End Days Super Boxset (15 page)

Sergeant Toomey looked on as his handheld radio blared on with a multitude of conversations. He didn’t seem like a man who had the time or patience to barter. “Get your people in here, but do it fast. We have a time crunch here.”

“Understood,” Craig said, taking a step back.

Hicks approached with Malaka and Husein. She looked every bit as indifferent as Husein looked overwhelmed and afraid. Mendoza pushed Rasheed’s wheelchair closer to the vehicle with his partner, Agent Thomas, following. Donaldson scanned the perimeter with Agent Rivers by his side.

Craig looked at Mendoza and Thomas. “We’ve got it from here, thanks for your help. I owe you one. Big time.”

“Homeland isn’t going to like this,” Mendoza said. “If anything happens to Rasheed—“

“I’ll take full responsibility,” Craig said.

He shook hands with the agents and they went on their way, appearing relieved to be cut loose.

Sergeant Toomey led Craig to the back of the truck, where he unlatched and opened the two hatchback doors. In the back were two benches, one on each side, and an iron cage divider near the front.

“Let’s move,” Craig said.

Hicks led Malaka and Husein up the steps into the back of the truck as Donaldson and Rivers lifted Rasheed inside. Once everyone was situated, Sergeant Toomey looked at Craig while resting one hand atop his slung rifle.

“Tell them to hold on and stay down. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

“We’ll manage,” Craig said, climbing in.

Once they were inside, Toomey closed and bolted the doors shut. Craig crouched to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, realizing how cramped they really were. Sergeant Toomey then appeared at the passenger side, getting in. The unseen driver shifted the truck into gear as the police cars sounded their sirens and drove ahead. Everyone in the back bounced around once the truck moved forward. Craig sat on the bench next to Hicks, who was seated beside Malaka and Husein. On the other side sat Donaldson and Rivers, with Rasheed in between them still in his wheelchair, groaning intermittently.

“We should really consider taking him back to the hospital,” Hicks said to Craig.

The truck shook and vibrated as it careered out of the back parking lot and down the road. Craig gripped a pulley handle hanging from the ceiling.

“He’ll be fine. We’re about ten minutes out.”

“From where?” Hicks asked.

“Some bunker across town. Homeland is going to try their best to push us away from this case once we get there, but we’re going to have to stand our ground.”

“How exactly…are we going to do that?” Hicks asked. Craig could hardly hear him above the loudly reverberating engine.

“What do they know?” Craig asked. “Nothing. What do we know? A whole hell of a lot more. If Homeland is in any way interested in getting information from the Surkovs, they’re going to have to go through us. End of story.”

Craig’s confidence made an impression. Hicks had never dealt with an FBI agent so full of conviction at a time when things were so resolutely beyond his control. The passengers continued to rock back and forth as the carrier truck moved down the busy city streets through D.C., following the police escorts, who slowly parted traffic with the incessant wailing of their sirens.

It was hard to see anything from where they sat in the rear of the vehicle. They took the nearest highway exit while Craig stood up, teetering and trying to look out the small, triple-layered Plexiglas windows to see where they were going.

Sitting next to Husein, Malaka took her nephew’s hand in hers and gently squeezed.

Rasheed continued to groan as his head swayed from side to side. The wheelchair had been locked to prevent his rolling around on the aluminum, diamond-patterned flooring. Soon enough, everyone was quiet with tense anticipation.

The sound of a helicopter flying above them could be heard from above. Craig stood up and moved carefully to the front of the vehicle, stopping at a fence divider. The front windshield had five long protective bars across it, and he could see the two police escorts driving ahead, moving highway traffic to the side. Craig leaned toward Sergeant Toomey, sitting on the other side of the cage, in the passenger seat.

“I guess you don’t have to worry about anyone hitting this thing.”

Toomey nodded his head slightly. “You got that right.”

Craig tried to get a better look at the driver on the other side. All he saw was another officer dressed in the same gear as Toomey. “Greetings, officer. I’m Special Agent Davis.”

The driver looked back. He wore a helmet with a headset and mic inside it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Sergeant Phelps.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Craig said, shifting in between the two officers. “So can you tell me more about this underground bunker?”

Sergeant Toomey held his finger against his earpiece and listened, momentarily distracted. He then turned his head.

“What was that?”

“I was asking about this secret bunker.”

“Oh,” Toomey said. “It’s no secret. Just a secure place to hold your friends back there for the time being.”

Craig looked forward as the truck picked up steam and merged onto the highway. The police escorts flew ahead, sirens ablaze. Much of the road was cleared and blocked off in places, as if undergoing construction, only there were no construction vehicles around. The helicopter continued to follow them from overhead. Craig saw that they were driving onto I-95 south, toward Virginia. “Where are you taking us?” he asked, a little more forcibly.

“The Pentagon, Agent Davis. We’ve been instructed to escort the detainees to the Pentagon.”

Craig tilted his head back, thinking to himself. What did the Pentagon want with the Surkovs? They zoomed past other cars on the highway, nearly reaching the carrier’s top speed of 110 miles per hour. The police escort ahead seemed to be going even faster.

“Ten minutes, you say?” Craig said. “Good luck.”

Toomey gave a thumbs-up as Craig released his grip on the cage divider and moved back to his seat next to Hicks, trying to maintain his balance along the way.

“What’d they say?” Hicks asked.

Once seated, Craig lifted a leg in the air, stretching it. He responded to Hicks in a quiet tone, trying to prevent any of the Surkovs from overhearing. “Taking a one-way trip to the Pentagon.”

“What?” Hicks said, gaining the attention of Donaldson and Rivers, seated across from them.

Malaka leaned forward from her seat to talk to Rasheed in Chechen. Drenched in sweat and nearly unconscious, her son didn’t look good.

“What is she saying?” Donaldson asked.

“I don’t know,” Rivers said. “Does it matter? Death to America. That’s all I hear.”

Donaldson laughed. “She’s a feisty one.”

Craig didn’t find it easy to sit still. He rose again from his seat and looked out the tiny window. The highway zoomed by—buildings, bridges, and monuments grew farther away. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been to the Pentagon. He suddenly recalled a period when he was training to join the FBI Intelligence Branch. He had spent two months at the Pentagon attending a preliminary course.
e
It seemed like ages ago. Craig leaned forward and looked out the front windshield. The police escorts raced ahead, everything in place for a secure transport.

Then, without warning, something went terribly wrong.

A massive explosion struck the police vehicle on the left, sending it whirling into the air and tumbling down into the deep, grassy median dividing the highway.

“Holy shit!” Sergeant Toomey yelled.

Craig moved quickly to the front of the vehicle, clinging to the cage.

In mere seconds, the first police car had been reduced to a cloud of dust and debris fading in the distance.

Hicks shot up from his seat, jumped up on the bench and cupped his hands to look out the window. “What the hell was that?”

Donaldson and Rivers looked perplexed, rising from their seats as well to see what had happened. It sounded like a bomb had gone off. Officer Phelps stayed focused on the road, only swerving a little. The voice coming over his headphones sounded frantic.
“Officer down! 11-80, we got an 11-80!”

No one knew for sure what had happened or what had caused the officer’s vehicle to fly off the road and spin into a violent rollover. Before anyone could ask any questions or make any sense of what had happened, a bright explosion hit the second police vehicle, sending it crashing into the highway’s guardrail. It gradually became clear what was happening. The explosions weren’t random; they were precise strikes from a hidden attacker.

“RPG!” Officer Phelps shouted.

Toomey jerked his head to the left as the flaming police car crashed and flipped over the side railing into a fiery ball. Phelps floored the gas, pushing the truck at maximum speed. Craig gripped the cage for balance, still in a state of disbelief. The agents in the back were glued to the small windows. Husein tried to get up, but Malaka pulled him back to his seat.

“No,” she said. “Stay down!”

The helicopter pilot’s frantic message echoed through the headsets of Phelps and Toomey.

“What he’s saying?” Craig demanded. “What does he see?” He held one hand against the pistol in his pocket. In his other pocket was his two-way radio.

“We’re under attack,” Toomey said, his tone deadly serious. “We have to get off the road.”

Several pickup trucks suddenly appeared from the right side of the road, emerging from trees and underbrush, hot on their trail. There were five trucks in all, with armed, masked men dressed completely in black. The two police vehicles burned in the distance as the realization swept Craig that they were under attack in broad daylight.

“They’re here to get the Surkovs!” Craig shouted. “Do not stop!”

Phelps shifted the carrier into the far left lane on the three-lane highway and floored it on the eerily empty road. Two of the trucks pulled up next to them, on the right, as the others followed from behind.

“They’re on your three!” Toomey shouted. “Ram ‘em!”

Before Phelps could respond and react, a man in back of the first truck to their side held up a large green tube with a rocket sticking out and aimed into the air.

“We got another RPG here! On your six!”

“Take him out!” Toomey shouted.

Phelps jerked the wheel and flew into the next lane over, missing the truck as it darted to the side and slowed down. The man in the bed of the pickup truck regained his balance and fired the rocket-propelled grenade into the air, hitting the helicopter directly in its side. An explosive blast sent it into a wild tailspin off into the forest as the pilot tried unsuccessfully to maintain control.

Sparks and black smoke churned from the rotors as the copter quickly descended into the ground, exploding into a large fireball.

Another truck pulled up to their side with masked shooter manning a mounted M60 machine gun.

“On your three!” Craig shouted.

Phelps swerved to the side but missed. The gunner unloaded a belt of ammunition, hitting their side in rapid succession, but failing to penetrate the thick metal of the transport carrier. Another gunner then pulled along their side and opened fire.

Craig could hear a hundred different rounds hitting the truck from all directions. The bulletproof glass windows filled with an array of tiny white spots as rounds attempted to blast through.

“Everyone stay down!” he said.

They fired at the rear tires, but did little to damage them. The protective, thick tread was nearly as impregnable as the transport carrier itself. However, Phelps panicked and swerved between lanes, trying to shake them off. Craig gripped tightly to a pulley as the other passengers bounced around on their seats. From the rear, mounted gunners joined the action, relentlessly firing but doing little to damage the carrier.

Phelps was quickly losing control. Their transport swung to the right lane, then quickly back to the left. Craig fell, hitting his face on the cold floor. Hicks was thrown from the bench. Donaldson was knocked out cold from hitting his head against the window. And Rivers flew into Rasheed, flipping him over. Malaka held tightly to her seat with her eyes closed as Husein gripped her arms.

Suddenly, a rocket was fired at them, causing a massive explosion at the rear. The carrier shook violently, but it still wasn’t enough to take them down. The deafening explosion caused a high-pitched alarm to go off inside.

Phelps’s nose was bleeding and he looked disoriented. “Hold on back there!” he shouted as he desperately tried to keep the truck from veering off the road.

Toomey called into his headset mic requesting immediate backup as fire burned wildly on both sides of the vehicle. Their attackers were unstoppable and relentless.

Craig rose from the floor as the vehicles swayed. “Whatever you do, don’t stop!”

The hostile squad of trucks suddenly backed off and slowed down. For a moment, Craig thought they had given up. His relief was short-lived when he looked ahead and saw
a masked man standing in a truck bed on the side of the road with his RPG aimed and ready. He fired.