Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (3 page)

“He did.”

“Well, who?”

“Mike, would you
like to explain?” Tom asked, knowing the CIA had a more in-depth file on the
international terrorist than the FBI did.

“Of course.” Mike
Cummins, Director of the CIA (D/CIA), forty-five years old, personal friend of
the President, and a top advisor at the White House, stood up and slid some
papers over to the VP.

The Vice President
scanned the papers, and glanced over a picture of a man he didn’t recognize,
then threw them down on the table. “I really don’t care to read a bio on the
man, just give me a name.”

“Alka vun Buvka,”
Cummins replied.

“Vun Buvka.” The
VP milled the name around in his mind, not sure if he recognized it.

“Yes sir. No
doubt you don’t recognize him. He’s a new guy trying to make a name for himself.
He’s good at what he does – skilled, would be a better word.”

“All right, look
everybody, all this is amusing but we really need to concentrate on the matter
at hand. Like getting the President back here,” Nathaniel Roxon, the Director
of the Secret Service, voiced as he tapped his fingers on the table. He had
been invited to the NSC meeting for the first time in his career, but he was
not being bashful about his opinion on this matter.

“I agree with Nathaniel,”
the Vice President stated as he leaned forward in his chair. “We need to make
priorities.”

“No, no, no!” Cummins
retorted. “That is precisely what the terrorists want us to do: get our
attention onto the President and then that’s when they’ll strike again.”

“Okay Mike, but
what good is thwarting attacks if we lose the President? Huh? I mean how long
will it take just to make sure he’s all right?” Roxon threw back.

“
All right,
zip it both of you.
We’re here to make a decision, not to argue about
something that’s going to be done in a minute,” the VP snapped, throwing his
hands in the air with frustration. “Smith, check to see if the President’s in
the air. Cummins, press your sources, see if they know where this vun Buvka guy
is really headed, and if they can take him out. The rest of you stand by, we’ll
resume in a minute.”

With that said the VP stood and quietly walked out of the room, knowing
in his heart that this was just the start of a horrible night.

*          *          *

“Get the President
on
Marine One
, now!” The voice of the National Security Advisor could be
heard over the satellite phone the lead agent was holding up for the President
to hear.

“That doesn’t
sound like you have an option, sir,” the lead agent noted as he turned to
Winnfield.

The President
slammed his cup on the counter. “Why? Why always at the worst time?”

“Terrorists have
no respect for time I’m afraid,” the agent informed him.

“Tell Tom I’ll
be in the air in a minute,” Winnfield said disgustedly.

Quickly the President
said his goodbyes to his daughter and without bothering to take anything with
him, he walked out the door.

In the next few minutes, the President was driven to the helipad and
escorted into
Marine One
. The helicopter tore through the night toward
Air
Force One
. Unknowingly, the President wasn’t heading away from danger, but
toward it.

*          *          *

Marine One
touched down right beside
Air Force One
, emptying the President and his
security guards. Winnfield boarded the plane as the lead agent chose seven other
men to come with them back to the White House. Four of them the lead agent
trusted. The other three wouldn’t be such a problem though, because they feared
nothing from their fellowmen, which would give Ron Tandy, the lead agent on the
President’s security detail, and his men, the edge they needed.

Winnfield
retired to his office aboard the plane, weary and broken hearted. Tandy
couldn’t help but smile to himself as the Air Force pilots made the flying
White House soar into the sky. Things were going just as planned – a little
resistance from the President – but the National Security Advisor had made
things perfect, without even knowing he had.

Five minutes
later, when
Air Force One
was well up into the sky, Tandy walked past
one of
his
agents, giving him a curt nod. Then he casually ambled to
visit the plane’s pilots and take care of some business.

The agent knew what the signal meant. Every one of the crooked agents
did. But none of the other agents or the exceptionally few crew and
communication members had a clue what it meant. Nor would they ever.

*          *          *

Hahmed Jassin
was late – five minutes late. He would have been in position even now at the
Wal-Mart supercenter in New York City but he was stuck in traffic.

An Iranian,
Jassin had been in the United States for quite some time now and he had no idea
that his boss was going to wait so long to let him attack. He’d thought maybe
he had been forgotten, but just when all hope was lost, the message came from
his boss to carry out his operation.

Jassin jogged
through the store’s doors, patting the “surprise” which was around his waist.
The “surprise” consisted of explosives that, at Jassin’s pleasure, would be set
off. The job was nothing spectacular when thought of independently, but in
conjunction with the happenings of the night, it would be the perfect final
touch.

Jassin walked
into the center of the building and took in a long breath. He looked at the
dozens of people around him and could hardly believe the time had come for him
to be a sacrifice for Allah. It was Jassin’s pleasure to die for the cause of
destroying the U.S. That was his job.

Loaded with C4
plastic explosives, Jassin pulled out the ignition switch. His breathing
quickened and his heart began beating wildly. Just then, a Wal-Mart worker
walked up to him.

“Can I help
you?” the man asked, scrunching his face.

Jassin froze. A
million thoughts crashed through his mind. Then, Jassin yelled, “Death to America!”

At that, the worker froze. Then Jassin flipped the switch for the C4 to
go off. Instantly, the center of the building collapsed, igniting fires
everywhere.

*          *          *

“What?” the VP
asked in both shock and anger. “Terrorists blew up the
USS George Washington
?
How?”

“We don’t know
for sure, sir,” the National Security Advisor answered. “We are still learning
about the situation. Apparently it happened right after the hotel bombing
though.”

The NSC had been
gathered again, and the news of the suicide bombing at sea was a total shock to
them all.

“And that’s not
all,” Smith continued. “Multiple members of the ship were killed or injured.”

“Tom, you’d
better tell me the President is in the air,” Anders declared.

“He is, Mr. Vice
President, but not without a struggle though.”

“Let him
struggle. Just make sure he arrives safely. America cannot afford another
terrorist attack.”

“Begging your
pardon sir,” Secretary of State Dan Bradley spoke up, “but you seem rather
certain that the President is next in the terrorist’s sights.”

“Look, we’re taking no chances here. I’m not assuming anything, but I’m
also not ruling anything out. None of us should be. We’re in a bad situation,
and who knows what could happen next. Tom, get me on the phone with the President,
now.”

*          *          *

“Hey Stan, how’s
the Vice President doing tonight?” Winnfield asked as he began his chat with
Anders over one of the secure, brown phones sitting on his desk.

“Oh, all right I
suppose. How are you, Mr. President?”

“Frustrated, to
say the absolute least. I just can’t believe it; I mean another terror attack
in
our
country. I’d have said it was impossible.”

“Well sir, the
important thing is to get you here as fast as we possibly can. We’ll take care
of the details when you arrive.”

“No, no. Stan,
you’ve got to take charge. We need to stop these suicide bombers fast. There
could be more than just one.”

“Mr. President,
you haven’t heard?”

“No, what?”

“Terrorists blew
up the
USS George Washington
. Seems they loaded a freight ship from China with explosives, parked it alongside the
George Washington
and they blew them
up right after the hotel bombing.”

“In Norfolk?”

“Yes, Mr.
President. CIA also just received word that the new Wal-Mart in New York City was blown up by yet another suicider.”

The President
gasped. “Stan, get the entire Intelligence Community to try and figure out
where the next attacks are going to be and when. See if we can stop them. If
there have been three attacks already, there are bound to be more. And hurry
will you?”

“Right away sir.
I was just making sure you were all right.”

“Forget about
me, I’m fine. Now do your job.”

With that, the President ended the call, unaware of the horror about to
unfold in the rear of
Air Force One
.

*          *          *

Gunfire poured
out of semi-automatic pistols, tearing into the bodies of three Secret Service
agents. The agents never had a clue. One minute they were peacefully sitting,
the next they were absorbing bullets. The plane stewards, crew, and
communication team faired no better. Even in his office, Winnfield could hear
the gunfire and the screams in the rear of
Air Force One
. Rushing out of
his office, he flew to the security section. What he saw paralyzed him. The
bodies of the three agents, bloody and strewn about the room, made the grand
plane look like a slaughter house.

“Sit down your royalty,”
Tandy mocked, forcefully shoving the President into a nearby chair. A sinister
smile spread across his face. “It’s a long way to Mexico.”

Thursday, January 16
^th
– 2300 hours

Air Force One

The President
had seen enough to know that
Air Force One
had been hijacked. Only one
question remained in his mind – who was flying the plane? He saw five
terrorists; they were gathered around pointing their pistols directly at him. But
who was flying? He decided to ask. “I apologize for my ignorance, but who is
presently flying this plane now that the pilots have been killed?”

“How’d you ever
get to be President if you can’t figure that out?” one of the terrorists
jeered. “The pilots are on our side. They’re part of us.”

“What? How–”

“Save your
breath President Winnfield, for as long as you’ve got it,” Tandy commanded.

“Look, the White
House will notice when we keep heading southwest instead of going directly to
Andrews Air Force Base. Then what will you do about that, wise guy?” The President
tried not to be intimidated.

“What precisely
can your White House do, shoot us down? They wouldn’t do that; they’d kill you.
Capture our plane? How? We’d kill you the instant trouble came.”

Winnfield
swallowed hard. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Aw, we’re just
taking the President of the United States of America for a little ride. That’s
all. Now what harm can that bring?” Tandy joked, whipping out his satellite phone.
“I’ll tell you what harm,” he continued, answering his own question, “the
kidnapping, or killing of that President. That’s what.”

Suddenly, Winnfield
began to shake uncontrollably. He hated himself for giving the terrorists the
benefit of seeing him do so, but it was beyond his control.

“Oh, the President
is scared,” a terrorist mocked, faking a sad face. “Cut it out before he–”

The man was
interrupted by Tandy speaking into his satellite phone. “Yeah this is Tandy...Good
as done...We should be there in a couple hours.” Tandy turned and looked out
the window. “Yeah, we’ll notify you when we cross over the border...Right. See
you later.” Tandy threw the phone down on a cushioned seat.

“I wonder how
long it’ll take for the White House to catch on,” Winnfield began, his voice
shaking. “Thirty minutes, maybe even less.”

The terrorists
laughed in unison, then Tandy spoke up, “Let them catch on. Let them send up
F-16s or whatever else they can think of. Nothing can help you now. You’re a
doomed man, Winnfield – oh, excuse me for not saying
Mr. President
.”

That made the
terrorists laugh even harder. The President wanted to kill them all, but he
knew that was out of the question. There were several of them, and he was only
one unarmed man that didn’t know how to fly. Winnfield was an Army veteran who
had fought in Desert Storm for a full eighteen months. He had retired as a
colonel, and received the Legion of Merit Medal, and then had decided to enter the
political arena. Although right now he wished he never had. He wished he was
back in the Army, fighting terrorists, not being held hostage by them.

Suddenly, a
thought rushed into his mind. The fools had not taken his cell phone away, or
his Blackberry. They were still in his back pocket, ready to be used. But how
could he type an email to the White House without anyone seeing him? It was
impossible. Or maybe it was possible. It would be risky, but he’d have to try. The
sooner the White House knew about the hijacking the better. If he was fast enough,
he could send a blank email that would arouse enough suspicion among the NSC. Right
now typing anything secretly was just impossible, but maybe he could have
enough time to send a blank message. He figured he could do it before the
terrorists stopped him.

He convinced
himself to try. He could easily draw his hand back and select the “CoS” option – for Chief of Staff – then all he’d have to do was hit the send button and an
email would be sent to his Chief of Staff, Steve Danner.

Slowly, the President
pulled his right arm back toward his rear pocket. No one seemed to notice. Then
he reached down and grasped his hand around the Blackberry. In a flash he
yanked it out of his pocket, found the “CoS” option, pressed enter, and hit
send. Before anybody could stop him he threw the Blackberry onto the hard
floor. It shattered, just as he had hoped. Now no one could send a follow-up email,
which would probably say to disregard the blank message as it was sent in error,
or something of the sort, in order to diffuse suspicion.

“What was that?”
Tandy demanded as he pivoted around and locked his eyes onto the shattered
Blackberry. “What happened?”

“I think the President
was trying to send an email to someone,” one of the terrorists answered.

“Did he?”

“No, we forced
it out of his hand too fast. It shattered,” the man lied, motioning to the
broken item.

“Check him for
anything else. You idiots didn’t even think of that yet?”

“Sorry but we
didn’t expect anything like that.”

“Yeah sure. If he tries anything else, kill him, and make it slow.”

*          *          *

The White House
Chief of Staff felt his Blackberry go off. He was still in the Situation Room,
but had just turned his Blackberry on now that the NSC meeting was put on hold.
Danner checked the new message and found it was from the President. Puzzled, he
opened it, and to his shock, found only a blank page. “Uh, Mr. Vice President?”
Danner began.

“Huh?” the VP
responded, jerking his head up from his hands, where it had been resting.

“I just received
a note from the President.”

“And?”

“Problem was
sir, it was blank.”

“What? What do
you mean?” Anders leaped from his chair and walked to Danner.

“Take a look for
yourself.”

As the Vice
President did so, a wave of panic flooded his senses. “Smith, get me on the
phone with the President immediately.”

“Again?” a
confused National Security Advisor doubted.

“Just do it,
now
!”

“Yes sir.”

Smith dialed the
correct number and handed Anders the satellite phone. The Vice President could
hear the President’s phone begin to ring. “Answer it,” Anders whispered.

After several
rings the VP gave up. He told himself again that the blank message was an
accident, but inside he thought something was going on aboard
Air Force One
.
“Tom, get the NSC in here quickly.”

This time there was no hesitation from Smith. He promptly obeyed,
nevertheless still thinking that the VP was being a little paranoid.

*          *          *

The NSC gathered
with the Vice President who was panicking about the President’s well-being. Anders
suggested that the plane had been hijacked, and that did not set well with
anyone in the room. Most of the attendees seriously doubted the reality of
someone hijacking
Air Force One
, but the Vice President insisted that
there was a possibility.

The Director of the
CIA could wait no longer to speak. “Sir, if I were you I would relax about the President
and I’d concentrate on stopping the terrorists that have been launching suicide
attacks against us. The President will be here in a minute. He’s probably just
busy and didn’t get your call. We need to start responding to the suicide
bombings, or, before we know it, one will be on our doorstep.”

“Mike, we
appreciate your opinion, but we do need to make sure the President arrives here
safely. That’s our number one priority. Then we’ll go after the terrorists once
we know he’s alive and well,” Roxon retorted.

“I whole
heartedly agree with Nathaniel. It’s true that the President is already heading
into Andrews Air Force Base, and will be there any minute, but we need to keep
watch on him until he arrives safely,” Danner spoke up. Shaken by the blank
message he’d received, Danner too felt that the President could be in grave
danger.

“All right,” Cummins
threw back, “but we do need to do something about these terrorists ASAP.”

“We are, Mike,
we are,” Anders consoled. “What do you think I’ve been doing all night? Playing
cards, or having a party? Would I have come here in my swimming attire if I
didn’t think we needed to do something? Of course not. So as you stated,
relax
.”

A phone rang in
the Situation Room and the National Security Advisor answered it. After a brief
discussion, he hung up and turned to the group. “Oh my goodness guys,” Smith said
somberly. “Listen to this.” Everyone held their breath in anticipation of the very
worst. “
Air Force One
has taken a strange course. It’s flying directly southwest.
It’s not going to Andrews Air Force Base,” the National Security Advisor
announced.

“What do you
mean?” the VP demanded.

“They should be
on only a slight southwesterly course to get to Andrews from Albany, but
whoever’s flying is taking an extreme southwestern course.”

“No way.”

“It’s true,
sir.”

“Get the communications agency to patch us through to the pilots,” the
Vice President ordered. “Let’s find out what’s going on, and they’d better have
a good reason for what they’ve done.”

*          *          *

“GOLDEN TOWER to
Air Force One
. Do you read me? Over.” The White House, codenamed GOLDEN TOWER, was trying to connect with
Air Force One
. The White House
communications team had left the Situation Room, as had the NSC, and Smith was
trying to get a response from the plane. So far he was having no success. “
Air
Force One
, I repeat, do you read me? Over.” Nothing. “
Air Force One
,
this is National Security Advisor Tom Smith. Come in immediately. Over.” Still
no response.

“Let me get on
there,” the Vice President ordered. “
Air Force One
, this is the Vice President
of the United States of America. I demand an explanation for your extreme southwesterly
course. Over.”

Only static
responded to the continuous efforts of the White House. “They leave me no
choice,” the VP said, shrugging his shoulders as he looked over to Smith.

Smith really had
no idea what the Vice President was about to do, but he nodded his head in
agreement.

“
Air Force
One
, respond immediately or we will send up fighter planes. You leave us no
choice but to assume the worst has happened. Now I demand you respond
immediately or we will not hold anything back. Over.”

Both Smith and
the VP listened for the slightest sound. Still there was only static.

“Get General
Lawington to send two F/A-18 Delta Hornets up there as fast as you can Tom,”
Anders commanded. “But tell him to tell the pilots not to shoot anything yet;
maybe whoever’s flying that plane will catch a clue before the use of force.”

“Yes sir. I’m on
it,” Smith replied, dashing out of the room.

Lieutenant General
William Lawington of the United States Marine Corps was the man in charge of
the two F/A-18s about to pursue
Air Force One
. Everything said to and by
the White House passed through his command center at the Pentagon. Lawington’s two
best pilots were on patrol that day, so he would send them after
Air Force
One
. Still, the weight of this whole matter rested on the Vice President.
He had already tried to email the President, but it was of no use; the message
could not be sent. He had weighed every option, played through every scenario
in his mind, and the only logical order was to send up fighter planes, for
whatever support they could lend. He was over a barrel, and whoever was now
flying
Air Force One
knew it.

Cummins burst
through the doors of the Situation Room immediately after Smith exited. He
stared directly at the VP. “Sir, what are you planning to do, shoot the plane
down?”

“I’m planning on
doing something about the terrorists,” the Vice President retorted.

“Sir, I
recommend you tell the NSC about your decision. I think everyone should be
informed.” 

“What decision
have
I made, Mike?”

“Well, I mean,
sending up the fighter planes.”

“All right, all
right, we’ll reconvene our meeting in three minutes. Is that soon enough?”

“You don’t have
to run anything by me sir; I was merely making a suggestion.”

“I know, I know.
Could you just leave me alone for a minute? I need a second to clear my head.”

“Yes sir.” The Director
of the Central Intelligence Agency shook his head but obediently did as he was
told.

Again the VP was left alone, discouraged and confused.

*          *          *

The co-pilot of
Air
Force One
ripped off his headset and rushed down a flight of stairs to the
back of the plane to see Tandy. “
Mr. Tandy, Mr. Tandy.
”

“What is it?”
Tandy barked back, looking frustrated and half asleep.

“Uh, the White
House has been trying to get a hold of us on the radio. Uh, we–”

“You were told
not to respond to any radio traffic.”

“Yes I know, we
didn’t, but the Vice President threatened to send up fighter planes.”

Winnfield smiled
to himself, glad, once again, he had chosen Stan Anders for the Vice Presidential
position. He knew that Anders wouldn’t fail him. He was a good man, with good
instincts. The two had never been military pals or political chums before their
bid for office – although both men had served in the Armed Forces – they had merely
been high school buddies. When they parted ways after graduating, neither
thought they’d ever see each other again. Anders had eventually wanted to be a
lawyer, but Winnfield’s dream had always been to make a career out of the
military. Who would have thought they’d go through something like this, some
forty years later?

“They can
threaten all they want to,” Tandy spat back, looking directly at the President.