Resurrection Day (72 page)

Drenched with perspiration, he ejected the spent magazine from the Glock, slammed home a fresh one, and started to move into the hall ...

In the front room, Rashid's face was a beacon of horror as he saw the events unfolding on the street. He was livid as he raised the Skorpion, the weapon bucking wildly in his hands as he fired through the front window, shattering glass, raking the cab with gunfire, his wrath almost like a living thing. As he continued to fire, vehicles were suddenly pouring into the street from every direction, tyres screeching, men clambering out, gunfire exploding from all sides, and in that instant Rashid knew that Karla Sharif had betrayed them ...

'Bitch!' he screamed, and swung the Skorpion round, his face white with rage as he sought his target.

She was gone.

Then a hail of deadly gunfire poured in through the shattered front window, stitching the walls, sending plaster chips flying, and Rashid swore, crouched, and scuttled towards the garage like a man possessed ...

Abdullah was covering the back entrance when he was suddenly startled by an explosion of gunfire from the front of the house. Two quick shots, then two more, followed by a crackle of sustained machinegun fire.

In a state of panic, he started to move from his position towards the front, but then remembered Rashid's orders. As he spun back round to cover the rear he saw three men in black bullet-proof Kevlar jackets and black helmets, carrying Heckler and Koch submachine-guns, clambering over the back wall. Abdullah brought up the MP-5, and it chattered in his hands ...

The street outside was a scene of chaos. As soon as Murphy gave the order to move in, a dozen vehicles had poured in from both ends of the street and pulled up near the house. Heavily armed agents wearing Kevlar jackets piled out, taking cover behind the cars and vans as gunfire raked the street from the downstairs front window of the house.

Murphy and Kursk were the first to arrive as the Dodge screeched to a halt fifty feet from the property. They saw the flashes of gunfire from the downstairs window, and jumped out of the Dodge, crouched behind it. Morgan was lying behind the grey cab, thirty feet away, clutching his bloodied leg, as Collins sprinted towards the house, firing as he ran.

Murphy clutched his radio and screamed, 'We've got an agent headed for the front door — give him back-up! Direct fire towards the downstairs front window! I repeat — the downstairs front window! Take the shooter out!'

A savage barrage of fire was suddenly directed towards the front window by the agents in the street, and Murphy saw Collins reach the front door, flatten himself against the side wall, eject the magazine from his Glock and prepare to reload.

An agent with a radio in his hand dashed up to Murphy, breathless. 'We're being held off at the rear entrance, sir. We've got two men down, wounded by a shooter at the downstairs window.'

'I want him taken out immediatelyl Do whatever you fucking have to. And someone get a medic for Morgan!' Murphy didn't take his eyes off Collins for a second, saw him slam home a fresh magazine. 'What's happening with the wire?' Murphy yelled back at one of his men near the rear of the Dodge, who had a pair of headphones on. 'Can you hear anything?'

'No, sir, it's gone dead!'

'Christ!' As chaos raged around him, Murphy felt it was all falling to pieces, and one frantic thought dominated his mind: We have to get inside the house — fast — and stop Rashid triggering the device.

Murphy hadn't a doubt in his mind that the Arab was crazy enough to do it — for all he knew the bastard might be doing it right now. It seemed that the firing from the front window had died, and he saw Collins start to move towards the front door, his Glock readied in both hands.

'Where's the back-up for Collins?' Murphy screamed. He turned away, directing his attention towards a group of agents crouched behind one of the FBI vehicles. Already some of them were moving out from behind their cover, cautiously starting towards the house, but to Murphy, frantic, no one was moving fast enough. 'I want us in that front door now! I don't want him going in alone!'

'Kursk's gone after him, sir!'

'What? Murphy turned, saw Kursk sprint towards the house, his pistol drawn, just as Collins started to move in through the front door ...

Gorev had just checked the garage doors, made sure they were locked and secure, when he heard the first two shots. Then he heard another two, followed by a welter of crackling machinegun fire that came from somewhere inside the house.

His face drained, and he started to race back towards the kitchen, ignoring Rashid's order to remain in the garage, his Beretta at the ready, his only fear at that moment Karla's safety. He heard the screech of tyres outside in the street, and as he reached the garage doorway Karla came rushing in, stumbled into his arms, pushing him back, her fingers tightening on his flesh. Her face was distraught, totally panic stricken, and before Gorev could speak she cried, 'Don't go out there, Nikolai! Don't go out, or you're dead!'

The frenzy of gunfire continued inside the house, and then it was answered from outside, a crackling barrage that was so intense Gorev moved to push past her, wielding the Beretta in alarm, but Karla held him back. 'No, Nikolai, please ... don't go!'

'What's going on ... ?'

Gorev suddenly saw it then, saw the truth in her face, tears welling in her eyes, a terrible fear in her voice. 'It's over, Nikolai. It had to be, don't you understand? Give me the keys to the van. We have to stop Rashid!'

Gorev was suddenly white faced, hoarse with disbelief. 'What have you done?'

'For God's sake give me the keys — '

At that moment Karla heard racing footsteps, and knew she was too late. As she turned she let go of Gorev, saw Rashid storm in, the Skorpion in his hands, his eyes wild with hate, scoured with panic. 'She betrayed us, Gorev! The bitch betrayed us!'

A savage look lit Rashid's face with something near to madness, and then he lost it completely. In one quick movement he levelled the Skorpion and squeezed the trigger. The burst caught Karla in the chest, sent her flying back. Gorev was transfixed, his mouth agape, horror spreading over his face as he saw her hit the wall, a blush of crimson spreading across her upper torso.

'She was a traitor!' Rashid yelled. 'She tried to stop us! She deserved to die!'

'NO!' Gorev screamed, all sanity gone as he raised the Beretta, but the Arab still had the Skorpion in his hands and he squeezed the trigger again. Gorev took a burst of machinegun fire that almost lifted him off his feet, sent him staggering back. There was blood in his mouth and he was choking on it, but Rashid kept firing until he had emptied the magazine. Gorev's body twitched in an obscene dance of death, then it crumpled to the floor.

Rashid wasted no time. He moved towards the body, his face glistening with oily sweat as he knelt, fumbled for the Nissan's keys in Gorev's pocket, knowing exactly what he was going to do ...

At the back of the house, Abdullah emptied the MP-5 through the window, then crouched down, ejected the magazine, and loaded another. He had seen more men trying to climb over the wall, others trying to direct fire towards him from several vantage points at the back. As he cocked the MP-5 and went to raise himself to aim again, a rapid burst of fire made him duck his head, and then a hail of lead drilled into the room, shattering the remaining windows, gouging the walls, forcing him to keep his head down.

He was bathed in sweat, knew the situation was hopeless. Then an object came hurtling through the shattered window. Abdullah got a brief glimpse of the stun grenade, before it exploded with a flash. The percussion stunned him, knocked him off his feet. Then an oblong canister clattered on the floor, trailing white smoke.

Tear gas.

The canister smouldered, began to fill the room with acrid smoke. Abdullah heard machinegun fire from the direction of the garage, put a hand over his nose and mouth, and darted out of the room ...

Collins moved into the hallway, holding the Glock at arm's length. The firing from the street and the front room had stopped — he'd checked the room and it was empty — but from somewhere towards the back of the house he heard staccato bursts from a submachine-gun, and the noise of a blast filled the air as shouts came from the street outside. Kursk had stepped into the hall behind him, ten feet away, and was moving up to join him, his gun at the ready. As Collins stepped cautiously forward, he found himself in the empty kitchen. There was another door off to the left, half open. He ignored it, remembered he had to turn right, knowing this would lead him to the garage, knowing he had to get their fast. Kursk screamed, 'Behind you!'

Collins ducked and turned as an Arab wielding an MP-5 burst into the kitchen from the room to the right, his hand covering his mouth as white smoke billowed out the door behind him. Before Collins had a chance to aim, Kursk fired, hitting the man in the left side, then shot him twice again, hitting him in the head.

Collins stood, heard frantic noises in the hall as agents poured into the house. Tear gas began to seep into the kitchen, and as Kursk covered him he started towards the garage ...

Rashid was in a frenzy. As he fumbled for the keys in Gorev's pocket, all hell was breaking loose inside the house, a welter of noise and gunfire that made it difficult for him to concentrate. Then he found the keys, stood, pressed the alarm pad. The Nissan's central locking disengaged with a clunk. As he went to yank open the Nissan's rear door he heard the shots in the kitchen, and brought up the Skorpion ...

As Collins moved into the garage doorway, his hands outstretched, clutching the Glock, two things happened almost at once. He saw Karla Sharif and Gorev sprawled on the floor, their bodies twisted grotesquely ...

And he saw Rashid ...

He was frantically inserting a fresh magazine into the Skorpion, and as he brought up his weapon and cocked it, a look of madness lit up his eyes.

To Collins, in that single, stark moment of terror, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

He fired once.

The first shot punched Rashid in the shoulder.

He lurched, and Collins fired twice again.

The second bullet caught Rashid in the chest.

The third hit him in the head, killing him instantly.

Everything was a blur to Collins after that. A frenzied blur of wailing sirens and noise and frantic bedlam, as agents rushed into the garage, Murphy behind them, screaming for the Haz-Mat team and the army chemical experts, and Kursk's voice, raised, shouting for an ambulance ...

Epilogue

Washington, DC

It was almost one that afternoon when the President entered the Oval Office. Doug Stevens was already there, and he turned as the door clicked open. 'Mr President.'

'Doug.' Andrew Booth slumped into his chair. For the last two hours he'd been a recluse, had retreated to his private quarters, needing solitude to recover from the mind-crushing burdens he'd shouldered in the last three and a half days. And to reflect, after he'd said his prayers of thanks, on what he might do next.

Once he'd showered, shaved and put on fresh clothes, he'd sat alone for ten minutes at his bedroom window, staring out at the capital, close to breaking point, overwhelmed by relief that it was still there, unharmed, living and breathing, before his eyes, and that his nightmare of lines of trucks ferrying hundreds of thousands of bodies out to Maryland and Virginia had not become reality. 'You've got an update for me, Doug?'

'Yes, sir. The device has been totally disarmed and I've been assured that the chemical is in a safe condition. An army technical support unit is about to move it to a secure location and they'll have the removal completed by late this afternoon. Until that's done, our emergency evacuation plans will remain in place. But the word from the experts is we're pretty much out of extreme danger.'

'Thank God.' Booth clasped his hands together, as if in silent prayer. 'What's happening with the woman, Karla Sharif?'

'She's being operated on by a team of surgeons over at George Washington Hospital.'

'Will she make it?'

'I really can't say, sir. She's in a pretty bad way.'

'What did we turn up so far?'

'She was co-operative when we questioned her before we sent her in, and helped us fill in the blind spots.' Stevens explained the details he had to hand. 'The name for the operation was Resurrection Day. The Arab term is al-Wakia, I believe.'

'That stuff you said about her, you think it's true? That she was forced into it? That al-Qaeda threatened to kill her son if she didn't go along?'

'That's the way it appears. It seems she'd been an unwilling participant from the start, plagued by doubts all along, but she had little choice. And in light of what she did to try and stop Rashid, Major Kursk asked that you consider his special request, sir.'

The President reflected. 'Even if her explanation as to why she helped al-Qaeda is true, she still had a choice. And difficult and stark as that choice was, she made her decision. There has to be a harsh price for that.'

'What will we do about her, sir, if she pulls through?'

The President thought again. 'I don't want her name appearing on any reports into this affair. She gets no mention, you understand? After I've had time to reflect, we'll deal with this in our own way. As for the bodies of Gorev and Rashid, Dick Faulks made a suggestion they be cremated, and we have it done quietly, with no big fuss. No headstones, no nothing. I think that's wise.'

'Whatever you say, sir.'

'What about the reporter lady?'

'She was released from custody an hour ago.'

'Was she told the truth?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What's her mood like?'

'Hard to tell. She just seemed relieved she knew the truth and that it's all over. I guess we'll know in time if she's going to press charges. We might have trouble with that one, but that's another day's worry. Just like Rapp.'

Booth was solemn. 'What about her son?'

'The word I got, it looks like he's going to be OK.'

The President nodded. 'I've reconvened the Security Council for an hour's time to review everything we've got to hand.' He rose, some instinct making him turn and stare up at the seal behind his desk. The bald eagle, clutching its arrows, stared back. For several moments he studied the symbol of his office and his country. 'You know, I really didn't think we'd make it. I really feared that Abu Hasim would triumph in the end and decimate this city, no matter what the outcome. But it seems we've had our own day of resurrection.'

The President turned back. Stevens saw that Booth's eyes were wet. 'That'll be all for now, Doug.'

'What about Abu Hasim, Mr President? Surely we can't let him get away with what he's done? Aren't we going to make him pay?'

'Yes, we are.'