knees and put your hands on your heads,” Spectre said dejectedly.
“What? Why?” the male reporter asked.
“Because they’re coming for us next,” Spectre said as he went to his knees. “And if they think you’re a threat, they will shoot you.”
“How... How do you know that?” the man replied nervously.
“I just do. Now do it now!” Spectre yelled.
When the door flung open, Spectre and the half dozen reporters were all on their knees as the bearded men burst in the media cabin. Spectre closed his eyes, still praying for the nightmare to end.
But Spectre knew that no amount of praying or wishing could change the reality that had just become very clear.
Air Force One had fallen.