“My people tell me you’ve shut down the cellular networks.”

  “We have. It was being used to facilitate moves against our government.”

  “I was counting on using the cellular network to contact my people if I’m going to let them know where to deliver your stone.”

  There was a pause, then Nayef’s voice lowered. “You didn’t hear this from me, but tonight at six o’clock local we will be turning the network back on for exactly thirty minutes for essential communications. If you’re going to get a message to your men outside of official channels, it may be your last opportunity.”

  “Six p.m. You’re sure?”

  “Yes, but like I said, you didn’t hear it from me. And don’t expect it to be easy to get through. Millions of cellphones will immediately connect trying to send and receive their backlog of text messages. Our engineers are trying to coordinate with the cellular providers to purge the backlog awaiting delivery, but there’s nothing they can do about what’s about to hit them as soon as these phones find a network that’s working.”

  “So there still may be no way to get through.”

  “I highly recommend you text your men, Colonel. A text message gets put into the queue. A voice call just gets shut out if there aren’t enough lines available.”

  Clancy chewed on his cheek for a moment. It was good advice, good advice in any situation. He was reminded of a plane crash survivor in British Columbia who couldn’t call for help with his cellphone because there was no service in the mountains, but a text message sent on his phone did get through, it only taking a moment of a stray connection for the phone to fire off those lifesaving characters.

  He just hoped it would work for his men. Depending on the backlog, any message sent might never make it through.

  Yet he had to try.

  “Colonel Clancy, tell your men to meet me in Mecca, with the stone. I’m still trying to coordinate something on this end. If I’m successful, I might be able to send a team to retrieve your men, but it’s doubtful—it would be an admission we knew all along who had the stone.” He sighed. “Colonel, the best bet is if they can reach Mecca on their own. If they can, I can guarantee their safety until the crisis has been averted.”

  “We’ll be in touch, Colonel.”

  Clancy ended the call, kicking back from his desk and turning to look out the window, the sun bright at Fort Bragg today, but nowhere near as scorching as it would be for his men trapped in the desert with no way to reach them for hours.

  He growled.

  Am I just sending them into harm’s way?

  He didn’t trust the Colonel as far as he could throw him, especially in a situation like this where being seen as collaborating could lead to beheading.

  Nayef is just as likely to kill my men and claim he ‘rescued’ the stone.

  He slammed his fist on his desk, rattling his keyboard.

  But what choice do I have?

  Embassy of the United States, Paris, France

  “Monsieur Ambassador, we do not want another Benghazi, not on French soil.”

  “I can assure you, Mr. President, neither do we.”

  Dawson looked at Ambassador Neil Harrison, impressed. The man had been given the opportunity to evacuate on one of the three helicopters that had managed to set down, but he had refused, instead insisting that he not leave until the last soul had been rescued.

  And he looked completely calm, despite the fact a horde was tearing apart everything and anything fifty feet over their heads, and were already beginning to cut through the massive steel doors protecting them with plasma torches. Current estimates were that they could be inside within an hour.

  And then there’d be nothing they could do to stop them.

  “Monsieur Ambassador, you understand that the focal point of the riots in Paris is your embassy and various other American government and private interests. If what you tell me is accurate, and you expect the terrorists to breach your security doors in as little as an hour, then we have no time to attempt a negotiated settlement.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then since we are agreed, I am giving the order now for our forces to move in using all necessary force to retake the embassy and surrounding area. Please keep your people inside your secure area for as long as possible. We will be targeting anyone on the embassy grounds with lethal force.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Good luck, Monsieur.”

  The call ended and Ambassador Harrison leaned back in his chair, the conference room they were in tight, dated, and stifling, aides, advisors, security and civilians crammed in to hear the call that could decide their fate.

  Harrison rose from one of the few chairs. “Ladies and gentlemen, you heard the French President. Their forces will be moving shortly to retake the embassy, and once they do, we’ll be safe. As soon as the authorities have secured the premises, we will begin immediate evacuations by convoy if possible, helicopter if necessary, to Charles de Gaulle Airport where our government has chartered passenger aircraft evacuating American citizens around the clock. One is being held for us with more than enough room for everyone.” He turned to the Master Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the Marine Security Guard. “What’s the latest on their attempts to breach the door?”

  “Not good, sir. They’ve added a second plasma torch. They’ll be through within an hour.”

  “Recommendations?”

  The Gunny nodded toward Dawson. “Mr. Ambassador, we have a specialist here who I would like to defer to in this situation.”

  Harrison looked at Dawson, the two having met earlier, Harrison aware in a roundabout way who Dawson actually was. “Mr. White, your recommendations?”

  Dawson bowed slightly. “Sir, we still have the advantage with weapons and at this point the object is to delay for as long as possible. Once the French press their assault, we should see results fairly quickly, if their past is any indicator.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Frankly, sir, the French don’t pussyfoot around. They will use any and all means to retake this facility before it is too late. Their national pride is at stake, and to not put too fine a point on it, they are tired of these problems. I personally believe they will be successful in their attempt—we simply need to give them as much time as possible for them to reach us.”

  “And how can we do that?”

  “Barricade the hallway so as to impede their progress. I don’t mean pile a bunch of desks against the door, they’ll just push those out of the way. I mean a long, irregular obstacle course that they’ll have to navigate with clear line of sight for our men to take them out.”

  “Is that what I saw before the meeting started?”

  “Yes, sir. The Gunny gave the order to begin just minutes ago. We’ll move all personnel to the rooms deepest in the facility and give everyone with weapons training a firearm. The security detail will take up position at the far end of the blockade and take out anybody who comes through the door. The more bodies the more obstacles.”

  “Maybe they’ll think twice after a few of their friends are killed?”

  Dawson shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ambassador, but from my experience, once in a religious fervor like this, people tend to not back down. They believe if they die by the hand of the infidel, they will go to paradise.”

  “And their seventy-two virgins,” muttered someone behind him.

  “Haven’t they run out yet?” asked a woman near the door.

  There were snickers, cut off by the raised hand of Harrison. “It is the policy of the Administration to not pass judgment on anyone’s religious beliefs.”

  “No matter how violent they may be.”

  The entire room turned toward the woman standing near the door, a raven-haired thirty-something in a crisp pantsuit, arms crossed over her chest, eyes glaring at the ambassador.

  “Now isn’t the time,” replied Harrison.

  “Then when is? After we’re all dead? We’ve been tiptoeing around this religion for years now, always careful to never blame Muslims for all of the attacks we’ve suffered, but to blame extremists. And of course it’s not their fault, it’s our own for killing them eight hundred years ago in the Crusades. Are you kidding me? What kind of moron thinks murder is justified by actions taken almost a thousand years ago?

  “And you all saw the briefing notes that circulated a few weeks ago. Almost a third of the so-called moderates in England believed the attacks carried out right here, in this very city we live and work in, were justified! How the hell can we continue to live with our heads stuck in the sand? When is the time, Mr. Ambassador? When will we finally wake up and realize we have a problem that continues to get worse every day with every single immigrant from this religion that we accept in our country?” She uncrossed her arms and jabbed a finger at the ceiling. “Those maniacs trying to kill us today, are the same people who will be landing in New York City next week, peaceful as can be, looking for a better life because it will have become intolerable for them here. And when the shit hits the fan next time, whose side will they be on?”

  Harrison nodded. “Kelly, I understand your frustration. Hell, I feel your frustration. But right here, right now, is not the time for this debate. I have no doubt that after these events are over, governments everywhere will be seriously reevaluating their positions on things.”

  A burst of air spit from Kelly’s mouth. “Sir, you and I both know that the real reason Western governments including our own refuse to acknowledge what the real problem is, is that they have no solution but the unthinkable. It’s already too late for Europe. There’s tens of millions of people who have nothing in common with their adopted homelands, and have no desire or need to integrate. What can you do about that? Deport them? Deport them to where? Deport them how? There’s forty million of them!”

  Harrison’s jaw squared. “This meeting is over. We have preparations to make. Kelly, report to your assigned station with the others.”

  Kelly’s jaw clamped shut, her face red with rage, her tirade stifled for the moment as the room began to quickly empty. Dawson said nothing, it not his place as a soldier, but there was a lot of muttering in the room suggesting she had significant support for her views.

  And he didn’t blame them.

  When thousands of people on the other side of a wall wanted you dead for no other reason than you weren’t the same religion as them, it was hard not to think there was a serious problem.

  But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was to make sure these people survived to be proven wrong, or, he feared more likely, right.

  “Holy shit! It’s starting!” shouted someone from down the hall, civilians rushing toward one of the rooms with a television set connected to an outside cable line, military and security personnel rushing toward the danger.

  Niner walked up to Dawson, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “How’s that?”

  Dawson looked and smiled. “Perfect.” Dozens of desks, chairs and cabinets filled almost half the long hallway, some on end, some on their side, the configuration the sergeant had come up with not allowing the attackers to just climb up and run along the tops—and if they did they’d be easy pickings anyway—nor providing them cover unless they were willing to crawl on their hands and knees, thus slowing them, and with a downward trajectory, again easy pickings.

  It would definitely buy them some time.

  “We’ve also got two fire hoses positioned. The water’s still working. We’ll use those to take their breath away and disorient them.”

  “Good thinking. How are we for ordnance?”

  “We found about half a dozen flashbangs plus lots of ammo. We’ll put up one hell of a fight.”

  Dawson looked at all the wood in the hallway then frowned. “And if they try to smoke us out?”

  Niner motioned toward the ceiling. “Apparently the ventilation system is very good. And we’ve got hoses.” He said the last part as if he were a twelve-year-old boy.

  “You really want to get on one of those, don’t you?”

  Niner grinned. “I’ve already volunteered. You know, I always wanted to be a fireman, but I didn’t have the pecs for the calendar.” He reached out and squeezed Dawson’s chest. “But you’ve got a nice set on you.” He rubbed a finger over Dawson’s nipple. “Ooh, somebody’s happy to see me.”

  Dawson looked at Niner, straight in the eyes. “Fingers broken in three… two… one…”

  Niner jerked his hand away as Dawson grabbed for it. “Hey, don’t blame me for your body’s reaction. Deep down, some part of you finds me attractive.” He turned and rushed down the hall before Dawson could say anything.

  All the while swaying his hips.

  Dawson chuckled.

  “I think I’ll sic Maggie on him when we get out of here.”

  Gloom swept over him as he realized he had forgotten Maggie’s situation for a moment.

  God, please take care of her.

  Place de la Concorde, Paris, France

  Rally Point Alpha

  Corporal Pierre Laviolette of the National Gendarmerie Intervention Group inspected his weapon, the large line of riot police with shields doing little to cut down the din from the rioters on the other side. He could see the embassy from here, and from what he could tell, there were about ten thousand protesters in their way.

  And barely one thousand opposing them.

  But hardware was the great equalizer.

  And their orders were rather remarkable.

  Do whatever it takes to clear the embassy within the next 30 minutes.

  His sergeant had briefed them only minutes ago. There were over one hundred embassy staff trapped in the basement and the terrorists had almost cut through the steel doors protecting them. Once they were through, they would slaughter those inside.

  And he was sick of the slaughter.

  Not a day went by where there wasn’t another report of Muslims killing innocents, and he was tired of it. He had been born and raised in Paris, and now entire neighborhoods were essentially no go zones for non-Muslims, with Muslims taking over during prayers, blocking sidewalks and entire streets to traffic.

  And after the attacks, he no longer felt safe in his own country.

  Which was unacceptable.

  A megaphone squawked nearby.

  “This is the police. You are ordered to clear the area immediately and return to your homes. You are in violation of a mandatory curfew. I repeat, you are ordered to clear the area immediately and return to your homes. You are in violation of a mandatory curfew. If you do not disperse immediately, lethal force has been authorized.”

  Laviolette felt butterflies in his stomach.

  Lethal force.

  He had never thought he’d be ordered to kill French citizens, but as he looked past the row of shields at the crowd beyond, the hatred in their eyes told him everything he needed to carry out his orders.

  Though these people may be citizens of France, they weren’t of France.

  They had never and would never embrace this wonderful secular society, enjoy its freedoms, its desires for equal rights and freedom of the individual. These people had no desire to be truly French, which had nothing to do with skin color or religion, but with a belief in one’s country and fellow man.

  And what he had seen on the news before being called up, and what he had heard in the briefings, sickened him. Christians were being targeted the world over, American businesses set ablaze, embassies attacked and random violent swarmings so numerous the news channels were now just running counters on their screens rather than covering them individually.

  The death toll was confirmed in the thousands, and the pace seemed to be quickening.

  But right here, right now, the violence was about to be met with violence.

  And he was eager to get into the fray and take back his country.

  “Ready, Pierre?”

  Laviolette looked over at his buddy Jean Bastien and nodded. “Absolutely. You?”

  “I’m ready to piss my pants.”

  Laviolette grinned. “Me too.”

  The warnings continued to repeat, and the crowd roared in response, bricks and bottles raining down on the staging area.

  “Prepare for stage one!” shouted someone in command, Laviolette not certain who. He just kept eyes on his sergeant as he positioned his gas mask. “Execute!”

  A massive volley of teargas canisters launched at the crowd, seemingly hundreds in number. Screams erupted as much of the crowd began to retreat, the line of riot police immediately advancing to take advantage of the momentary break in the crowd, each coordinated step forward accompanied with a smack of their batons on their shields along with a shouted “Move!”.

  He formed up with his Sergeant, their group tasked to actually assault the embassy and head directly for the underground bunker, their orders to shoot anything that got in the way. He had never killed before, though he knew how.

  Remember your training and you’ll be fine.

  His sergeant’s words were of little comfort, for at this very moment he couldn’t remember anything about his training. But that was the great thing about military training. It was repeated so often it became second nature.

  And though he couldn’t think straight, he found himself advancing with the others, men he knew better than his own brothers.

  Shots rang out from the crowd and one of the front line of riot police went down, the line quickly forming up to seal the gap as two officers rushed forward to pull the man to safety.

  Laviolette tried to tear his eyes away from the writhing man, clearly in agony.

  “Prepare for stage two!”

  A row of officers, a hundred strong, rushed up behind the riot line, teargas launchers at the ready.

 

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