Page 76 of Zero Hour

The Secretary of Homeland Security arrived last, escorted in from the underground parking garage.

“Madam Secretary, good of you to come,” Pat said, shaking her hand firmly.

The austere woman, clad in an expensive navy-blue suit and low heels, gave him a sharp nod. “Unfortunately, Commander, you’ve left me little choice.”

No one had called him that since his Pentagon days.

“This is my aide, Bruce,” she introduced, nodding to a slender, bookish man beside her. She didn’t bother introducing the tall, stone-faced bodyguard shadowing her, her personal security detail.

Pat acknowledged the agent with a glance. The guy wasn’t just for show.

The Secretary swept into the room. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Pat gestured to the others seated around the long conference table. “I believe you’re already familiar with Director Brian Carmichael from CTD.”

She nodded. “Commander. Good to see you again. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be under these circumstances.”

“Madam Secretary,” Carmichael responded with professional stoicism.

Pat continued the introductions. “Brad Garretson from the Joint Terrorism Task Force and Digby Mercer from the CIA.”

The Secretary acknowledged them with a curt nod.

“And this is Colonel Brett Farrow, lead tactical officer from CTD, and his deputy.”

Both men gave short nods. Their battle-hardened expressions made it clear they were here to act, not talk.

Pat had worked with most of them before.Blackthorn Securitywas the government’s off-the-books unit—their ace in the hole when all else failed.

As they settled in, Anna rolled in a cart stocked with coffee and tea, setting it discreetly against the wall before exiting.

Pat took his place at the head of the table.

“As you’re aware, we’ve had Amir Al-Jabiri and his network under surveillance for weeks,” he began. “We suspected they were planning a large-scale attack. This morning, we confirmed the target.” He clicked the remote, and the projector screen lit up with an aerial image of Capital One Arena.

“The attack is set for this Saturday. Lakers versus Wizards. Sold-out game.”

The room went silent.

“Capacity crowd of twenty thousand,” Pat continued, “with thousands more in the surrounding bars and streets.”

The Secretary exhaled sharply. “Jesus.”

“Al-Jabiri’s cousin just purchased six Washington Wizards jerseys from a sporting goods store. We believe they intend to blend in with the fans before detonating suicide devices inside the arena.”

“Six bombers?” Carmichael muttered. “Christ.”

Garretson swore under his breath. Mercer didn’t speak, just steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, eyes calculating.

“This has the potential to be catastrophic,” Pat said. “Given the scale, we escalated it to your attention immediately.”

The Secretary nodded. “Rightly so.”

Pat clicked again, bringing up surveillance photos. “We have agents posted outside Al-Jabiri’s residence, as well as the Waheed brothers’ apartment. The Waheeds are suspected of constructing the devices—likely crude, homemade explosivespacked in backpacks. They were seen purchasing raw materials, including nails and chemical compounds, from a local hardware store.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Carmichael growled. “Why haven’t we taken them yet?”

“We can,” Pat said evenly. “But the decision is yours. My team has them under constant watch.”

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