The Rescue(2)

Decker watched the SPECTER team leader’s bouncing feed as the operative reached the back door. The other half of his team was on the other side of the house. Several seconds passed as the team prepped small explosive charges that would blow the door off its hinges.

“SPECTER Two ready for breach,” announced a gravelly voice.

“Copy that. SPECTER One ready. Stand by to breach,” said the team leader. “Two. One. Breach.”

The simultaneous flash of the door charges was followed by rapid, confusing camera movement. A few seconds later, the video feed stabilized. A tightly clustered, night vision–equipped group of operatives appeared in the far left corner of the feed, panning their rifles around a large common area featuring a combined kitchen and living room. The team leader’s camera pointed at a padlocked door leading to the other half of the house.

“Something’s off,” said Payne. “No guards.”

His teams must have been detected on the way in. That was the only explanation. Decker had a bad feeling about what they’d find on the other side of that door. Pierce muttered an obscenity, shaking his head.

“Bring GHOST up and breach the padlocked door immediately,” said Decker.

Payne relayed the orders, and the body armor–clad operatives swarmed forward to attach the explosive charges. GHOST team stacked up along the wall next to the door, waiting for SPECTER to finish their job.

Pierce tapped his shoulder. “We have company,” he said. “FRONT DOOR has a tight convoy of Suburbans and Town Cars turning onto Florida from Santa Fe. Heading in our direction.”

FRONT DOOR was a two-person surveillance team situated on the roof of a realty business across the street from the motel. They had a commanding view of Florida Street and the front entrance. Another team sat on the roof of a two-story building behind the motel, ensuring nobody could sneak up on Decker’s command center undetected.

“Do you want me to delay the breach?” said Payne.

“Hold on, Deb,” said Decker, turning to Pierce. “How long until the vehicles reach the motel entrance?”

“Ten seconds max. They’re moving fast.”

The time would feel like an eternity for the teams at the target house, but Decker needed to know what they were up against from the vehicles outside the motel before making a final decision.

“Any sign of similar activity near the target house?”

“Negative,” replied the operations technician seated next to Payne. “GRAVEYARD reports all clear.”

It had to be the FBI. Agent Reeves, the special agent in charge of the Steele case, had protested WRG’s involvement from the start, embarking on an immediate campaign of harassment that had required the senator’s intervention. Reeves had picked the worst possible moment to renew his vendetta.

“Tell them to breach in twenty seconds unless they hear otherwise,” said Decker.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said Pierce.

“If a bunch of Russians jump out of those vehicles, I’ll assume the worst about the house and withdraw the team.”

“You haven’t already assumed the—” Pierce began. “Hold that. BACK DOOR reports heavily armed teams on foot approaching the back of the motel. FBI stenciled in bold letters on their ballistic shields.”

“Has to be Reeves. The senator will have his badge for this,” muttered Decker.

“What are we doing?” said Payne.

“The operations center stands down. Only the operations center,” said Decker. “Tell GHOST to breach the door now and rescue the hostages. Then transfer command of the operation to GRAVEYARD. Let them know we’re compromised.”

“Copy that,” said Payne before transmitting the orders.

Red strobe lights flashed through the thin cracks between the window shades as tires screeched in the distance.

“FRONT DOOR reports heavily armed personnel exiting the vehicles and heading for the motor court entrance. FBI stencils confirmed,” said Pierce. “What now?”

“We disarm and walk out with our hands up. Immediately,” said Decker, removing his pistol from a concealed hip holster and tossing it on the bed.

“What about the surveillance teams?” said Pierce.

“My guess is they’ve already been made. Probably under sniper cover. Tell them to raise their hands and stand very still. Wait for the FBI.”

Pierce relayed instructions and threw his pistol on the bed next to Decker’s. “None of this makes sense,” he said. “The house—and now this?”

He was right. It didn’t add up, but there was nothing they could do about it right now. The best they could hope for was a miracle at the target house.

“Any word from GHOST?” said Decker, his hand on the doorknob.

“Breaching in a few seconds,” said Payne.

He wanted to wait, but they needed to beat the FBI into the motor court or things would get complicated. “It’s in their hands now,” he said. “Everyone disarm and walk out behind me.”

“I’ll switch the feed over to a wireless earpiece,” said Payne, standing up. “They might not notice.”

“Good thinking.”

Satisfied that everyone was disarmed and ready, Decker opened the door and raised his hands, scanning the empty, weed-infested parking lot. Red strobe lights from a dark SUV penetrated the arched motor court entrance, reflecting off the ground-floor windows. He took several steps into cooler night air, turning his head far enough to see that everyone on the command team had followed. Doors on both sides of the motor court creaked open, and his internal security teams streamed into the parking lot.