Page 102 of Zero Hour

Anna had already alerted Director Carmichael, who was rerouting CTD units. But they were spread thin, still stationed at Capital One Arena.

Al-Jabiri had played them.

It was fucking genius. Send every counterterrorism asset to the stadium, then detonate in the heart of D.C.

Pat’s radio crackled. It was Brett Farrow. “We’re shifting teams, but our ETA is at least fifteen minutes.”

They didn’t have fifteen minutes.

Pat pushed harder, sprinting ahead. “Come on!”

They reached the festival gates. Pat flashed his credentials, but the security staff barely reacted. People kept flooding in.

“Shut it down,” Pat ordered.

Blade, Viper, and Phoenix formed a line, blocking the entrance.

A pissed-off concertgoer shoved forward. “Hey! What the hell, man?”

“Move!” another shouted.

Pat ignored them. A mounted Park Police officer approached.

“What’s going on?”

Pat’s voice was sharp. “I need the head of security. Now.”

The officer frowned. “Who are you?”

“Patrick Burke, Counterterrorism consultant. We have credible intelligence that this event is a target.”

A burly man in a security polo—head of festival security—stomped over.

“What’s this about?”

Pat’s comms buzzed—Anna again.

“The Secretary of Homeland Security authorized Special Forces support. Helicopter inbound, ETA ten minutes.”

Pat exhaled. Thank God.

He turned to the head of security. “Search every rucksack. No exceptions.”

The man hesitated.

Pat’s jaw tightened. “I have the Secretary of Homeland Security on the line if you need convincing.”

That did it.

Security locked down the gates.

Pat turned to the mounted officer. “Call in the K-9 units. The bomb could already be inside.”

The officer radioed it in.

Pat forced down the panic rising in his gut. Al-Jabiri would wait. He’d want maximum casualties. That meant detonating mid-show.

They had time.

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