Rogue Operator (24 page)

“Do you
have eyes on the shooters?” he asked.

“One our
eleven o’clock, behind a black SUV, no shot anymore, two at our twelve o’clock,
running toward SUV, still firing—scratch that, reloading.” Sherrie’s window
dropped and she squeezed off two rounds that sent their targets diving for
cover. Kane spun the steering wheel and they careened onto the road. Shoving it
in Drive, he floored it, aiming the vehicle toward Langley. A quick look in his
rearview mirror showed the other SUV pulling out in pursuit.

“Chris,
you okay back there?”

Chris
began to sit up when Sherrie shoved him back down. “Stay down!”

Kane
couldn’t see Chris, so reached back and grabbed what he thought was his friend’s
arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah,
yeah I’m fine. I think I pissed my pants though.”

Kane
laughed. “Do you have a phone on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Call
the Director. Tell him we’re coming in hot.”

Kane
heard something that made his skin crawl. He put his window down and poked his
head out, looking up. He didn’t see it at first, but after a few seconds of
searching, found it.

A black
helicopter, directly overhead.

“And
tell him we’ve got a helicopter, presumed armed, and an SUV with two shooters
in pursuit.”

“A
helicopter?” exclaimed Chris.

“Stay
down!”

Kane
presumed Chris must have tried to sit up to look for the chopper. He glanced
out the window again and saw muzzle flashes erupt from the side door of the
chopper. Kane swerved to the left and into the light oncoming traffic as
bullets tore open the pavement to their right, tracer fire leaving a clear
trail back to their source.

Sherrie
rolled down her window and pushed the upper half of her body up and out. Kane
heard several shots fired and saw the helicopter swerve away.

That’s
the problem with tracer fire. It works both ways.

Their
rear window shattered as their pursuers on the ground caught up on the other
side. Kane reached over and pulled Sherrie in before she could become a target,
then opened the sunroof.

“Shoot
through that if you can.”

Kane
cranked the wheel and jumped the meridian, bouncing back into the proper lanes
and smacking the driver side door of their pursuers, causing them to swerve
into a parked car. Kane, still in complete control of his vehicle, spun the
wheel to the left, and gunned it forward, leaving their pursuer behind. He
looked in the rearview mirror and unfortunately saw the vehicle reverse, and
return to the chase.

“Did you
reach him yet?”

Kane
hadn’t heard anything from the backseat, and wasn’t sure if Chris had even made
the call.

“I’m
being connected now!”

Kane
pressed the accelerator as hard as he could, the SUV’s speedometer creeping up
far slower than he would like, their pursuer seeming to be closing the
distance, their vehicle obviously having a far better engine than his base
model rental.

“Tell
him we’re three minutes out and to have the south-east gate open!”

Tracer
fire ripped across the pavement in front of them and Kane jerked the wheel to
the right, sideswiping some poor bastard probably out on some errand he could
have done the next day or should have done earlier.

“And
tell him to take out that goddamned chopper!”

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Director Morrison sprinted down the hall, his phone still in hand,
the call from Chris Leroux having just ended. He was already dialing the Ops
Center as he crashed into a mail cart, sending it and its contents spilling
onto the floor.

“Make a
hole, goddammit!” he yelled as he held the phone up to his ear, climbing over
the cart.

“Ops,
Carter speaking.”

“This is
Director Morrison. I’ve got agents being pursued by hostiles approaching the south-east
gate. ETA two minutes. I need them let through, then the second vehicle taken
out if it crosses the line. Also, there’s a chopper in pursuit. Take it out.”

He heard
some shouting of orders on the other end as he spun down another flight of
stairs, finally bursting out onto the floor housing the massive Domestic
Protection Division Operations Center used to monitor operations across the
country, but also for managing the security of this very facility. Two agents
flanked the doors at the end of the hall.

“Open
the door!” yelled Morrison, winded, he having not run this hard this long in
far too long. One of the men slid his card through a reader, then they stepped
aside, opening the doors.

Morrison
charged into the room and skidded to a halt, gasping for breath.

“Status!”
he managed to yell.

“We’ve
got a chopper inbound, but we can’t be sure it’s not civilian. We’re trying to
hail it now,” replied Rick Messina, a man Morrison knew well and had faith in.
Rick
won’t fuck around with jurisdiction or authorization bullshit, he’ll get the
job done, then worry about the rest later.

“This is
ATC to unidentified helicopter. You are approaching restricted airspace. Change
your course immediately, or we will be forced to open fire, acknowledge.”

Morrison
descended a metal staircase into the pit. Messina pointed to a bank of monitors
showing various camera angles. Traffic cameras were cycling, showing two SUVs
speeding through the streets of McLean, streets he recognized well.

“Are
those—”

“Muzzle
flashes? Yes, sir. Both vehicles appear to be exchanging gunfire. Local
authorities have been notified, and have been instructed to try and clear the
streets and stay out of the way.”

“South-east
gate?”

“Ready,
sir,” said somebody sitting at one of the terminals. The man pressed his finger
on his monitor and flicked his finger up. A live feed from the gate suddenly
appeared on a large screen. “They have orders to drop the security barriers as
soon as the lead SUV is in sight, then do an emergency lock down the moment
they cross.”

“Other
traffic?”

“All
departing personnel are being redirected to alternate gates, and incoming are
being redirected.”

“SAM
batteries?”

“Active
and tracking. They’ll fire on your order,” said Messina.

“ETA
sixty seconds,” echoed an eerie, almost mechanical voice.

“Show me
the vehicles.”

He saw a
wrist flick from one of the terminals, and the requested view popped on the
large screen. Kane’s SUV careened around the corner, and began the final
stretch toward the south-east gate. The pursuing SUV was less than twenty yards
behind and gaining.

“Come on,
come on, come on!” Morrison heard one of the techs urge, he himself echoing the
words in his head. Flashes streaked across the image, followed by small flashes
on the pavement in front of the SUV.

“What
the hell is that?”

“Tracer
fire from the helicopter.”

He heard
one of the techs repeating his hail of the chopper to no avail.

“Take it
out,” ordered Morrison.

“Yes,
sir!”

There’s
going to be a shitload of paperwork tomorrow.

Approaching South East Gate, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Almost there!” yelled Kane as he swerved to avoid the gunfire
streaming down almost unopposed from the chopper. Sherrie was squeezing off
rounds at it as she could, but it was almost useless. He was having to bob and
weave so much, getting a good shot was nearly impossible.

He saw
the gates fly open ahead of them, the way cleared, and he took a bead on the
far side of the security barricades and pushed as hard as he could on the
accelerator.

“Hang
on! This is gonna get ugly!”

Sherrie
spun around in her seat, yanking her seatbelt on and snapping it into place.
Kane saw her turn around to check on Chris who hadn’t said a word since getting
through to the Director. Kane prayed he hadn’t taken a hit, as this all would
have been for not, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. They
blasted past the raised yellow gates marking the first security measure, then
passing the turn that led to visitor parking, he swerved around the barriers
that alternately blocked the left and right lanes, their placement having their
desired effect of slowing down any approaching vehicle. Fortunately for Kane,
his driving skills didn’t take too much off his speed, but a quick glance in
the rearview mirror showed their pursuers appeared equally adept at navigating
the barriers, still only yards behind.

Clearing
the final yellow barrier, they hurtled toward the massive concrete gate that
housed the guard house and pre-screening facility. The barriers were up, the
guards flanking either side waving them through.

Kane
gunned it, trying to regain some of the lost speed, when they were rammed from
behind. The jolt caused the vehicle to fishtail, and Kane desperately tried to
maintain control as he raced at over sixty miles per hour toward a narrow gate
with speed bumps randomly placed causing them to gain air every dozen or so
feet as he battled an uncooperative back end.

He knew he
just needed to thread the needle, to make it through the narrow opening, and
they’d be fine. He hit the brakes, killing their speed. The pursuing SUV
slammed into the rear, then Kane hit the gas and urged the vehicle the last few
yards, the rear end now under control. They whipped past the guards and Kane
slammed on the brakes, cranking the wheel to the right, aiming toward a small
parking lot. They skidded to a halt, perpendicular to the gate as the emergency
lockdown was activated just as their pursuing vehicle crossed the hidden
barrier.

Recessed
reinforced steel bollards shot up from the pavement, directly under the SUV,
firing it into the air as if it had hit a ramp. The vehicle arced, almost
gracefully, then slammed into the pavement on its roof, a half dozen guards
swarming around it. The scream of a rocket caught Kane’s attention and he
shoved his head up and through the sunroof to see a surface to air missile roar
by, their pursuing helicopter banking away to no avail.

The
missile slammed into the tail, shearing it completely off, the explosion from
the missile and jet fuel was enormous, spitting shrapnel over the entire area
causing everyone to duck. Somebody pulled him inside as the flames swept over
their vehicle, and he could have sworn he felt the rotors spinning overhead as
the heat filled the cabin, then just as quickly dissipated.

Kane
turned to Sherrie.

“Are you
okay?”

She
nodded.

He
reached around and grabbed Chris.

“You
okay?”

“Yeah,”
moaned his friend.

“You’re
not hit?”

“No, but
I think I’ve bruised every damned part of my body.”

Kane
laughed then popped open his door.

“Good
luck!”

And
without waiting for a reply, he sprinted toward the gate, past all the
confusion, and away from Langley, where he was still a wanted man.

Peterson “Residence”, North Korea

Four Days after the Kidnappings

Jason Peterson sat on the toilet, shower running, taps running, door
locked, with orders whispered to Maggie that he wasn’t to be disturbed for
fifteen minutes. Once locked inside the small bathroom, he had taken a seat,
then tried, as casually as possible, to examine every nook and cranny of the
bathroom for any place where a camera or microphone might be hidden.

But it
was no use.

There
were any number of places. The central air vent, the ceiling fan, behind the
mirror, in the tile pattern, in the shower head. There were just too many
possibilities. So it was time to damn the torpedoes, and do it. He had
rehearsed the conversation a thousand times in his head, but he had no idea what
questions his mother might actually ask. And he had figured out what he had
hoped would be a great closing line, that would let those at the other end know
they needed help, but those at this end that might be listening, a plausible
alternative meaning.

He stood
up, flushed the toilet, forgetting that he had actually not put the lid up and
was sitting on it with his pants on, then moved to the sink. He washed his
hands and face, then threw a towel over his head as if to steam his pores open.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the phone, cupping it in his palm as
best he could, but this was no tiny cellphone, it was a satphone, which were
always bigger. It only took a moment and it was under the towel. He reached
with the other hand and turned off the taps.

He held
in the power button, and a moment later the display activated. It cycled
through its power up, then showed a connection to the satellite network. His
heart was slamming against his chest as he dialed the long memorized number. He
could barely hear over his own heartbeat as he placed the phone to his ear. It
rang once, then twice. A third time and he began to fear nobody was home.

“Hello?”

The
voice was tentative, broken. He almost burst into tears, a ball forming in his
chest and pushing its way up his throat as he realized how worried she must be,
thinking he was dead, or worse.

“Hi,
Mom, it’s me.” His voice was cracking. He had to keep it together.

“Jason?”
The excitement in her voice was heartbreaking. He knew this was a hail marry
effort that would most likely get him killed, with almost no chance at success.
He began to doubt the wisdom of having made the call.

“Yes.”

But the
excitement in her voice began to remove the doubt. Just hearing his beloved
mother’s voice, even if it was for the last time, made the risk worth it. His
eyes filled with tears as she gushed in excitement.