"Boss, my men are dead. The hostages from the Blue Room have been rescued."
Just minutes ago, Noor had opened the door to check on the hostages inside. He had always distrusted that Middle Eastern thug—Arab mercenaries didn't have a great reputation in the U.S., neither professionally nor morally.
But what he saw inside left him speechless: the Arab was dead, a knife buried in his forehead, and all the hostages—gone.
"Damn it, where did they go?"
"I... I don't know. I just went to the bathroom. I swear I was gone for less than twenty seconds…"
Noor still couldn't figure out how the hostages had escaped. The fireplace was empty, and the windows had been rigged with explosives. Had they really slipped out in those few seconds? But no other guards in the area had raised any alarm.
"Damn it. You're off Alpha Team. No, go to the Yellow Room on the fifth floor."
Staz was furious. The president and his mysterious escort were like slippery rats. Just moments ago, they'd been spotted on the second floor—now they'd already made it to the third and managed to rescue over a dozen hostages.
Fuming, Staz pressed the transmit button on his radio. "All units, attention: the president and that rat have moved to the third floor. Stay alert and find them. As long as they're still inside, the Marines won't dare make a move. And make sure the hostages are secured—they're our ticket out of here."
Just as he was about to turn off his radio, Staz froze, a thought striking him. He quickly pressed the button again. "Switch all units to Channel 2. Now."
Then, with venom in his voice, he added, "You little rat. I know you're listening. You're finished. When I catch you, I'll use every method I learned interrogating prisoners in Iraq. I want to hear you scream. You'll wish you were dead, you hear me? I'll make sure of it."
There was no response. Staz finally switched to Channel 2 and radioed Martin. "Martin, the White House should feel like home to you. The president and that rat are running circles around us and saving hostages. There must be hidden passages or something. Don't tell me you don't know—I'm giving you a team. Find them. Or we're all dead."
Staz gave Martin no chance to refuse. Martin might not be under his command, but they were in this together.
"Bravo Team, move all remaining hostages to the Yellow Room on the fifth floor. Let's see him try to save them now. Charlie Team, start a room-by-room sweep. Find them. I don't want anything left alive except the president and that damn rat."
…
Inside the engineering level, Owen and Walker had just heard Staz's broadcast.
Walker chuckled, "Sounds like you're done for, man. He wants to hear you scream... make you wish you were dead…"
Ever since reuniting with Jennifer, Walker had been a new man. The long-lost couple was practically glued together now, blissfully reunited.
Owen shrugged nonchalantly as he checked the magazine on his captured MP5. "Buddy, stay here and protect them. Here's the mag—make it last. I've got more people to rescue."
"No way, man. I'm going with you," Walker said firmly. He glanced at Jennifer, clearly reluctant to leave her, but resolute. Owen knew he meant it. Americans didn't do phony politeness.
"Go ahead, George. My hero. I support you," Jennifer said, planting a kiss on him to seal her encouragement.
Walker beamed, clearly basking in her approval. Then he turned to Owen. "By the way, man—can you pass along a request to the president for me?"
"What is it?"
"I want to hold my wedding in the White House. I saved his life—he owes me."
"Hmm… I don't think that'll be a problem. I'll give you his yes in advance."
There was precedent—though in the past, only the president's daughters had gotten married in the White House. But this time, Walker had saved the president. Exceptions could be made.
…
With Jennifer and the hostages safely stashed, Owen and Walker made their way out through the equipment corridor.
"Owen, my life's in your hands now…" Walker said, a little more anxious than before.
"Still time to turn back if you're scared," Owen teased.
"No way. Not a chance."
Walker shook his head like a bobblehead. After just having been Jennifer's knight in shining armor, there was no way he was going to ruin that image.
"Then from now on, you do exactly what I say. One wrong step and you can kiss your girl goodbye."
"Of course. We're a team, right?"
Owen smirked. He wasn't actually going to let Walker take any real risks. If anything got dangerous, Owen would take the lead.
They moved together through the engineering level, searching for a route to the upper floors. Owen needed to find where the rest of the hostages were—especially the Secretary of Defense and the Secretary of State.
Creak…
Owen suddenly stopped. Over the loud hum of machinery, he thought he'd heard a door hinge creak—barely audible under the noise.
He pulled Walker behind some clutter, watching carefully. Walker hadn't heard anything but trusted Owen's instincts.
A few moments later, several shadows appeared just ahead. One man in a suit led the group, the others wore tactical gear.
Owen instantly recognized the man in the suit—Martin.
…
Martin was pissed. Not because of Staz's tone—he didn't care about petty pride. What angered him was that the president still hadn't been captured.
Martin knew that capturing the president was the only way out for him. This mission was all or nothing. He wasn't ready to die—not now. Not after meeting that woman, Avril. She had shown him what he truly wanted. Just like she'd said, their once-great nation had rotted to the core. It needed to be destroyed so something new could be built in its place. He had to live—for the fallen brothers who had died abroad, for the future of a new America.
He brought four mercenaries into the engineering level. He knew the White House had secret passages, and they'd already been mapped out. But the engineering level—maybe that was the part no one had considered.
But just as they entered the room—
Clang!
A metal clatter rang out, and one of the mercs shouted in panic: "Grenade! Take cover!!"
The five of them immediately scattered, diving to the floor. As the grenade rolled across the ground, a figure emerged from the hallway. The sharp report of an MP5 filled the room.
Owen fired rapidly, aiming for the only unarmored target: the head. In close quarters, he was lethal. Martin's four men were riddled with bullets—blood sprayed as they dropped one after another.
(End of Chapter)
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