Page 72 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

She opened the metal door and stared at all the switches. There were so many of them. How was she going to pull all the fuses out before someone caught her? Wrinkling her brow, she thought it through.

The spotlights were the problem. So perhaps if she only took the fuses for the electrical outlets for the outside of the building? She shook her head. No, that wouldn’t work. All the terrorists would have to do is take another fuse from an unnecessary area of the embassy and put it in the empty slot. So, take the ones from the unused sections first, then take the important ones and run like heck? That might work. If worst came to worst, she could take her trusty rock and smash the panel.

With shaking fingers, Georgia turned off the power and removed the fuses from the most obvious place, the basement, which had three fuses all by itself. Now in complete darkness, she switched on the flashlight and moved on to the staff living quarters, ballroom, and kitchen. Lifting the hem of her chador, she made a bag with the black cloth to carry all the fuses. That left the lobby, offices, and outside outlets. A total of twelve switches to flip off and fuses to pull out.

So far, no alarm had been sounded that she could tell. Gunfire drummed continuously from above, reminding her that she’d come too far to chicken out now. Those men up there needed her. Peter needed her.

Georgia took a deep breath and worked as fast as she could, flipping off the power to each section and pulling its fuse out. The last fuse came free. Georgia dropped it into her makeshift bag, closed the fuse box, grabbed her flashlight and rock, and hurried back the way she’d come.

Just before she reached the stairs, the door to the basement opened. She switched off her flashlight and ducked behind the stairs, letting the darkness hide her. A beam of light flashed down and hit the wall opposite the stairs, an angry voice, speaking in a language she didn’t understand, echoed down along with the ring of booted footsteps.

The man reached the basement floor and turned in the direction of the fuse box. She waited till the light from his flashlight disappeared then took a couple of tentative steps out of her hiding place.

More footsteps on the stairs sent her sliding back to the shadows. A second man reached the bottom, but he didn’t walk away. The light from his flashlight shone in an obvious search pattern. Yelling from the direction of the fuse box had the second man calling out. The first man reappeared, and Georgia shrank farther into the shadows, praying that her black chador would hide her well enough to keep her unnoticed.

The first man sounded even angrier than before, gesturing wildly as he spoke, pointing a stern finger back toward the fuse box. The second man nodded and looked thoughtful. Finally, after the first man finished raving, the second one spoke, sweeping an arm in a wide arch. The first man saluted poorly and turned away. The second man went back up the stairs.

Georgia tried hard not to hyperventilate. She was terrified that the man still in the basement would hear her breathing. It sounded like thunder in her ears.

After saluting, the terrorist went back in the direction of the fuse box, but Georgia couldn’t be sure that’s where he went. He could be just a few feet down the hall. She couldn’t see any light from his flashlight, but that didn’t mean anything. If she turned her flashlight on and he saw the beam of light, he was sure to find her. She was better off staying where she was until he left.

Georgia quietly wiggled her way into the deepest recess under the stairs and settled in to wait.

For once, the darkness was a comfort rather than a threat.

Peter had no problem making his way through the basement. There was plenty of light coming from the isolated emergency lights. He passed the crate and stopped to check the warhead. Maybe he was paranoid to think that the SEAL team hadn’t deactivated it, but better that than vaporized.

He removed the cloth covering and lifted the lid. The warhead looked much as it did before, except for one thing. An empty rectangular hole in the outer casing near the top of the nuke.

The firing mechanism was gone. Good, they’d gotten the first part of their job done.

He replaced the lid, recovered it with the cloth, then slipped up the stairs. The door at the top was closed. He paused halfway up, staring at the light showing under it, but he could detect no movement and continued on to the top. He listened for a moment, then opened it a crack and peered through. All clear. He slid through a narrow gap and closed the door. Ahead of him was the kitchen, to the right and left, staff quarters. Beyond the kitchen was a reception area and the main lobby. Peter entered the kitchen and moved through it into the reception room. Gunfire resounded loud and close from behind the door to the lobby.

The SEALs said that they were trapped under the stairs in the main lobby. Those stairs were directly across from the reception area. They would be straight across from him if he went out that door. The spotlights must be above on the second-floor balcony overlooking the lobby. He could shoot them out from his angle, but the second he opened the door he’d make a fine target of himself.

How could he get rid of the lights without putting himself in jeopardy?

Behind him, the two lights in the kitchen went off.

Peter swung around, his gun pointed toward the kitchen, waiting for whoever turned them off to show themselves, but after a moment he realized that no one was there.

Ten seconds passed. The lights outside went off. The ones in the lobby closely followed. Peter dashed to the door leading to the lobby, and keeping low, eased it open. Flashlights bounced on the second-floor balcony. He fired at them, hearing the thud of bodies as they hit the floor.

A bullet hit the wall an inch above his head.

“It’s Welis,” he called out in a firm voice. More gunfire from the second floor. Peter kept firing and within seconds he was surrounded by four SEALs, their weapons trained on the balcony, their bullets and the darkness turning the tables on the terrorists.

“Hold your fire,” Stokes ordered. The SEALs stopped firing and all was quiet.

“I got at least four upstairs,” Peter reported. “I think we’re clear in here. For now.”

“Good,” Stokes said. “What happened? Did you get the lights?”

Peter shook his head. “It looks like someone turned off the power. The outside lights are out, too.”

“Who could have done that?” Stokes asked

Peter gave Stokes a grim look. “Georgia.”

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