The Enemy Within

Helen and DeGarza burrowed deeper into the hedge as rounds whipcracked past their heads. The chattering roar of automatic-weapons fire rose higher. Someone else inside the house had opened up, systematically shooting into every piece of cover that could shelter an attacker.

“Jesus,” the stocky HRT trooper whispered into her ear. “Who are these guys?”

She shook her head impatiently. Their enemies were damned good. That was all that was important now.

Her gaze darted across the flame-lit, bullet-torn landscape in front of her as she evaluated and then rejected courses of action in the blink of an eye. That bomb-blasted front door gaped open invitingly, but getting to it would be impossible. There was too much cleared ground to cover. Anyone trying to cross that street would be gunned down before they took three strides.

The back door was out too. Frazer and Brett were still pinned down there, unable to get close enough to slap the necessary breaching charge in place. What did that leave?

Helen’s eyes narrowed as she made her decision. It was time to gamble. They were running out of time and options. Every passing minute gave the terrorists inside more time to destroy the information they needed or to prepare for a mass suicide.

She tapped DeGarza’s helmet to get his attention and wriggled back out of the hedge. The other agent followed her. Crouching low to avoid the bullets still flying past overhead, she made another radio call to the sniper team covering the front. “Horowitz! Keep shooting! Keep these bastards busy! Emery! Fall back and meet us at the school!”

FBI command van With half its interior taken up by the radio and other equipment needed to manage a surveillance operation or raid, the five men inside the back of the command van were crowded together almost cheek-tojowl. They were parked out of sight, two streets away from the pitched battle now raging around the terrorist safe house.

“Damn it!” Peter Thorn slammed his fist into his thigh in frustration as he listened to the rising crescendo of gunfire outside and the desperate radioed reports from the stunned HRT assault force. He couldn’t just sit here idle while Helen and her section were cut to ribbons. He yanked off the headphones he was wearing and whirled around to face Flynn. “Your people need help now! Give me a weapon and three men and I’ll lay down a base of fire on that Frigging house long enough for them to break inside!”

For an instant, the older FBI man seemed tempted. Then he shook his head. “Not possible, Pete! You don’t have any jurisdiction here.”

“Screw the fucking jurisdiction!” Thorn snarled angrily. He started to stand without really being sure of where he planned on going or what he planned on doing.

“Sit down!” Flynn barked. His voice softened. “Look, Pete, think it through. Things are already bad out there. You really think throwing in another set of strangers with guns in the dark is gonna make them better?”

Thorn shook his head numbly, unwillingly admitting to himself that the other man was right. His instincts urged him into action. His brain told him an unplanned, unrequested intervention now could be disastrous. Plenty of soldiers and police officers were killed by friendly fire in the dark or in the swirling confusion of battle.

“Let Helen do her job,” Flynn said quietly. “She’s in command. If she wants help, she’ll ask for it.”

Arlington

Lugging her submachine gun and a pack carrying extra gear, Helen Gray dashed across the playground toward the waiting Blackhawk helicopter. DeGarza and Emery, similarly burdened, ran right at her heels. They ducked low under the hilo’s turning rotors and scrambled up into the troop compartment.

“We’re in! Take us up!” Helen shouted to the pilot over her command circuit.

“Roger.”

Turbines howling, the Blackhawk climbed skyward, already spinning left to head toward the battle. It levered off just fifty feet above the ground.

Helen crouched in the helicopter’s open doorway, staring down as they slid low over the street. Orange flames and black, oily smoke billowed out of the burning Ford Taurus.

She could see Jackson’s body sprawled on the front lawn. They were over the roof of the house in seconds.

The Blackhawk pilot’s voice crackled through her helmet headset. “You ready?”

Helen craned her head to check with her teammates. They both nodded and gave her a thumbs-up signal. She whipped back around and confirmed that for the pilot. “We’re ready. Let’s do it!”

Rotors whipping through the rising smoke, the Blackhawk went into hover only a few feet above the roof.

Without pausing, Helen dropped out through the hilo’s open side door. Robbed of her natural grace by her weapons and extra equipment, she landed awkwardly on the sloping asphalt shingles. She teetered there for a second, fighting briefly for her balance. Breathing hard, she regained it and knelt down already tearing open the equipment pack she’d been carrying. DeGarza and Emery made the same leap and moved to her side.