Escape: Omega Book 1 (Omega: Earth's Hero) (4 page)

And he did.

“Listen. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m sure that you don’t want any more bloodshed on your hands than you already have.”

It looked as if the leader was considering this. He looked to one of his men and nodded. The crony aimed haphazardly at Bart and pulled the trigger of the enormous weapon. Instantly, Bart fell to the ground, his screams overcome by the cacophony of gunfire in the enclosed office. Miranda moved to him, but a harsh grip on her forearm caught her in mid-step. 

“Enough of this rubbish, Mrs. Scott. At last count, there were twenty-seven people in this suite of offices alone. Now there are twenty. Would you care to continue this trivial hindrance and sacrifice yet another American life? Because I have no reservations whatsoever of taking another, or all of them--yours included--if need be.”

Miranda swallowed hard. Suddenly the air had grown thin in the room, too thin. She searched her mind for options, for alternatives, but could think of none. There were five of the men in Bart’s office. Who knew how many remained out in the lobby.

“Why? Why would you do this?” Miranda Scott, allowed fear to creep into her. When her husband had first taken the oath of office, she’d considered just this type of scenario. Never in a million years did she actually believe it could actually
happen
.

“Mrs. Scott, I do not wish to rush you, but time is of the essence. Either you place the call to your husband or you die. Simple as that.” The man looked as normal, as plain as any other man of mid-eastern persuasion that she’d ever seen. Not too tall, probably five-ten or –eleven. About one-hundred-sixty-five pounds. Balding at the crown of his deep, dark hair. His skin was the perfect complexion that most women yearned for in the summer months. Yet his eyes were deep and troubling. His pupils were wide, as if the light from the window did not reach them.

He brought the gun up, level to her head, and stepped slowly toward her. Miranda tried to move away, but the man holding her tight refused to allow her the small backward motion. The gun pressed into the soft flesh of her forehead. Neither Miranda nor her husband had ever had a strong stand for or against gun laws. Now, if she lived through this encounter, she had a whole new outlook on the legislation. In fact, she had never been this close to a handgun, or any other type of gun for that matter. She felt like wetting her pants. But her life as the wife of a crafty politician had not left her without developed strengths. As much as she wanted to cower and beg for her life, there would be none of that this day.

“My husband will hunt you down and gut you like the dog you are.”

Instead of anger, the man, as well as his associates, broke out in loud, raucous laughter. When the harsh noise subsided, he said, “My dear Mrs. Scott, I don’t expect to ever leave this room alive.”

That simple sentence brought home just what kind of mind she was dealing with. It was pure, unadulterated fanaticism. Whether it was religious or political made no difference. Such zeal was deadly no matter the cause. She decided not even to try to discover the purpose of being taken hostage. She could not deliver whatever it was they wanted. She didn’t wield such power. But Robert D. Scott, the President of the United States, the most powerful man in the world, did.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.” She was handed a cell phone and she entered the number without even looking at the keypad.

Chapter 4

The XMK Comet was a highly sophisticated air transport constructed by a civilian contractor that had, in the last five years, almost put the once-infamous Lockheed Martin’s Skunk Works out of business. Designed to carry military personnel anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice, the Comet had a top speed of just past Mach 5. While jets had commonly broken the sonic barrier in the latter part of the twentieth-century, the XMK was, so far, the only reliable transport to accomplish this safely and dependably.

Besides the remarkable speed, the XMK could also accelerate to its top velocity in a very short period. By the time it had reached its operating altitude, the Comet had already broken the sound barrier several times over. While its optimal speed had been handy, the need for such quick acceleration had not arisen in its first two years of operation by the United States military. 

Until now.

The XMK Comet launched from Nellis Air Force Base at approximately 1329 hours, local time, less than one hour after the president had received the call from his wife. Terrorists of unknown origin were attempting to persuade the Commander-in-Chief to free several confirmed Al-Qaeda members held at the base in Guantanamo Bay.

The Secretary of Defense himself had initiated the call to Lieutenant General Hendricks. Secretary Mosenberg was well aware of the work that General Hendricks was undertaking in the Phantom Desert Base in Nevada and was of the opinion that only his team could retrieve the First Lady without unnecessary loss of life. Nonetheless, it was made explicably clear, in language befitting a grizzled old politician, that the First Lady’s life came before all others. Mosenberg was taking one big gamble. The president did not know about Omega, but the SecDef didn’t see a viable alternative.

General Hendricks, a career army man with a long and distinguished service record reaching all the way back to West Point, shared the Secretary’s opinion. If this mission could be accomplished, it would be done so by Omega.

Hendricks had inherited the Omega Project from General Harvey Bellman, now Chief of Staff of the Army. Shrouded in secrecy, its original charter was buried somewhere deep beneath mounds of classified documents. Initially named the United States Army Center for Advanced Weaponry in 1945, the large, sprawling complex--located just outside Adaven, Nevada--was renamed Phantom Base in 1948. From there, its history was sketchy at best.

It was an odd place for a three-star general to command, but Hendricks took an almost paternal pride in the accomplishments made under his reign. And reign he did. Phantom Base was virtually unconnected to the Army except in the subtlest ways. On the base, Hendricks was the supreme law, the supreme judge, and the supreme commander. 

From his control room buried almost a mile below the desert’s harsh surface, Hendricks watched every phase of the Comet’s journey from Nellis to the New York airport. He had handpicked the team to accompany Omega to the site. He watched several monitors affixed to his seat and others mounted on terminals and upon the walls. The headset he wore kept him in constant communication with the flight crew of the Comet and the leader of the team, Captain Perry Black, and his next in command, Master Sergeant Eugene Cowell. The entire force were seasoned Army Rangers. Save, of course, for Omega.

“Captain, I have your ETA at 1417 hours, local time. The Black Hawk is already in position. Do you require anything further?” Hendricks asked.

“Not at this time, general.”

“Alpha out.”

Hendricks was not a personable commander. Never had been and would never be. His subordinates either accepted it, or didn’t. It didn’t much matter to Hendricks. But he would gladly give Captain Black any and all resources he required. The general knew that, by now, the NYPD, the FBI, DHS, and all other manner of acronyms had all arrived at the scene. He took an almost perverse thrill from knowing that no agency in the country combined could beat the payload on the Comet.

The control center was in almost constant silence as all in attendance watched the XMK transverse the country at an almost unbelievable pace. Twenty-two-hundred-plus miles covered in less than an hour. From cameras that transmitted crystal-clear images, Hendricks watched as Black’s men and Omega transferred from the Comet into the UH-60L Black Hawk.

It would take the helicopter less than ten minutes to arrive at the scene. Hendricks clicked a switch on his arm console and spoke into his headset. “Captain, if I may, I have a word for you and your men.”

The response was immediate. “Of course, general.”

“Gentlemen,” he said. His voice now transmitted to all men via their combat-equipped comm devices. “You have trained your entire adult career for the mission you are about to initiate. More is at stake this day than the life of Miranda Scott. What is at stake at this very moment is the very sanctity of the American Democratic System. The First Lady of the United States of America is held captive by an unknown number of men. All probabilities indicate they are members of a radical terrorist group. The President of the United States, your and my Commander-in-Chief, would like very, very much to not only save the life of his wife of nineteen years, but also asks that you preserve the integrity of our great nation. To show that it will take more than a few crazies with guns and the will to die for some half-cocked belief to bring our great nation to its knees.” The general’s voice, a deep baritone, rose in timbre and resonance. “That is all, men. Make me and everyone that wears our uniform proud.” Every one of the rangers was shocked, even Captain Black. Since he’d begun his tour of duty at Phantom, Lieutenant General Hendricks had been larger than life. With less than ten commissioned officers and one-hundred-and-fifty enlisted staff, the remainder of the eighty employees that called Phantom Base home were contract staff, scientists of one shape, form, or fashion. The huge sprawl that was the desert base was mostly unoccupied and used for weapons testing and for experimentation purposes. Regardless of the amount of soldiers at his disposal, General Hendricks was not regarded as anything less than a deity among the men and women that served under him. Seen very little outside the compound’s control center or his quarters, he was never seen without his uniform in impeccable condition with razor sharp creases. For him to address Black’s men in such a way meant only one of two things: he had absolute confidence in their success, or, less attractive, was the possibility that each and every one of them would be dead within the hour.

“Consider it done, general. Bravo Team out.” Black turned to his men. All of them were young, ambitious, cock-strong, and completely capable. But they were
his
men, and he felt an almost fatherly pride for them--a sense that he was leading his children into battle instead of a contingent of grown, well-trained soldiers. “All right, Rangers. You heard the general. It’s time to do what we are paid for. Lock and load!”

The Black Hawk swooped down from the sky above the Fushun building. The structure was not equipped with a helipad, but that mattered little. The pilot had no intention of landing. The chopper came within twenty feet of the roof and signaled back to Black. Without a word, the rangers began to dismount, sliding down black rope. Dressed in urban fatigues with M4’s draped over their shoulder, the soldiers looked like just what they were: a force to be reckoned with.

Four men were on the ground. Black stepped to the rear of the cargo hold to a small seating compartment. “Omega.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” a form wearing a headset responded.

“You’ve monitored the transmissions? You’re aware of our goal?”

“Yes, Captain.” The man saluted Black crisply, efficiently, professionally.

“Then disembark.”

Black watched as the tall, broad-shouldered man moved from his area toward the sliding door. With cool ease, he attached his repelling line to the brace, checked his M4 and sidearm. Black thought himself a tough cookie, but looking at Omega, he knew better. The man was built like a rock. Six-feet-two-inches tall, his chest was broad and his form commanding, but he was also designed for speed. Trim at the waist, his reach was long and his legs powerful.

Omega never gave a second look to Black as he jumped free from the chopper and joined the men on the rooftop. Black followed close behind.

Already his men had taken position. When their commander joined them, they, in tactical formation, entered the service door that led to the stairwell.

From two-thousand-three-hundred miles away, Hendricks watched on.