A Team Black sniper was firing in the dark. The only thing he hit was his own man; Jones, still with the knife through his head, was now performing the role of human shield for Harrington and Walker. They shuffled around, then stopped.
“Okay,” Harrington said into his mike in response to the news relayed to him. He dumped the body. “Their sniper is down,” he said to Walker.
He retrieved his weapons from the ground near the van, and Walker flexed, bringing his arms, still behind him, up in a fast x-motion, snapping the cable ties. He picked up the H&K rifle from the headless ex-soldier.
“You turned off the EMP,” Walker said.
“Just for a moment,” Harrington replied.
“No, it’s good,” Walker said, joining Harrington and scanning the dark and the shadows of the buildings for the remaining three members of Team Black. “Let me talk to the other team, on the open channel.”
Harrington unclipped the mike from the guy he’d stabbed and passed it over.
Walker said to him, “What’s their team leader’s name?”
“Webster.”
“Okay.” Walker wrapped the mike around his neck and velcroed it in place, put the earpiece in. “Webster,” he said clearly. “This is the end. You’ve got two minutes to exit the computer lab, with Jasper Brokaw, in the open. If you fail to appear, you will be met with extreme prejudice. By that, I mean that you will be shot, several times, and your name will forever be mud in this fair nation as the truth comes out. One minute fifty . . . one minute forty five . . .”
Webster replied, “Who is this?”
“Consider me a whirlwind,” Walker said. “And you’re about to have a house dropped on you. You let Brokaw go now. One minute thirty. You can do a lot in a minute and a half. And it’s time for you and your team to decide which side of history you want to be on.”
Harrington stood and pointed his rifle as a black-clad figure emerged from the shadows. One of Webster’s Team Black men.
“Gun down!” Harrington said, stepping around the van and keeping a line of sight on the surrendering—
WHOOMPH!
Harrington snapped back, his head turned to a puff of vapor.
•
“Okay,” the Vice President said to McCorkell. “Thanks. Good work.”
“We’re a hundred percent on this?” the Secretary of Defense said to McCorkell.
“One hundred percent,” the Vice President answered for him.
“Okay,” the Secretary of Defense replied. He left their four-person huddle, the Secretary of Homeland Security with them, and went to an aide, a full-bird Colonel, and whispered instructions.
“So,” the Vice President said to the screen, where General Christie had been leaning back in her chair for the past three minutes, watching but unable to listen. “General Christie. Is there anything you want to tell us?”
“You’re up to date, Mr. Vice President,” the General replied. She’d crossed her arms, looking unfazed as they talked.
“I mean, General,” the Vice President said, leaning on the end of the table with the knuckles of his fists, his eyes straight down the video conference camera like looking down a barrel, “what do you have to say about a team of yours being at Ames Research Center, having Jasper Brokaw there under guard? Interesting and pertinent information, wouldn’t you say?”
McCorkell smiled when he saw General Christie’s face drop. It was just a split second, then she gained composure and started to try to spin her way out of it. The two Joint Chiefs went a little red in the face, and pulled in their aides to get options rolling to deal with this shift.
“That’s preposterous,” Christie said. “Sure, I have a team there conducting a training exercise, but there is nothing that is remotely—”
“General!” the Vice President said. “Enough! In under two minutes you are going to have a squad of MPs kicking down your door and you will be in cuffs, so talk now and start undoing this!”
“It’s too late,” the General said calmly. She sat back in her chair and un-crossed her arms, staring at the camera in front of her.