The Lions Of Lucerne

32

At the same moment Chaperone showed the building exploding, the night-vision images from the SEAL battle cams disappeared and were replaced on each monitor with a chilling two-word message: Off Line.

The shock and silence in the sit room were quickly replaced by a frenzy of activity. Glancing up at the monitor that fed a live picture from JSOC command, Harvath noticed it was chaotic there as well.

Every phone in the sit room was being used by people trying to figure out what had happened. Scot was closest to General Venrick, and he listened as Venrick tried to get a handle on things. “…We were able to figure that out from here. It looks like it was a very big one. At least one to two square blocks from what Chaperone is showing us right now…

“First things first. Can we confirm the status of the Rapid Return team?…What about the Israeli assets on-site?…My God. Only one? Have him get in there and get a better look… We have got to get confirmation. If there are injured men there, we need to get them out… I agree. We began to worry about it as well, but it’s a little late for that now… All right. Get on the Israelis, and get back to me as soon as you get an update. In the meantime, I want you to roll back the tape on the battle cams to one minute before they went off-line and feed it back here in slow mo… Negative. Until we know what the situation is, all teams are to stand by. That’s it. Get going.”

The general shook his head in disgust, feeling he should have pressed the vice president harder to postpone the recovery attempt until they had gathered more intelligence. Instead, a crack SEAL team had walked right into a trap. His increased dislike of the vice president was surpassed only by the shame he felt in losing men under his command. This had been a half-baked idea from the start and he should have stopped it.

As JSOC command fed back the battle cam images in slow mo, the general used his com link to give orders to freeze-frame certain images and rewind others. A team of military experts, aided by the ATF, would be poring over these pictures for months ascertaining whether there was one blast or several, where the blast or blasts originated, as well as what type of explosive device was used. But for now, the general needed to put together his own picture of what had happened.

The images showed that each of the assault teams was able to successfully breach its entry point and pitch in its flash bangs, hoping to stun any immediate targets with the blinding white light and concussion tremors they emitted. After the teams entered, the battle cams showed that they moved quickly and began to secure the rooms on their respective levels. The cams showed what appeared to be sleeping men in some of the rooms, but would the kidnappers actually booby-trap themselves?

Before any of the men could be secured with the plastic riot cuffs that the teams always carried, there was a bright flash and the cams went off-line. Because of the need for his vision to be unimpaired while he looked through the night-vision scope on his rifle, the sniper’s battle cam wasn’t of much help. His goggles had been placed on top of his pack, off to his left-hand side. His images lasted for only a few frames more than those of his teammates, who presumably were at the epicenter of the explosion. Whatever had been used was extremely powerful. Chances were low to absolutely nonexistent that any of the team had survived.

In the midst of the chaos, no one noticed that the president’s direct line rang and that the vice president’s chief of staff had answered it until he cupped the mouthpiece and screamed for everyone to quiet down.

The entire room was taken aback. His face was ashen. “How did you get this number?” DaFina asked.

Lawlor knew exactly who was on the phone and was the first one to react. He picked up the phone in front of him and dialed faster than he ever had in his life. When a voice answered on the other end, he gave his name, password, and location. He gave the orders to begin a trace and was floored by the response, “No can do.”

“What?” Lawlor hissed into the phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is a matter of national security. Now trace the damn call!”

Lawlor’s boss, FBI director Sorce put a hand on his arm and whispered, “Gary, they can’t trace any calls coming or going from the sit room. It’s impossible.”

“What do you mean, impossible?” he asked.

“When the room and equipment were updated, so were the communications. The lines had to be tap- and trace-proof. Besides, who would have ever envisioned a scenario like this where a trace would be necessary?”

Lawlor felt impotent. All he could do was sit and watch. The worst of it was that DaFina was doing all of the talking.

“He wants me to put him on speakerphone. How do I do that?” DaFina asked, once again cupping the mouthpiece.

Two button punches later and the cyborg-style voice that Lawlor remembered all too well clicked out of the overhead speakers.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the voice said.

Since the kidnappers had originally established contact with Lawlor, no one objected as he rose from his seat to walk over to the active phone. As he rounded the table, Vice President Marshfield held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. Lawlor was stunned.

The voice continued, “I trust your vice president is present?”

DaFina slid the phone toward him. “Yes, I am here. Who is this?”

“More silly games,” said the voice. “You know exactly who this is. Did you enjoy our little demonstration?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Vice President, I will say this only once. Do not play games with me.”

“Where is the president?”

“He is quite comfortable, I assure you.”

“How can we be sure?”

“Mr. Vice President, we have already proven that we have him and that we are capable of outthinking you and your military. The explosion was quite an unfortunate, but necessary occurrence. So many souls called to Allah, unwitting of the role they have played in the Jihad.”

“Is that what this is all about, some kind of holy war?”

“I commend you, Mr. Vice President. Your knowledge of foreign affairs is greater than your critics give you credit for.”

The insult raised the hairs on the back of the vice president’s neck. Inwardly, almost every member in the sit room would have congratulated the kidnapper for that jibe if he hadn’t been behind so much death and mayhem.

“You will not get away with this. I guarantee you,” said the vice president.

“But, I already have.”

“What do you want?”

“First, I want to be treated with some respect for my intelligence. Did you actually think I would not know when I called the FBI that they would start an immediate trace? Do you think after all of my careful planning I would allow this dance to be so quickly brought to an end? By underestimating me, you may be forced to pay the price twice.”

“Twice?” said the vice president. “What do you mean twice?”

“By now you should be very well aware that your men did not survive the explosion we set. That was the first price. If we were able to slay any of the Israeli pigs that might have been working with the U.S.A. in their feeble rescue attempt, then all the better. But, the second price will come if you do not cooperate. Evidence will be produced that will link this explosion back to you and the unrecognized State of Israel. It will be seen as an act of U.S.-supported Israeli terrorism against the Palestinian people.”

All eyes in the room were upon the vice president.

“Whatever evidence you might fabricate, it will never work.”

“Just as a plot to kidnap your president would never work? Tsk, tsk, Mr. Vice President. I believe you are still underestimating me.”

“You know, Mr… if it is Mr. I don’t even know your name,” said the vice president.

“My name is not important. What is important are my demands. I want my men released immediately.”

“It is the policy of the United States government not to negotiate with terrorists.”

“Is it really? Is this the same no-negotiation policy that was in effect during your arms for hostages fiasco with Iran?” asked the voice.

“That was then, and this is now. We absolutely do not negotiate with terrorists. The two men you want killed scores of innocent Americans.”

“In our opinion, Mr. Vice President, there is no such thing as an innocent American, and further, how many innocent people have been killed throughout the Middle East as a result of the meddling of the United States?”

Several people at the table were motioning for the vice president to shut up and discontinue his hard line with the kidnappers, but he ignored them.

“I’ll make you a deal,” said the vice president, pausing for effect.

“A deal? You are in no position to make demands of us! It is we who have your president, and it is we who will make the demands of you. As your show of good faith, you will release our men as we have requested and you will convince Egypt to unfreeze our assets. You will do this immediately!” said the voice, and then the line went dead.

Lawlor leaned over to his boss. “Hell of a negotiator. Where’d this asshole learn his technique?”

The FBI director didn’t answer. He knew everyone else in the room was thinking the exact same thing. The vice president was completely out of his league.