The Rescue(105)

“WARHAMMER. This is QUEBEC ROMEO One,” said his quick-reaction team leader. “I’ve reached the package. It landed in the center of the clearing next to the eastern pond. Had one of those airborne guidance units. Very high-end. I sent two ATVs ahead to recon the other drop site. I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of a parachute in the trees.”

“Careful, John,” said Dutch. “These guys are good.”

“I haven’t picked up anything on thermals.”

“They could be hiding out. Waiting for a ride back to the house.”

“They wouldn’t get very far. I have the heavy-weapons support team watching over us.”

Dutch muttered to himself, “I don’t see what his play is here.” Landing that far away from the house might have worked if Decker hadn’t used the same tactic a few days ago, but under the current circumstances, Dutch didn’t see how they expected to reach the house undetected. Grabbing one of the ATVs would get them only so far, as John said. Dutch had more than fifty trained operatives sweeping the estate. Decker certainly had skills, but there was no way he was getting to the house, and even if he did, the house was virtually impenetrable.

“The package is a square plastic transport case. A big one. It doesn’t look locked,” said the team leader. “Do you want us to open it?”

“Negative. Just keep Decker from reaching it.”

He scanned the wall-size bank of monitors displaying the camera feeds that covered the grounds adjacent to the fourteen-thousand-square-foot house. Because of the mansion’s ridiculous size, Dutch had installed digital cameras capable of tracking movement and locking on to targets. Sophisticated software analyzed all the feeds, and none of the feeds indicated movement around the house.

“WARHAMMER! This is QUEBEC ROMEO One. Recon elements report dummy parachutes!”

“Say again?” said Dutch.

“They dropped mannequins!” said the team leader.

“Oh fuck!” he hissed, panning the service entrance camera back to the SUVs.

Two figures lay sprawled on the ground behind the lead Suburban, blood pooling around their heads.





CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Decker pressed “Start” on the timer attached to the ball of C-4 and sprinted away from it toward Pierce, who lay pressed against the back of the house twenty feet away. He hit the ground next to Pierce and covered his ears right before the quarter-pound plastic explosive charge detonated, obliterating the reinforced service door and instantly shattering the vehicles’ bullet-resistant windows. He took his hands off his ears and peered through the intensifying haze at the flaming mess.

“Might have been overkill,” said Decker.

“You think?” said Pierce.

They moved in unison toward the blasted entryway, their rifles pointed toward the patio in case WARHAMMER had left a few sentries on the patio or pool deck. When they reached the scorched hole, Decker peered inside through the smoke, or tried to.

“I can’t see a thing,” he said.

“Just go,” said Pierce. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Hold on,” said Decker, pulling another racquetball-size piece of C-4 from his vest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I bet WARHAMMER’S office isn’t too far away.” Decker programmed the charge’s timer. “He’s part of the help, right?”

“Good point,” said Pierce, crouching on the other side of the smoldering doorway.

Decker side-armed the ball of C-4 into the darkness and slid out of the way along the side of the house. The charge detonated a moment later, a shock wave of fire and fragments blasting out of the doorway and peppering the adjacent SUV.





CHAPTER SIXTY

Jacob Harcourt started walking toward the safe room after a second blast shook the house. Frist already stood in front of the hidden door, the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label shaking in his hand.

“Dutch,” said Harcourt into his radio, “what the hell is going on out there?” No reply. “Goddamn it, Dutch. I demand a SITREP.”

“Can we get in the damn safe room now?” said Frist.

“Where do you think I’m headed? To fix a snack in the kitchen?”

“Watch it, Jacob,” said the senator. “You said this place would be safe.”

“It is safe,” growled Harcourt, switching his radio to the emergency frequency. “Any call sign. This is Jacob Harcourt. I’ve lost contact with WARHAMMER.”

“Mr. Harcourt. This is QUEBEC ROMEO One. I spoke with Mr. Garraty less than a minute ago. He recalled the entire security force to the house right before the explosions. I lost contact with him after that.”

“Why would he recall the entire security force?”

“The parachutes were decoys. Mannequins.”

“How far out are you?” said Harcourt.

“The ATVs are a minute from the house,” he said. “I piled as many as I could fit on the vehicles. Close to thirty men.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ll be in the safe room with the senator. Have your men proceed directly to the study. I’m calling the police and the FBI as soon as I get situated—”

“And the goddamn Secret Service!” interrupted Frist.