Infidels (20 page)

“We’ll
be in touch, Colonel.”

Clancy
ended the call, kicking back from his desk and turning to look out the window,
the sun bright at Fort Bragg today, but nowhere near as scorching as it would
be for his men trapped in the desert with no way to reach them for hours.

He
growled.

Am I
just sending them into harm’s way?

He
didn’t trust the Colonel as far as he could throw him, especially in a
situation like this where being seen as collaborating could lead to beheading.

Nayef
is just as likely to kill my men and claim he ‘rescued’ the stone.

He
slammed his fist on his desk, rattling his keyboard.

But
what choice do I have?

Embassy of the United States, Paris, France

“Monsieur Ambassador, we do not want another Benghazi, not on French
soil.”

“I can
assure you, Mr. President, neither do we.”

Dawson
looked at Ambassador Neil Harrison, impressed. The man had been given the
opportunity to evacuate on one of the three helicopters that had managed to set
down, but he had refused, instead insisting that he not leave until the last
soul had been rescued.

And he
looked completely calm, despite the fact a horde was tearing apart everything
and anything fifty feet over their heads, and were already beginning to cut
through the massive steel doors protecting them with plasma torches. Current
estimates were that they could be inside within an hour.

And then
there’d be nothing they could do to stop them.

“Monsieur
Ambassador, you understand that the focal point of the riots in Paris is your
embassy and various other American government and private interests. If what
you tell me is accurate, and you expect the terrorists to breach your security
doors in as little as an hour, then we have no time to attempt a negotiated
settlement.”

“Agreed.”

“Then
since we are agreed, I am giving the order now for our forces to move in using
all necessary force to retake the embassy and surrounding area. Please keep
your people inside your secure area for as long as possible. We will be
targeting anyone on the embassy grounds with lethal force.”

“Thank
you, Mr. President.”

“Good
luck, Monsieur.”

The call
ended and Ambassador Harrison leaned back in his chair, the conference room
they were in tight, dated, and stifling, aides, advisors, security and
civilians crammed in to hear the call that could decide their fate.

Harrison
rose from one of the few chairs. “Ladies and gentlemen, you heard the French
President. Their forces will be moving shortly to retake the embassy, and once
they do, we’ll be safe. As soon as the authorities have secured the premises,
we will begin immediate evacuations by convoy if possible, helicopter if
necessary, to Charles de Gaulle Airport where our government has chartered
passenger aircraft evacuating American citizens around the clock. One is being
held for us with more than enough room for everyone.” He turned to the Master
Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the Marine Security Guard. “What’s the latest on
their attempts to breach the door?”

“Not
good, sir. They’ve added a second plasma torch. They’ll be through within an
hour.”

“Recommendations?”

The Gunny
nodded toward Dawson. “Mr. Ambassador, we have a specialist here who I would
like to defer to in this situation.”

Harrison
looked at Dawson, the two having met earlier, Harrison aware in a roundabout
way who Dawson actually was. “Mr. White, your recommendations?”

Dawson
bowed slightly. “Sir, we still have the advantage with weapons and at this
point the object is to delay for as long as possible. Once the French press
their assault, we should see results fairly quickly, if their past is any
indicator.”

“Meaning?”

“Frankly,
sir, the French don’t pussyfoot around. They
will
use any and all means
to retake this facility before it is too late. Their national pride is at
stake, and to not put too fine a point on it, they are tired of these problems.
I personally believe they will be successful in their attempt—we simply need to
give them as much time as possible for them to reach us.”

“And how
can we do that?”

“Barricade
the hallway so as to impede their progress. I don’t mean pile a bunch of desks
against the door, they’ll just push those out of the way. I mean a long,
irregular obstacle course that they’ll have to navigate with clear line of
sight for our men to take them out.”

“Is that
what I saw before the meeting started?”

“Yes,
sir. The Gunny gave the order to begin just minutes ago. We’ll move all
personnel to the rooms deepest in the facility and give everyone with weapons
training a firearm. The security detail will take up position at the far end of
the blockade and take out anybody who comes through the door. The more bodies
the more obstacles.”

“Maybe
they’ll think twice after a few of their friends are killed?”

Dawson
shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ambassador, but from my experience, once in a
religious fervor like this, people tend to not back down. They believe if they
die by the hand of the infidel, they will go to paradise.”

“And their
seventy-two virgins,” muttered someone behind him.

“Haven’t
they run out yet?” asked a woman near the door.

There
were snickers, cut off by the raised hand of Harrison. “It is the policy of the
Administration to not pass judgment on anyone’s religious beliefs.”

“No
matter how violent they may be.”

The
entire room turned toward the woman standing near the door, a raven-haired
thirty-something in a crisp pantsuit, arms crossed over her chest, eyes glaring
at the ambassador.

“Now
isn’t the time,” replied Harrison.

“Then
when is? After we’re all dead? We’ve been tiptoeing around this religion for
years now, always careful to never blame Muslims for all of the attacks we’ve
suffered, but to blame
extremists.
And of course it’s not their fault,
it’s our own for killing them eight hundred years ago in the Crusades. Are you
kidding me? What kind of moron thinks murder is justified by actions taken
almost a thousand years ago?

“And you
all saw the briefing notes that circulated a few weeks ago. Almost a third of
the so-called moderates in England believed the attacks carried out right here,
in this very city we live and work in, were justified! How the hell can we
continue to live with our heads stuck in the sand? When is the time, Mr.
Ambassador? When will we finally wake up and realize we have a problem that
continues to get worse every day with every single immigrant from this religion
that we accept in our country?” She uncrossed her arms and jabbed a finger at
the ceiling. “Those maniacs trying to kill us today, are the same people who
will be landing in New York City next week, peaceful as can be, looking for a
better life because it will have become intolerable for them here. And when the
shit hits the fan next time, whose side will they be on?”

Harrison
nodded. “Kelly, I understand your frustration. Hell, I
feel
your
frustration. But right here, right now, is not the time for this debate. I have
no doubt that after these events are over, governments everywhere will be
seriously reevaluating their positions on things.”

A burst
of air spit from Kelly’s mouth. “Sir, you and I both know that the real reason Western
governments including our own refuse to acknowledge what the
real
problem is, is that they have no solution but the unthinkable. It’s already too
late for Europe. There’s tens of millions of people who have nothing in common
with their adopted homelands, and have no desire or need to integrate. What can
you do about that? Deport them? Deport them to where? Deport them how? There’s
forty million of them!”

Harrison’s
jaw squared. “This meeting is over. We have preparations to make. Kelly, report
to your assigned station with the others.”

Kelly’s
jaw clamped shut, her face red with rage, her tirade stifled for the moment as
the room began to quickly empty. Dawson said nothing, it not his place as a
soldier, but there was a lot of muttering in the room suggesting she had
significant support for her views.

And he
didn’t blame them.

When
thousands of people on the other side of a wall wanted you dead for no other
reason than you weren’t the same religion as them, it was hard not to think
there was a serious problem.

But
that
wasn’t
his
problem. His problem was to make sure these people survived
to be proven wrong, or, he feared more likely, right.

“Holy
shit! It’s starting!” shouted someone from down the hall, civilians rushing
toward one of the rooms with a television set connected to an outside cable
line, military and security personnel rushing toward the danger.

Niner
walked up to Dawson, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “How’s that?”

Dawson
looked and smiled. “Perfect.” Dozens of desks, chairs and cabinets filled almost
half the long hallway, some on end, some on their side, the configuration the sergeant
had come up with not allowing the attackers to just climb up and run along the
tops—and if they did they’d be easy pickings anyway—nor providing them cover
unless they were willing to crawl on their hands and knees, thus slowing them,
and with a downward trajectory, again easy pickings.

It would
definitely buy them some time.

“We’ve
also got two fire hoses positioned. The water’s still working. We’ll use those
to take their breath away and disorient them.”

“Good
thinking. How are we for ordnance?”

“We
found about half a dozen flashbangs plus lots of ammo. We’ll put up one hell of
a fight.”

Dawson
looked at all the wood in the hallway then frowned. “And if they try to smoke
us out?”

Niner
motioned toward the ceiling. “Apparently the ventilation system is very good.
And we’ve got hoses.” He said the last part as if he were a twelve-year-old
boy.

“You
really want to get on one of those, don’t you?”

Niner
grinned. “I’ve already volunteered. You know, I always wanted to be a fireman,
but I didn’t have the pecs for the calendar.” He reached out and squeezed
Dawson’s chest. “But you’ve got a nice set on you.” He rubbed a finger over
Dawson’s nipple. “Ooh, somebody’s happy to see me.”

Dawson
looked at Niner, straight in the eyes. “Fingers broken in three… two… one…”

Niner
jerked his hand away as Dawson grabbed for it. “Hey, don’t blame me for your
body’s reaction. Deep down, some part of you finds me attractive.” He turned
and rushed down the hall before Dawson could say anything.

All the
while swaying his hips.

Dawson
chuckled.

“I think
I’ll sic Maggie on him when we get out of here.”

Gloom
swept over him as he realized he had forgotten Maggie’s situation for a moment.

God,
please take care of her.

Place de la Concorde, Paris, France

Rally Point Alpha

Corporal Pierre Laviolette of the National Gendarmerie Intervention
Group inspected his weapon, the large line of riot police with shields doing
little to cut down the din from the rioters on the other side. He could see the
embassy from here, and from what he could tell, there were about ten thousand
protesters in their way.

And
barely one thousand opposing them.

But
hardware was the great equalizer.

And
their orders were rather remarkable.

Do
whatever it takes to clear the embassy within the next 30 minutes.

His
sergeant had briefed them only minutes ago. There were over one hundred embassy
staff trapped in the basement and the terrorists had almost cut through the
steel doors protecting them. Once they were through, they would slaughter those
inside.

And he
was sick of the slaughter.

Not a
day went by where there wasn’t another report of Muslims killing innocents, and
he was tired of it. He had been born and raised in Paris, and now entire
neighborhoods were essentially no go zones for non-Muslims, with Muslims taking
over during prayers, blocking sidewalks and entire streets to traffic.

And
after the attacks, he no longer felt safe in his own country.

Which
was unacceptable.

A megaphone
squawked nearby.

“This
is the police. You are ordered to clear the area immediately and return to your
homes. You are in violation of a mandatory curfew. I repeat, you are ordered to
clear the area immediately and return to your homes. You are in violation of a
mandatory curfew. If you do not disperse immediately, lethal force has been
authorized.”

Laviolette
felt butterflies in his stomach.

Lethal
force.

He had
never thought he’d be ordered to kill French citizens, but as he looked past
the row of shields at the crowd beyond, the hatred in their eyes told him
everything he needed to carry out his orders.

Though
these people may be citizens of France, they weren’t
of
France.

They had
never and would never embrace this wonderful secular society, enjoy its
freedoms, its desires for equal rights and freedom of the individual. These
people had no desire to be truly French, which had nothing to do with skin
color or religion, but with a belief in one’s country and fellow man.

And what
he had seen on the news before being called up, and what he had heard in the
briefings, sickened him. Christians were being targeted the world over,
American businesses set ablaze, embassies attacked and random violent swarmings
so numerous the news channels were now just running counters on their screens
rather than covering them individually.