The Warren Omissions Page 19

  Flynn tied up each man as quickly as possible. The time sped by but he secured Buscape, Ivan, and the remaining men within five minutes. He then turned his attention to Sydney.

  Sydney lay still on the floor. He wasn’t even sure she was still alive until he checked for her pulse and found it. Maybe it was shock or trauma from the loss of blood—but she was out. Nevertheless, Flynn wasn’t taking any chances. He wound the duct tape tight around her wrists, securing her arms behind her back then her feet as well.

  Flynn checked the clock. Twenty minutes.

  “Let’s move, Lexie. We don’t have much time.”

  As Flynn stood up, he looked at his former partner. No longer was the gun trained on their fellow hostages. Lexie was pointing her gun at Flynn.

  CHAPTER 61

  DIANE DIXON SAT in the private waiting room with Bethany Briggs. The First Lady did her best to hold it together in public, but now she was away from the watchful eyes of reporters and television cameras. Alone with her thoughts and a trusted friend, Bethany’s tears flowed freely.

  Diane watched as Bethany buried her head in her hands and heaved sobs of deep grief. It pained her to watch a woman so sophisticated become unraveled, no matter how justifiable it was. She reached out to hold Bethany’s hand. It was clammy and cold, nothing like the warm touch Bethany usually exuded when she welcomed someone politely with her stately handshake.

  Standing by her husband through years of diplomacy, Bethany understood how a politician’s wife should act—and she played her part well. Always looking flawless for the cameras, smiling and waving, performing an inordinate amount of charity work. Diane admired that about her, though at the same time pitied her for the role. With Bethany’s diplomatic skills and compassionate wisdom, Diane believed Bethany was better suited for the Oval Office than her husband. And whenever some wonderfully crafted idea emerged from the President’s desk, Diane suspected it originated elsewhere.

  But now, Diane watched Bethany turned into a heap of bitter tears. While her husband may have lacked the guts the hawks in America demanded, Arthur Briggs was beloved by most. President Briggs believed the nation needed healing from a string of presidencies bent on dividing a torn country. His selection of Gerald Sandford as his running mate proved how it was possible to work politically with someone who shared far different values and ideas. Compromise was a touchstone of Briggs’ presidency—and the American people prospered because of it.

  When the war drums began to thump, Briggs’ strength became his weakness. The unified front splintered, forming various factions that stood both for and against the war on many varying levels. Some groups wanted to send nuclear bombs into Russia. Others wanted to simply send a message. While still others insisted that there was no cause for concern and America should ignore the missile silos being erected in Siberia. The peace crowd saw it as typical Russian grandstanding rather than a saber-rattling move. In the end, Briggs was left with a mess, one that looked like someone fired a missile into his staff. While he lay unconscious in the hospital, Briggs never would have guessed his cabinet would take divisiveness in American politics to another level. Nor would he have ever guessed that Sandford would ignore his wishes and angle to strike first against Russia.

  Diane watched Bethany’s anguish as her sobs turned to wails.

  “Why Arthur?” Bethany cried. “He’s such a good man!”

  Diane withdrew for a moment, uncomfortable at the outburst of raw emotion. She let Bethany simmer for a few moments before speaking.

  “I don’t know what to say, Bethany,” Diane said, clutching her friend’s hand again.

  Bethany closed her eyes and shook her head. She didn’t say a word, but the message was conveyed: Diane didn’t need to say anything.

  The blurry-eyed women sat motionless for several minutes, save the streaks of mascara oozing down their faces. Briggs wasn’t dead yet, but to Diane it felt like the death of his dream for his beloved country.

  Suddenly, Dr. Grant burst into the room.

  “Mrs. Briggs, Mrs. Briggs, come quick!” he said, motioning to Bethany to join him. “Your husband is awake!”

  CHAPTER 62

  FLYNN GAZED AT THE MESS next to him on the cold floor. Sydney Sandford’s wound continued to ooze large amounts of blood and showed no signs of stopping. He estimated that she would bleed out within the next two minutes if she didn’t get some type of medical attention. Though he wasn’t on an officially sanctioned CIA mission, he realized it was a near epic fail. Losing the Kuklovod’s missiles and gunning down the Vice President’s daughter made him look like the agency’s most inept operative of all time. Yet there was still time to change all that and avoid CIA infamy. It just wouldn’t be easy.

  His first issue was escaping the zip ties Lexie used on his hands and feet. In her haste, she neglected to anchor him to a large object. Flynn knocked the bottom heel of his boot three times in succession to release his emergency knife. It was his new favorite feature of all the equipment Osborne had given him. He grabbed it and quickly sawed through the ties on his feet. Then he did the same with his hands.

  With his pack strewn in one corner of the room, Flynn grabbed a first aid kit and got to work on Sydney. He began applying pressure to the wound after he poured a disinfectant over it. Within a half a minute, Flynn finished bandaging her up and headed after Lexie.

  Then he turned back to Sydney.

  “I’m really sorry about all this—you’ll be fine,” he said.

  Flynn’s momentary compassion vanished. He needed the same thing Lexie needed to gain access to the missiles—an eye and a corresponding security card. Flynn suspected Ivan’s would suffice.

  The process was almost as painful for Flynn as it was for his nemesis. Detaching the eyeball of a living person made Flynn feel like a monster—but it would pale in comparison to knowing he could’ve stopped millions of people from dying yet didn’t have the stomach to perform a simple extraction. At first Ivan writhed in pain, showering Flynn with his vicious hate. Unmoved, Flynn decided the more humane thing would be to incapacitate him first—so he shoved a handkerchief loaded with chloroform onto Ivan’s mouth before he began to root out Ivan’s eye. It didn’t take long. Flynn snatched Ivan’s access card and began his pursuit of Lexie.

  Flynn raced through two doors before finding the cache of Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles in a large holding facility, just as the blueprints had revealed. As he opened the door, he heard Lexie’s feet scuffling across the floor. Then, the door clicked behind him, giving away the element of surprise. The shuffling noise stopped.

  Concrete walls held the missiles in a staging area. A mechanized loading system lifted the missiles into the silos for launch. It was in the process of securing one of the missiles into a launch position before it stopped. Aside from the five remaining missiles in the corner of the room, the rest of the space was filled with hydraulic lifts and small construction vehicles. Plenty of hiding places made securing the facility Flynn’s nightmare at the moment.

  He crept along the outer wall, listening for the slightest sound to give him an indication of where Lexie was. Suddenly the whir of a hydraulic lift echoed throughout the room, masking any footsteps. Instead of letting Lexie use the noise to her advantage alone, he decided to use it to his as he darted toward one of the construction vehicles. Behind him were the missiles.

  While Lexie managed to maneuver about the room using a series of distractions, Flynn went to work. He took advantage of each sound to open the missiles’ guidance systems and strip them out. He also added a small tracking chip inside each one before putting them back together again. For the next five minutes, he worked fast, dividing his attention between disabling the missiles and avoiding Lexie.

  Only one more missile to go.

  The final missile sat out in the open. He needed to distract Lexie from what he was doing.

  “I thought we were on the same side, Lexie,” Flynn said, lifting his head back and speaking straight toward th
e ceiling. He needed to make his position difficult for her to ascertain.

  Lexie said nothing.

  While Flynn continued to talk, he also worked at disabling the final missile’s guidance system.

  “We make a great pair, me and you. Tracking down terrorists and bringing them to justice. What happened to you? When did you lose your way?”

  Still nothing. But Flynn didn’t care. He was almost finished.

  “I even thought your humanity was intact when I asked you about your dad—but apparently that was just one of your ploys to get me to calm down. You never intended to do this with me, did you?”

  He reattached the guidance system door and dashed across the room to a position better suited for a shootout, if that was where this confrontation was headed.

  Flynn felt the tip of a knife dig into his skin ever so slightly. He raised his hands in surrender.

  “No, I never did, Flynn,” Lexie said in his ear. “I only saved you so I could gain access to the CIA server and find out what they know about me. But when I learned that you didn’t have any way to help me do that, you were of no use to me. Just dead weight, like always.”

  Flynn tried to ignore the insults.

  “I never trusted you, Lexie—but at least you know you can trust me. After all, I did save your life.”

  “I would’ve been just fine without you!” she shot back.

  “Oh, really? Fine watching your missiles launched into the air after the Vice President’s daughter subdued you? I doubt your employers would’ve been fine with that.”

  “I only care about results—and a team will be here any moment now to take away these missiles. And there’s nothing you’re going to be able to do about it. You just better be grateful I’m feeling gracious today, as I’m letting you live.”

  She reached in his pocket and snatched Ivan’s eyeball, throwing it onto the ground and stomping on it. The sight made Flynn flinch. She pushed him toward the door and shoved him inside along with a handgun.

  “Good luck!” she yelled and pulled the door shut.

  Flynn stared at the room through a large plate-glass window. A door to the outside lowered into the ground, allowing two large semi-trucks to back into the room. Helpless to stop it, Flynn glanced at a clock in the upper corner of the room.

  Five minutes! I’ve gotta call Osborne!

  ***

  GERALD SANDFORD CHECKED HIS WATCH and picked up his phone. The time for waiting was over. It was time for action.

  He called Strategic Command and gave the order to prepare for the missile launch. It was time to meet the demands of these terrorists and get his daughter back.

  CHAPTER 63

  FLYNN LOOKED AT THE LOCKED DOOR feeling helpless. The last remaining piece to complete his mission now lay two rooms away—and he had no way of getting into it. He glanced back out the bay window to watch armed guards loading the missiles onto the trucks. To come so far and so close only to be derailed at this point burned Flynn.

  Just think, Flynn. You can do this.

  The room was about fifteen feet square and had only an access panel to the connecting rooms and a large window. No furniture, no control panel, no computer system. Just stark concrete gray, top to bottom.

  Standing in the middle of the room, he nearly fell to the ground when the entire building was jolted. The men in the holding area all froze too, looking around to see if there might have been an explosion. Flynn moved against the wall closest to the door that led to the control room—and he waited.

  Seconds later, two guards burst into the room. They didn’t even see Flynn. While they were busy scanning their eyes to gain access to the holding room, Flynn slipped through the open door and into the next room.

  Only one more room to go. Just wait.

  He checked his watch. Two minutes remained until his deadline to call Osborne.

  The seconds trickled by like days as he waited for another break. He couldn’t count on it, but it was his only option at this point. Fortunately, two more guards delivered, blasting through the room, oblivious to his presence as he hid crouched in the corner. Flynn darted through the door and into the control room—and the room was ablaze.

  Suddenly, all the doors flung open as the fire alarms wailed. The small explosion—whatever it was that caused it—ignited a fire in the control room that led to screams and moans of the guards rendered immobile by Lexie. Flynn scanned the room for his bag and found it, diving into his pack and digging for his phone.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he looked up and saw a monstrous sight—Ivan brooding over him, his eye patched. Flynn assumed he somehow got into a first aid pack and saved himself, though he swore Ivan wouldn’t have survived based on the amount of blood pooled on the floor, much less been awake at this point. Flynn began dialing the numbers while he fumbled for his gun that he had laid down when he started searching for his phone. Flynn looked up. Ivan was gone.

  Flynn stumbled into the hall, dragging his pack behind him. The phone began ringing. He peered down the smoky hallway. No sign of Ivan.

  Osborne answered.

  “Tell me you’ve got good news, Flynn.”

  “I do. The missiles aren’t going to be launched today.”

  “What about the Vice President’s daughter?”

  “Let’s talk later about that—but I think she’s still alive.”

  Flynn ended the call and strained to see through the smoky haze. Still no sign of Ivan.

  CHAPTER 64

  TODD OSBORNE DIALED HIS PHONE as quickly as his fingers could move. Just under the wire. While the phone rang, he let out a sigh of relief, pleased that Flynn successfully delivered when it mattered most.

  “Cuttin’ it close, aren’t we, Osborne?” Sandford answered.

  “Yes, sir. But I’ve got some good news for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I just got a call from our operative and he’s disabled the missiles.”

  “What about my daughter?”

  “She’s alive, sir.”

  Sandford paused. “That’s really odd because I just got this text with a picture of her lifeless bloody body with a message that says, ‘You failed.’”

  “That can’t be, sir. I just spoke with our operative.”

  “Well, he’s lying to you.”

  “So you’re still going to do what they want you to do?”

  “No, I’m not doing what they want me to do—I would’ve done this any way. It’s time that Russia be held accountable for what it’s done to me and my family—and the rest of the world.”

  “Sir, please don’t do this. Millions of innocent people are going to die.”

  “Good-bye, Osborne.”

  Sandford ended the call. Osborne tossed his phone onto his desk. He needed a miracle.

  ***

  SANDFORD DIALED STRATEGIC COMMAND. He didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Do it!” Sandford said. “Launch the missiles now!”

  Nothing.

  “Hello? Are you there? I said, ‘Launch the missiles now!’” Sandford demanded again.

  Silence.

  “Who is this? Stop screwing around and affirm this order!”

  “I’m sorry. Who is this?” came the familiar voice on the other end.

  “You know good and well who this is—acting President Gerald Sandford. Now do your job!”

  The voice on the other end paused again before speaking. “I’m sorry, sir, but I only take my commands from the President of the United States.”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “This is General Timothy Hill, sir. I’m sure you remember me—I’m the one you recently relieved from duty.”

  “Then what are you still doing there? Hand the phone to someone who has some real authority!”

  “Sir, I’m afraid I am the ultimate authority here since President Briggs reinstated me a few minutes ago. And we aren’t starting a war today, per his orders. Is that clear?”

  Sandford slammed the phone down
and let out an agonizing scream, which quickly turned to sobbing. Through his bleary eyes, he looked at the picture on his other phone—a horrific image of Sydney. He only had himself to blame—and now he’d surely be able to do nothing about it.

  For the next several minutes, Sandford stared at the wall, absorbed in an ocean of regret. How could I have let this happen? How could I have ever given up looking for Sydney? This is all my fault. He shuddered to think how his misguided actions had nearly led him to start a war.

  Two Secret Service agents knocked as they entered the room. They told Sandford he needed to leave and that they were his escort out of the office. He slipped his phone in his pocket and wondered if he could’ve done anything more—anything to save his daughter.

  CHAPTER 65

  THE ALARMS WAILED, piercing the smoke and Flynn’s ears. Flynn rushed back into the control room to find Sydney lying in the corner. Dashing over to help her, Flynn eased her back to her feet and led her out of the room. If she didn’t want to go with him, Flynn couldn’t tell. Her compliance shocked him.

  On their way toward the exit, Flynn nearly tripped over Buscape, who lay on the floor gasping for air.

  He grabbed Flynn’s leg.

  Flynn stopped.

  “This isn’t over,” he mumbled in a raspy voice. “You’ll see. We’ll win, eventually.”

  Flynn paused to pity the man, if only for a moment. The feeling left as quickly as it came, once he remembered the evil this man had propagated.

  “It won’t be today.”

  Whooosh!

  Suddenly the room was engulfed in more flames. Flynn pulled free from Buscape, leaving him to die. Hoisting Sydney across his shoulder, Flynn hurried down the hallway through a thick blanket of smoke and distanced himself from the inferno as quickly as possible.

  They rounded a corner before a large explosion rocked the building again.