Page 147 of Enemy Within
He exhaled. In his mind, he prayed.Allah, deliver me from what I am about to do.He’d never killed in raw, aching wrath before. Never in bloodlust and vengeance. Never had he truly desired another man’s death.
Adam’s smile hovered in his mind again. His skin, pale against the Saudi sun and sand. His cheeks, blooming with new freckles whenever they were in the desert for too long. Ana bahibak, Adam.
“Wright!” he bellowed as Wright reared back, preparing to slam his fist into Anderson’s face again. Blood poured from Anderson’s nose and dripped down his face.
Wright whirled, glaring into the darkness.
Faisal stepped into the light, into the green glow of the submarine’s displays. “For Adam.”
He squeezed the trigger. He squeezed again, and again, and again. Over and over, until the weapon clicked.
Bullets slammed into Wright, first into the center of his forehead, then the side of his cheek, his neck. Lower, into his chest, his heart. He shook, rocked with the blow of each gunshot, trembling over Anderson as his blood sprayed.
Finally, he slid sideways, falling to the deck with his eyes still open.
Silence filled the Conn.
Anderson rolled over and pushed himself to shaky feet. Faisal raced to his side, supporting him with one shoulder.
“Status,” Anderson barked, spitting a wad of blood to the deck. “How much time left before those cruise missiles launch?”
The crew lurched back to their stations, sliding into their duties on autopilot. Still, they stared with wide eyes at Munoz’s destroyed console, the blood-slick and body-littered deck.
Boomer’s voice shook hard when he spoke. “Cruise missiles launching in less than a minute, Captain.”
Anderson closed his eyes. He exhaled, and then looked at Munoz’s destroyed console. “Nav,” he said, his voice catching. “Plot a course for the dead center of her hull. Ramming speed.”
64
Over the Canadian-US Border
THE TV WAS ON in the back of Colonel Song’s plane, breaking news streaming live over the air. TNN’s reporters scrambled for new information, any information to explain what was happening.
All around the nation, pockets of anarchy had broken out. Scattered police officers had turned on their colleagues. Splinter cells on military bases had activated, firing on their fellow soldiers. And in Washington DC, the White House was under attack. Again.
Unknown perpetrators had penetrated the West Wing, reports said. Information was sketchy at best. The White House was on lockdown. Senators and generals were inside.
But no word on President Wall, or her status or condition. Was she a hostage, they wondered? Was she even at the White House?
“Oh God…” Elizabeth stared at the screen as she gripped Levi’s hand. “It's Madigan. He’s started his attack. His followers. These are his followers.”
“I’m trying to get through to the White House.” Levi dialed every number he could. It was useless. White House protocol locked down communications and shut down cell phones when under attack.
Colonel Song eyed them both. “If Madigan has truly launched his attack, then we are already too late.”
“No. No, I won’t give up hope yet.” Elizabeth held a fist in front of her face, bouncing it off her pursed lips. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”
“For now,” Colonel Song said.
65
Washington DC
ONLY A WHISPER OF sound whistled as Welby, General Bell, and Pete slid down the elevator cables in the three-hundred-foot shaft leading down to the PEOC. Cold concrete, damp earth, and hot steel hit their noses, the stench of an underground bunker buried in Virginia clay.
Welby and Bell slowed their approach as they reached the roof of the elevator, and then helped Pete down as well. Pete swung his backpack around and pulled out the last bricks of C4 with shaking hands.
Bell peeled the stickyback off and placed them where Welby pointed, around the elevator vent, and flicked the embedded trigger switches, activating the close-range detonator transmitters. All three men clambered back up the cables, moving clear of the blast radius.
