Transfer of Power

BACK IN THE stash room, Mitch Rapp was reorganizing his gear for his incursion back into the bowels of the two hundred-year-old mansion.

Things were happening fast, but he was more than happy to receive the professional services of a couple of SEAL demolition experts, especially since it would mean he would not have to deal with the bombs.

One thing he did want to do before he headed out, though, was talk to the woman he had grabbed from the president’s bed. Rapp had been so busy talking to Kennedy and the others that he hadn’t had the chance to find out who the woman was and, more important, if she had any information that might help them. Moving his gear to the side, Rapp took off his baseball cap and scratched his head. Watching Adams give the woman some water, he noticed for the first time that she was very attractive, stunning actually. Rapp scooted forward on his knees to get a little closer and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Rielly had wrapped herself tightly in the sheet and had one arm out.

Looking up at the man kneeling in front of her, she replied timidly, “I’m fine.” But, before the last syllable left her mouth, the tears started again. Rielly brushed some of them from her cheek and added, “I’m not fine… I’m a mess.”

Rapp laughed at her blunt observation. Reaching out, he grabbed her shoulder and said, “You’re fine. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Rielly looked up again, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did.”

Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it and said, “I owe you my life.”

Rapp blushed slightly.

“Now… now… there’s no need to be melodramatic.” He didn’t know how to deal with the unusually personal gratitude of the woman, having grown used to his deeds going unnoticed by all but a select few.

“I’m serious.” Rielly squeezed his hand tighter.

“I’m not being melodramatic. You saved my life.”

“Well,” Rapp started uncomfortably, “he might not have killed you.”

“Oh,” scoffed Rielly in between sniffles.

“That’s a hell of a consolation.” She started to cry even harder.

Milt Adams was still sitting next to Rielly. He looked at Rapp and shook his head.

“You need to learn how to accept someone’s gratitude, you big oaf.

“You’re welcome’-that’s what you say to the pretty little woman.”

With his hand still on the woman’s shoulder, Rapp scowled at Adams.

Etiquette was hardly a concern of his at the moment. Rapp turned back to the woman, whose moist cheek was now resting on his hand. After squeezing her shoulder lightly, Rapp reached out with his other hand and brushed some of the tears from her cheek.

“You’re welcome,” he started tentatively.

“I’m glad I was there to help.” Rapp held her cheek for a moment and then lifted her head, so he could look her in the eye. That was when he noticed them, the greenest eyes he had ever seen. So beautiful were they that Rapp lost his concentration for a second and forgot what he was about to ask.

He blinked several times and then remembered where he was headed. “I need to ask you some questions. Are you up to it?”

Rielly nodded and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. Taking part of her sheet, she blew her nose quietly and said, “God, I haven’t cried this much in years.”

“Well, you’ve been through a lot.” Rapp was making a concerted effort to say the right things.

“What a shitty couple of days.” Rielly shook her head and managed a laugh.

“Yeah… I’d imagine they don’t get much worse.” Rapp looked at his watch and said, “Listen, I have some things I have to do, but I want to ask you some questions first.”

Rielly nodded.

“Good. Let’s start with your name.”

“Anna… Anna Rielly.”

“I’m Mitch and this is Milt.”

Rielly wiped her hand on the sheet and extended it.

“Nice to meet you, Mitch.” Rielly gave a warm smile, showing off her dimples.” Very nice to meet you.” Rapp grinned and shook her hand.

Rielly then turned to Adams and shook his hand.

“What do you do here at the White House?” asked Rapp.

“I’m a reporter.” From the look on Rapp’s face, one would think they were on their first date and she had just told him she had a husband.

Oh, shit, Rapp thought to himself. This could be a problem.

“Who do you work for?”

“NEC. It was my first day on the job.”

“Nice timing,” Rapp said with a raised eyebrow.

“No shit.” Rielly shook her head.

“Where have you been held for the last several days?”

“In the White House mess.”

Rapp looked to Adams, who nodded and said, “That’s where I thought he would hold them. No exterior windows and the room is big enough.”

Rapp was worried about whether Aziz had kept all of the hostages together or split them up. As a general rule, that decision depended on assets and the layout of the building. With this in mind, Rapp was inclined to believe that with Aziz’s limited manpower, he would be forced to keep all of the hostages in one place.

“Were all of the hostages kept in the mess?”

“Yes.” Rielly shrugged her shoulders.

“At least I think so.”

“How many of you?”

Biting her bottom Up, Rielly thought about it for a moment and said, “I don’t know. Eighty… one hundred… a hundred and twenty…? I don’t know.”

“I really need you to think about this one. You don’t have to answer it right now, but I need you to try and remember how many people were in the mess.”

Rielly nodded.

“I’ll try.”

“What about Secret Service agents? Were they held in the same room as you?” Rapp knew Aziz well enough to bet that he would at. the very least separate the Secret Service agents from the hostages.

“I don’t know. When all this started, I’d only been on the job for about fifteen minutes. I don’t know what any of the agents look like.”

“You don’t have to know them personally to be able to pick them out.

They all have short haircuts, athletic builds… They stand out.” Rapp looked at her proddingly.

“Come on, you’re a reporter.” With a grin he added, “You’re supposed to notice stuff like that.”

Rielly thought about it.

“I don’t remember seeing anyone like that.”

“What about any marines or other military types?” asked Milt Adams.

Rielly shook her head immediately.

“I know for a fact I didn’t see anyone in a uniform.”

Rapp nodded to Adams, approving of the timely question.

That settled it for him. Aziz was either holding the Secret Service and military personnel in a different location, or he had killed all of them. Knowing Aziz, the latter was a distinct possibility.

“How many different terrorists did you see?”

Rielly closed her eyes for a second.

“I think I saw six of them, and I’m pretty sure I saw the leader. Some Prince something or other. I actually met him on the street on my way in the morning all of this started. He got out of a limo with Russ Piper, the chairman of the DNC. Russ is an old friend of my family.” Rielly paused.

“I haven’t seen him since this whole thing started… I hope he’s all right.”

“The leader is not a prince,” said Rapp.

“His name is Rafique Aziz.”

Rielly had a spasm of shivers and said, “Well, whoever he is, he’s evil, and I don’t mean just crazy or goofy, I mean evil.

He shot someone in cold blood just because they asked for blankets and food. He just lifted his gun without any warning and shot the man in the head.”

“That would be Rafique Aziz,” said Rapp somberly. Then looking down at his watch, he decided he had better get moving.

“Well, Ms. Rielly, we’ll have to continue this later. I have to go take care of something.”

“Please call me Anna.” Rielly smiled.

“All right’ Anna I don’t know how long this will take, but I should be back in an hour or less. Milt here will take care of you, so don’t worry. I know he doesn’t look like much, but don’t let that fool you.”

Adams looked at Rapp deadpan. Rapp grabbed the small fanny pack for his short excursion and strapped it around his waist. He turned his baseball cap around backward and placed his headset over the top, but after hearing only static interference, he turned off the small radio.

Rielly watched him intently as he moved about the room on his knees When he grabbed his submachine gun and stood, Rielly asked, “Who do you work for, Mitch?”

“The post office.” Rapp nodded for Adams to get up and then looked back at Rielly.

“Anna, we’ll have to finish this interview later.” With a wink, he added reassuringly, “Keep an eye on Milt for me.” THE SEARCH OF the second and third floors of the White House had taken almost twenty-five minutes.

The three men worked in unison, one always covering the other two, as they went from room to room checking the closets and under the beds. Aziz had been sure they would find her cowering in one of the closets, but they had not.

They descended from the third floor. Aziz, walking in the lead, was thinking. He was thinking about the building and how old it was, how much it bothered him that he couldn’t just walk from one building to the other without going outside.

If he could just have gotten his hands around the president in his office, he would not have had to spread his people so thin. But Aziz knew if he wanted to get the Americans to meet all of his demands, he would have to extract the cowardly president from the safety of his bunker. And the only way he could do that was if his little thief, his gift from Saddam, was successful in his task.

Aziz stopped suddenly and did an about-face. Bengazi and Ragib stopped just short of running into their leader. They were dred and their reaction time dulled. Aziz pointed back down the hall and said, “Follow me. I have decided there is something else we need to check while we are here.”

The two men stood aside, and Aziz marched off in the direction from which they had come. As they continued down the staircase to the first basement, Aziz opened the fire door and stepped into the hallway. He stood there for several seconds, looking in both directions, and then he walked back into the staircase and continued down to the second basement. He repeated his actions on this floor, pausing just long enough to look down the hallway.

When they reached the third basement, Aziz pointed to the stairwell door and said to Ragib, “You wait here. “Aziz then marched down the hall with Bengazi.

When the corridor ended, the two men turned to the left and continued for another thirty feet. Aziz was immediately surprised by the lack of noise when he had checked on his little thief some four hours earlier, the sound had been pronounced.

Slightly alarmed by the change, Aziz brought his assault rifle up to a leveled position. Bengazi, sensing his boss’s tension, did the same. The outer door that Mustafa had broken through on the first night was only half open. As Aziz approached, he could see only a portion of the outer room to the president’s bunker, and his little thief was not in sight.

Aziz walked to the left so he could see the right side of the room.

There was still nothing: no sound, no Mustafa.

Without stopping, Aziz slid through the partially opened door and snapped the muzzle of his MP-5 to the left. What he saw upset him instantly. Against the far wall, Mustafa was sitting on the floor, asleep in an upright position-his short arms wrapped around his potbelly and his mouth open with a stream of drool running down his chin. Aziz took three steps and forcefully kicked the man’s feet.

Mustafa’s eyes opened instantly, and Aziz shoved the muzzle of his rifle to within an inch of his face.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Nervously, he replied, “I was taking a nap.”

“I can see that. Why aren’t the drills running?”

“They needed a rest.”

The safecracker tried to move farther away from the weapon, but there was nowhere to go.

“If I run them nonstop, they will burn out.”

Aziz moved the rifle away from the man’s face. The answer had satisfied him for the moment.

“Are you still on schedule?”

“Yes.” Mustafa rolled his plump body onto one knee and stood. “I am actually several hours ahead of schedule.”

Aziz raised an interested eyebrow.

“Really. When do you expect to have the door opened?”

Mustafa looked at his watch. “If the drills continue to work well, I think I can have the door opened around seven this evening.”

Aziz smiled.

“That would make me very happy.” Slapping the shorter man on the back, Aziz said, “You have done good work, Mustafa.”

“Thank you.” Mustafa bowed his head slightly, accepting the rare compliment.

Aziz looked over at the shiny vault door. In less than twenty-four hours he would have his hands on the president.

Mustafa’s news of being ahead of schedule helped assuage Aziz’s anger over the loss of hasan. Once he had the president, he could breathe a sigh of relief.