State Of The Union

“Very funny,” said Harvath, retrieving his SureFire flashlight. “Hey, DeWolfe? Does this burst transmitter have a backlight function so I can see it better?”

“It should. Go to the star logo in the upper left hand corner and click on it, then selectsettings and there should be abacklight function box. Selectyes and it should fire right up.”

Harvath followed DeWolfe’s instructions and the screen began to glow a deep red. It was an interesting color for a device masquerading as a civilian product, but made perfect sense for a piece of covert equipment that might be called upon to operate in difficult nighttime conditions where the least visible light spectrum would be required.

“Got it,” said Harvath, who, after tapping the screen several more times added, “Shit!”

“What’s going on?” asked DeWolfe.

“I’m getting a message that saysno carrier,” replied Harvath as he started saying into the phone’s mouthpiece, “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”

“No carrier?” continued DeWolfe. “That could only mean that-”

“The phone line’s dead,” said Herman as he withdrew his twin Beretta Stock 96’s from beneath his jacket.

“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed DeWolfe when he saw the weapons. “Who walks around with that kind of firepower?”

“Welcome to the Federal Republic of Germany,” answered Harvath, disconnecting the burst transmitter and illuminating his way around the desk with his flashlight to reconnect the phone directly to the wall jack. “If you think that’s impressive, you oughtta see what his cousins carry.”

“Forget about my cousins,” said Herman as Harvath picked up the receiver and listened for a dial tone. “What’s the situation with the phone?”

“Dead,” he replied. “So the problem appears to be on our end.”

“Coupled with a convenient loss of electricity. I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” said Harvath, removing the H amp;K from his BlackHawk tactical holster. “Either a car outside happened to ram the local power and telephone poles, or we’ve got a problem.”

“This part of Berlin doesn’t have power or telephone poles,” replied Herman. “Everything is underground.”

“Then we’ve got a problem,” said DeWolfe, the last to draw his own weapon, a “special order only” Beretta Model 93R.

“Talk about firepower,” quipped Harvath, eyeballing the extended twenty-round magazine of the handgun cum machine pistol, as DeWolfe flipped down the front grip and then switched the firing selector to three round bursts. “Where’d you get that thing?”

“I’ve got a good friend at Beretta and a healthy weapons allowance.”

“Like I said. When it comes to funding, you CIA guys aren’t hurting at all.”

Harvath tucked the burst transmitter into the back of his jeans and led the group out of the office. Cutting back through the living room of the penthouse, they found Nixie who showed them to another of the King George’s hidden features, a concealed stairwell. With the power out, the elevator was out of the question.

They were halfway to the ground floor when they heard the shots. Hurriedly, the group took the stairs as fast as they could. As they drew closer to the lobby and the shooting intensified, Harvath began to sense a whole new problem. Toffle, who had taken over the lead despite his bad leg, was picking up a good head of steam and dashed down the stairs two at a time. He seemed hell bent on charging through the lobby door, but something wasn’t right and Harvath yelled for him to stop.

Confused, Herman pulled up short and turned around to look at him as he came running down the last flight of stairs followed by DeWolfe and then Nixie. “Why are we stopping?” asked Toffle.

“Can’t you feel it?” replied Harvath.

“Feel what?”

“The air in here. It’s grown thinner.”

“And hotter,” said DeWolfe as he joined his colleagues at the bottom of the landing.

Herman scowled. “We’re wasting time.”

Nixie sniffed the air a moment and added, “And what’s that smell?”

The minute she pointed it out, Harvath knew what it was-accelerant. Pushing his way past Toffle, Harvath reached out his hand and gently placed it against the stairwell door.

Immediately, he snatched his hand back away from the heat and said, “There’s a fire on the other side of this door.”

“Oh my God,” replied Nixie. “We have to get everyone out.”

“First things first,” replied Herman, raising his weapons. “Kiefer and Verner may be in trouble.”

“We all might be in trouble. Let’s be smart about this,” responded Harvath, as he tugged the sleeve of his leather jacket over his hand so he could pull the door open. “Everybody back up. When I count to three, I’m going to slowly open the door. Ready?”

DeWolfe and Herman repositioned themselves so they could cover Harvath and then nodded their heads, while Nixie flattened herself as best she could against the near wall of the stairwell.

Harvath indicated his countdown with his fingers and then slowly cracked the door. Instantly, he was blown backwards as the roaring conflagration forced its way into the stairwell, desperate to feed on the fresh supply of oxygen.