Tap, tap, tap
Footsteps echoed conspicuously in the empty corridor. A patrolling terrorist strolled in from the far end, paused to glance around the hallway, then casually continued onward. Only after the footsteps had fully faded did Owen cautiously peek out from behind Lincoln's bust.
He nimbly vaulted over the sculpture and pressed himself to the wall, scanning both directions. Seeing no one, he gestured behind him. Immediately, the sound of shuffling feet followed as President Palmer and the hostages Owen had previously rescued emerged from their hiding place, hurrying toward the hallway.
They had been hiding on the White House's second floor. But to reach the utility trench, they had to descend to the basement level. The elevators were out of the question, so stairs were the only option.
The basement wasn't an office area—it was where the underground parking garage was located. All five elevators connected directly to it, but there was only one staircase. They would need to descend to the first floor and cross a long corridor to reach a second stairwell leading to the basement.
This group was mostly made up of the old, the weak, women, and children. Over 90% were women, with only a few men. The evacuation was clumsy and chaotic. The job President Palmer had given Owen was far from easy—he was already mentally exhausted.
Some had even tried to flee wearing high heels. Owen couldn't understand how people with that kind of sense got jobs in the White House. He was forced to strictly order everyone to remove their shoes. At least that cut down on the noise.
Obviously, twenty people couldn't move as quickly as one. Owen's eyes remained fixed on the end of the corridor, waving them along frantically with one hand to hurry them up.
Suddenly, Owen's arm froze mid-wave, then changed to a palm-down pressing motion. Instantly, all footsteps stopped. If there was one redeeming quality about this group, it was their obedience. When Owen gave an order, they followed it precisely—even if he told them to step into a room with their left foot first, no one would dare step with their right.
Down the hall, tap, tap, tap—footsteps again. A terrorist strolled out of the restroom, swinging his arms casually.
He had appeared out of nowhere. Owen hadn't seen anyone enter the restroom earlier—he was sure of it.
The man approached rapidly. There was no time to hide. The group froze in place, instinctively holding their positions. Owen kept his signal steady, and the hostages stayed as still as statues.
The terrorist, completely unaware, walked right past the alcove where they stood, oblivious to the eyes locked on him. Every person in the corridor held their breath as he passed by.
Just before vanishing behind the corner, the terrorist seemed to sense something. He halted abruptly, turned—and locked eyes with the stunned hostages staring back at him.
"Ahhhh—mmmpgh!"
The terrorist began to yell, but Owen lunged forward. A sharp punch slammed into his throat, cutting off the shout mid-air. The man collapsed under Owen's tackle, choking and flailing, but couldn't break free. With a brutal twist—crack—Owen snapped his neck. Resistance ceased. The body lay motionless.
Only once the danger had passed did the hostages finally exhale. Several of the women had nearly screamed aloud, barely able to keep their hands clamped over their mouths.
Owen dragged the body into the alcove and stuffed it inside a fireplace. Then he resumed leading the group onward. Despite the earlier scare, the rest of the journey was calm.
At a shadowy stairwell leading from the first floor to the basement, Owen took out his phone. "Ghost, how's your side looking?"
Before they had even set out, Owen had already contacted Ghost. The quick response team was now in position near the gas room to receive them.
"Don't worry, Cowboy. Everything's in place. Quick response team fully deployed. Spot-Eye will provide overwatch support..."
Ghost was back in his signature skull mask. Behind him stood Monica and Heartbeat, fully geared up. In the distance, Swagger had already secured his sniper position—he was the key to the success of this exfiltration. The primary threat would come from enemy snipers, and it would be up to Swagger to neutralize them.
With everything arranged, Owen gave the signal, and the hostages began descending the stairs. A few of the men helped Walker carry Jack. The group moved quickly, energized by the hope of imminent escape.
Owen led the way down to the basement. Their bare feet made little noise, but none of them knew they had already triggered a silent alarm.
In the surveillance room, Tyler had just finished uploading a custom virus into the mainframe. Whether it could bypass the locked monitoring system remained to be seen. Suddenly, a red alarm light began spinning furiously on the desk.
This light corresponded to a vibration sensor Tyler had installed on the basement level. Martin had specifically ordered him to set up a motion detection alarm near the escape tunnel. As backup, he also placed vibration sensors on the basement stairwell. That way, any movement there would trigger an alert.
As the red beacon flashed, a grin spread across Tyler's face. The lollipop in his mouth tasted just a bit sweeter—he loved this feeling, the sense that everything was under his control.
Tyler picked up the phone and called Martin. Yes, a phone—not a walkie-talkie. As a hacker, he had a reputation to uphold. Walkie-talkies were far too low-tech for his taste.
"Tyler, did you fix the surveillance system?"
Martin, caught off guard by the call, assumed the virus had worked.
"Nope. Still working on it. Might take a little while. I'm calling about something else—I heard you guys lost the President?"
Tyler's tone rubbed Martin the wrong way, but this guy had been personally recruited from the NSA's contract termination list. He was a valuable asset, and Martin still needed him to restore the monitoring system.
"The President isn't your concern. Just do your job."
Martin snapped. Sometimes, you had to be blunt with techies.
"Okay, okay, I know it's not my problem. Just figured I'd let you know—he might be in the basement."
"How do you know that?"
Martin asked instinctively.
"The surveillance system told me."
"Fuck, why didn't you say that earlier?!"
Martin leapt to his feet, swearing, and shouted to Staz: "Basement! Basement! The President's in the basement. Grab your men and come with me!"
Staz, already fuming from the earlier blunders, snatched an M4A1 from the table and burst out the door. At the same time, he bellowed into his radio, "Kiel, Kempinski, take two men each and meet me in the basement! We're bringing the President back!"
(End of Chapter)
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