Voice of Freedom Page 8

  Julia’s face grew warm. “What did you mean by that remark, Mr. Jacobs?”

  “Just a statement of fact. It's also where we hid from the drug cartel. What I really meant to say is, if you hide there, it’s all glass. You’ll be visible from miles away, especially during daylight hours.”

  “Understood,” Steve said.

  “Next topic.” Benjamin scanned their faces. “How quickly do you think Hannan's people can find us here?”

  “The fighter pilot probably gave his report an hour ago,” Steve said. “Hannan probably has it by now. I’d give Hannan about an hour to locate this place, and at least four hours to send some men to check it out. But it depends on who these men are and where they’re coming from.”

  “It's 5:00 p.m. now.” KC shook her head. “We could have Hannanis crawling all over this place by ten o’clock.”

  Chapter 10

  The Israeli Gulfstream left Vancouver more than two hours ago. It was bad enough that Hannan's Canadian friend hadn’t finished the job in Whistler. Now, the fighter pilot from Kingsley, sent to intercept the Gulfstream, wasn't reporting.

  Hannan sat at his desk in his private study with his laptop plugged into the defense network. After he opened the worldwide comms program, he looked up Kingsley Air Force Base.

  Since he had federalized the Air Guard, technically, the entire base in Klamath Falls was under his command. But Eastern Oregon had a favorite son, Brock Daniels. Who knew how deep and wide the loyalty to Daniels ran in Klamath Falls?

  Another quick search yielded the number for the dispatcher’s hotline at Kingsley. Hannan placed the call and waited.

  “Kingsley dispatch, Sergeant Redwing here.” A young woman's voice.

  Redwing. Must be Native American. “I hope your name doesn’t reflect your loyalties, Ms. Redwing.”

  “Sergeant Redwing, sir. And that remark was highly inappropriate. I took an oath when I enlisted. It specified my loyalties. And if you persist in casting slurs—”

  “Look, Airman Redwing—”

  “Sergeant Redwing, sir.”

  “I can turn sergeant to airman with one phone call. So I suggest you listen, closely. This is your Commander-In-Chief, President Hannan.” He stopped and waited for his revelation to sink in.

  Static from a sharp blast of air came through the phone. “Sir, assuming you are the CIC, what is the purpose of this call? We have a fighter on the runway and another approaching on final.”

  She hadn't cowered, wasn't intimidated. Hannan had to admire the spunky sergeant even if she was annoying. “The pilot of the F-15 who made the intercept near Pistol River on the Oregon Coast hasn't reported. Where is that blasted plane?”

  “He's taxiing down the runway as we speak, Mr. President.”

  “Can you patch me through to him?”

  “Can I? Yes. But it's a violation of —”

  His patience gone, Hannan wrapped his demand to talk to the pilot in strong language crafted to demean and intimidate. “Now, put me through to the pilot.”

  No reply.

  “If you cooperate, Ms. Redwing, you will not be disciplined. But if you don't, I'll rip those chevrons off your uniform and you’ll never see them again. I promise you that.”

  “One moment, sir.” Low mumbling came from the sergeant, then Hannan's line went silent. She had placed him on hold.

  A few seconds later, a voice came through Hannan's phone amid the spitting and crackling of static. “Captain Weber here, Mr. President. Dispatch says you need to talk to me, sir.”

  “It's about time. What in the blazes have you been up to? You should've reported in by now.”

  “Sir, we had weather problems. Severe thunderstorms over the coastal mountains.”

  “I didn't contact you to chat about the weather. Did you take down the Israeli aircraft that entered our airspace, illegally?”

  “Mr. President, it wasn't an illegal entry. They had an aircraft emergency, tried for the nearest airfield, and flew through a hail shaft in the process. I thought for sure they had crashed.”

  “Did they?”

  “No, sir. They made an emergency landing at—”

  “You let them land?” Hannan swore at the captain until he ran out of crude synonyms for idiot.

  Captain Weber didn't reply.

  From somewhere in Hannan’s distant past, an old adage about flies and honey came to mind. “Sorry, captain. But this is a serious matter of national security. Where did the plane land?”

  “An old Forest Service landing strip near O'Brien, Oregon.”

  Southern Oregon. Did anyone in that group have ties to that area? Or, was this a real emergency?

  “Did you copy, Mr. President?”

  “Yes, I copied. Did they land safely?”

  “CBs cut me off. But I caught a glimpse of the Gulfstream on the ground before I turned back to the base.”

  “An aircraft emergency. What next?” He spat the words out as he terminated the call.

  Daniels and Banning—or was it Daniels and Daniels now—seemed to be living a charmed life, fortunate beyond mere coincidence. Supernatural protection? That was preposterous, but sometimes it seemed like it.

  Hannan placed a call to his most trusted contact in the FBI and prepared to dangle a career-advancement carrot in front of her. She’d always taken it in the past. At Hannan’s and Gregory Bell’s request, the Bureau had accumulated a lot of information on the two terrorists and their friends. If Hannan was a gambling man, he would wager everything that someone in the group had ties to Southern Oregon, someplace near O'Brien.

  Thirty minutes later, Hannan had the address of a house in O'Brien sitting on several acres of land—a house owned by Jeff Jacobs. He picked up his secure phone, keyed in Captain Deke’s number, and placed the call.

  Deke was the most trusted and capable Special Forces commander Hannan had. He’d deployed Deke’s detachment nearby for defense in case of an unexpected attack on the White House, the West Wing, or any of its underground facilities. Supposedly, Harrison Brown had alerted Deke about a possible rapid deployment to hunt down Daniels.

  “Captain Deke, here.” He sounded sleepy.

  Hannan’s plan would certainly wake up the captain. But was it a wise plan? And was Deke the best person to offer advice on that issue?

  “Hello?” Deke’s deep voice raised half an octave.

  “President Hannan. Deke, how quickly can you and your men be ready to deploy to the West Coast?”

  “Sir, that depends on where you’re sending us. Is it red territory?”

  “More like pink. It’s an area where insurgents seem to be in control, but they don’t have a strong presence.”

  “We’ll need more munitions. How long is this deployment, sir?”

  “Maybe a week. Hopefully, less.”

  “We can be ready to fly out in four hours. But, Mr. President, are you sure you want to weaken your defensive posture in—”

  “I’m sure, Captain Deke. We know where Daniels and company are hiding and, if we hurry, we can take them all out.” And Hannan could rid himself of the pack of little, yapping dogs that had been nipping at his heels for the past six weeks. “I’ll brief you when you get to Andrews.” Hannan ended the call.

  This would, as Deke mentioned, temporarily increase Hannan’s vulnerability to an attack by the insurgency, but that was much less a concern than the vulnerability of having Daniels and Banning running loose, feeding treasonous fires, keeping false hopes alive, and prolonging resistance to the inevitable. And Deke had learned his lesson well from the deceased Captain Blanchard. Do not underestimate these rebels.

  When he found them, Deke would hit them with everything he had and that would be that.

  I believe your luck just ran out, Mr. Daniels.

  Chapter 11

  A tall black cloud with a wide anvil on top hung over a mountain west of Bolan Peak. The cloud flashed anger at its impending death. As it collapsed, the thunderstorm poured out its drenching fury o
n the mountain. In another hour, the sun would be gone, sunk below the western horizon, and the cloud would disappear. Hopefully, so would Steve and Julia.

  Steve jumped as a hand slid down his bare arm. A small hand, soft and gentle. He smelled the citrus fragrance of her hair and took a calming breath before he looked down into a perfectly sculpted face adorned with deep brown eyes.

  Thunder rumbled from the dying cloud nearly ten miles away, a cloud which seemed to darken Julia's face.

  He took her hand. “Having second thoughts about this?”

  She shook her head, sending waves of light brown hair dancing on her shoulders. “No. Just a few concerns.”

  “About running that ditch in a firefight?”

  “I'll be fine. Just some concerns about Benjamin.” She looked up into Steve’s face. “And you.”

  Steve had revealed his feelings for Julia when the Gulfstream seemed about to crash. She hadn't reciprocated. But she was here now, holding his hand, concern for him in her eyes and in her words, maybe on the verge of—

  An annoying tingle on his side and the flashing light from the sat phone ended the moment. “Doggone phone.”

  Julia gave him her coy smile. “I thought Rangers couldn’t survive without their comms.”

  What he couldn't survive without was Julia Weiss. He pulled his phone from its case. “It's Craig.”

  She pulled her hand from his. “Should … should I leave?”

  “No. You’re in this all the way. For better or worse.”

  “You make it sound like a wedding.”

  Steve picked up the call. “Let's just hope it's not a funeral.”

  “A funeral? What's my weapons sergeant got himself into this time?”

  Great. Craig had heard his remark.

  “Captain Craig, we're secure, right?”

  “Secure as we can be these days. So, where is my weapons sergeant and what's the status of his charges?”

  “We’re all present, accounted for and safe, sir, at least for another hour or so.”

  “You expecting company?”

  “Yes, sir. They may have discovered our destination almost before we arrived. But where are you, captain?”

  “We’re holing up in a safe house in Virginia because … Gano got hurt.”

  This was not a good development. Gano was Steve's replacement as weapons sergeant. “How badly hurt?”

  “Broke his leg. Tibia and fibula, a compound fracture.”

  “Oh, man. That's eight weeks or more without him.” Was Craig hinting that Steve—no, it wasn't possible, not right now.

  “There's more.” Craig paused. “Can you have someone get KC Banning?”

  “You mean KC Daniels?”

  “So, they got the papers and she married him. Good for KC. I’ll bet Brock isn’t complaining about it, either.”

  Steve pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Julia, would you bring KC. Craig needs to talk to her.”

  Julia brushed Steve's arm with her hand and walked out the door.

  “While we wait for KC, would you like to tell me where in the heck you are and how you got there, sergeant?”

  Steve sighed, then recounted the events from the RPG attack at the wedding until their arrival at Jeff's house. “So, we’re in pink territory in Southwestern Oregon planning to head back to Central Oregon, east of the mountains. But we expect Hannan's men to show up anytime now. We have an evacuation plan, but things could get a bit dicey getting out of here.”

  “Bancroft … you don't know the half of it.”

  “Come again, sir.”

  Julia returned with KC.

  The other four followed behind them.

  “The whole group just came into the room. I don't think we need to keep any secrets here so, with your permission, sir, I'll turn on my speakerphone.”

  “Permission granted. If your time is short there, I need to do a quick info dump and then speak to KC. Tell me when they're all gathered around.”

  “All here, sir. Go ahead.”

  Craig cleared his throat, then his voice rose. “As I told Sergeant Bancroft, we’re holing up in a safe house in Virginia because our weapons sergeant, Gano, broke his leg. But we met someone here who's also hiding, and he had some interesting intel for us. He's Secret Service Agent Belino.”

  KC hopped a step closer and leaned toward the sat phone. “Belino? Is he okay? I thought Hannan might kill him.”

  Brock draped an arm over KC's shoulders. “Is this the guy who warned you, Kace?”

  “Yes. Saved my life with two short text messages.”

  Craig chuckled. “Can I tell him you're okay, so he'll stop pestering me? I think he was falling hard for a young, freckle-faced, redheaded woman who worked under the West Wing.”

  KC's grin spread the width of her face. “Tell him that woman is married. He'll have to look for another woman. And everybody here is spoken for, or …” She glanced at Steve and Julia.

  “I noticed ‘or’ four weeks ago in my weapons sergeant’s puppy dog eyes.” Craig paused. “Back to the subject at hand. Belino did some spying before he had to bail. He’s maintained one contact, an agent who’s still in the White House. Maybe we can get some more intel. But what we’ve got now is enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck.”

  Steve leaned toward the phone. “Come again, sir.”

  “It’s like this … Hannan has released his most trusted Special Forces detachment, an elite team led by a brutal commander named Captain Deke. This team had been guarding the White House, serving as Hannan's private bodyguards in case of danger to the president. Deke is the only man Hannan trusts to keep him safe.”

  Steve cut in. “Released them to do what, sir?”

  Silence.

  “Sir?”

  “To obliterate a target somewhere in Oregon.”

  Julia gasped.

  Steve hooked his free arm around her. “Obliterate, sir?”

  “Yes. Belino heard a couple of things mentioned. RPO-Ms and thermobaric rockets.”

  Steve blew out a big blast of air. “Russian flamethrower rockets on an RPG launcher.”

  Brock plopped his hand on Steve's shoulder. “Why Russian weapons?”

  “Because ours are mostly for hard targets—tanks, bunkers. Jeff's house is a soft target. This place will disintegrate in a big ball of fire. If the fire doesn't kill us, the concussion will literally rip us apart. They're not looking to take any prisoners, just take us out.” Steve stared at Benjamin.

  Benjamin returned Steve's gaze with equal intensity. “No, Steve. You’re not staying behind. I'm still your dog soldier. This doesn't change anything.”

  “You won't be a dog soldier, just a roasted hotdog. We’re all leaving at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Want my opinion.” Craig's voice crackled from the speakerphone.

  “Not sure I do, sir.”

  “Well, you're getting it anyway. Leave it to Benjamin's discretion, Steve. The Sayeret Matkal are the best trained in the world for these kinds of situations. He'll make the right decision.”

  “Is that an order, captain?”

  “Yes. You know what you're up against now, so let Benjamin go with his gut on this.”

  Benjamin's hand plopped on Steve's shoulder. “I'll know when to leave, Steve. You and Julia carry out your roles and don't worry about me.”

  Craig's phone crackled with static then his voice returned. “Now that that's settled, the next message is for KC.”

  KC pushed her head between Steve and Julia. “I'm listening, Craig. But this had better be work-related.”

  “It is. Belino left the White House day before yesterday and, up until that time, Hannan was working from his private study most of the time, only retreating to the DUCC when security thought they detected threats.”

  KC picked up the sat phone. “Does that mean he still plugs it into the White House networks?”

  “He does,” Craig said. “But he spends a lot of time on the defense networks using that
network drop he had installed in his study.”

  KC grinned. “I've got the picture. Tell Belino thanks. But I’ll need to stop running for a couple of days so I can use this hardened laptop the Israelis gave me.”

  “What do you intend to do with it?”

  “I'm going to hack Hannan's laptop and leave a little Trojan Horse. When you make your assault on the White House, Hannan will run for the DUCC. You can thank me then for what I'm about to do.”

  Craig chuckled again. “That's nearly word-for-word what Belino said you would say … Steve?”

  “Yes, sir”

  “I'd better let you go and get ready for Hannan. He dropped his guard when he sent his private bodyguards after you. It might give us the chance we've been looking for. The longer you can hold his men out there, and the more of them you can eliminate, the better our chances. But our chances would be even better if you could come back here and fill in for Gano.”

  “But, sir—”

  “I know, Steve. It's risky. Think about it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Call when you’re settled in again.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Steve looked down into Julia's eyes after he terminated the call.

  Her welling eye spilled a tear onto her cheek.

  * * *

  Julia had faced death before … alone. It had terrorized her, scarred her, emotionally. She had recently faced it with Steve by her side. Seeing the possibility of violent death still brought fear, but not terror, nothing like what she had experienced in Africa, because she wouldn’t be alone. Or, would she?

  She wiped her cheek and met Steve's tender gaze. “Are you going?”

  “I… I don't know. Certainly not until I know you—that you are all safe without me.”

  What was she doing? Trying to make him stay? This wasn't just Julia's life and her selfish desires on the line, and it wasn't only the team’s lives. America and all it stood for hung in the balance. “Benjamin can watch out for us. If Craig needs you, we'll be okay.”

  Steve touched her cheek, then turned toward the rest of the group. “You all heard what we’re up against. Hannan wants to take us out in a blaze of glory. Exterminate us with thermobaric rockets. And, in this house, they won’t need a SMAW II Serpent to do the job.”