He couldn't believe this was happening to him. He had unwittingly allowed a suicide bomber into the Operations Center. Fitch's windbreaker made sense now, along with the Jamaican's assurances that they would know if Fitch got into Ops unhindered. He no longer had any doubt that they planned to release his family. Their operation within NCTC wasn't a covert data theft or file corruption that needed to remain a secret. There was no reason to hold them any longer. He briefly considered fleeing the building, but couldn't bring himself to turn his back on the wounded survivors he had just helped to maim.
He stood up from his seat and checked on one of the guards, who had propped himself against the opposite wall. His leg looked badly shredded, bleeding profusely onto the floor.
"Go help the others. I'll be fine," the man said.
Taylor looked down the hallway toward the administrative building and saw the automatic doors open. Security personnel poured through the doorway, sprinting in his direction.
"All right. Make sure one of them gets you out of here. You're losing a lot of blood," Taylor said, before proceeding to the shattered vestibule.
He stepped through the newly created openings and stopped with the rest of the security team just inside the vast space. What he saw caused him to drop to one knee and cross himself.
"Father, Son and the Holy Spirit," he muttered in disbelief.
A muffled explosion shook the room, bringing him to his feet just as a section of the catwalk disengaged from the wall near the far right stairwell. The metal creaked and screamed for a few seconds, before the entire catwalk structure on the right side of the Operations Center swung across the room, gaining momentum as more sections separated. The guards scurried back toward the security checkpoint, clearing the vestibule as a massive collision rattled the floor. Once the catwalk settled, they hesitantly walked back into the apocalyptic nightmare that had just minutes ago been the world's most technologically advanced counterterrorism center.
As the desperate cries for help and deep moaning finally reached Taylor's ears, he wished he had been crushed by the twisted metal catwalk.
Chapter 48
"Director Shelby, please report to the watch floor supervisor."
He stood up from his newly appointed, temporary office just outside of the main conference room and straightened out his jacket. After the president's little talk with him this morning, Jacob Remy had slithered over to sweeten the pot even further by assigning him one of the small conference rooms to use as a temporary FBI office. They really wanted him to play ball. He had been tempted to point out the fact that this office should have been offered to him four days ago, when Task Force Scorpion had been commissioned by Shelby to resolve this emergent terrorist threat.
When he opened his office door, two Secret Service agents took control of him, steering him toward the main conference room. Their guns were drawn and pointed toward the ceiling. His first thought was that he had been placed under arrest.
"This way, sir. The watch floor supervisor needs to speak to you immediately."
No further explanation was given. He could see at least three heavily armed Secret Service agents blocking the entrance to their destination. Their bullpup configured FN P90 submachine guns were held parallel to the floor, sweeping in every direction. He wasn't being arrested. Something had happened. Something big.
"What's going on?" he asked the agent behind him.
"We're in lockdown. NCTC was hit by a suicide bomber. Possible inside job. We're securing all high-value targets within the situation room."
"Where's the president?"
"You'll be briefed once inside. Please keep moving, sir," the agent replied.
When they arrived at the door, one of the agents entered a code into the keypad on the wall behind him. His escorts pushed him past the three agents, wedging him against the door, which opened less than a second later. A Secret Service agent inside grabbed him by the shoulder and guided him inside, shutting the door behind them. A tall, blond-haired man dressed in a dark brown suit approached him immediately.
"Director Shelby, George Hafferty, watch floor supervisor. The Operations Center at NCTC has been hit by an apparent suicide bomber. I know you have—"
"How big of a bomb? I need to talk to someone over there right now."
"Absolutely, sir. We're still trying to sort out the reports. From what we can tell, the bomb was hidden under a jacket. Maybe a suicide vest. I don't know how to say this, but the bomb apparently detonated in the middle of the FBI workstations. We don't have any real numbers, but first responders told us to expect massive casualties. I'm really sorry."
Frederick Shelby had visited Task Force Scorpion earlier in the day and could picture each agent seated at his or her assigned workstation. He knew every face assigned to the task force and had taken the trouble to learn something about each one of them prior to his visit. If the bomb had been as powerful as Mr. Hafferty suggested, most of them had probably been killed. Hesterman, O'Reilly, Mendoza, maybe even Sharpe. He felt a bitter anger rise up his throat, threatening to choke off his breathing. He was seething.
"My agent-in-charge? Ryan Sharpe. Did he survive?"
"I don't know yet. We've just started collecting information. I have a direct line to NCTC Director Joel Garrity. I spoke with him moments ago. He'll be your best conduit for information, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Hafferty. Get him on the line, please," Shelby said.
The door he just entered opened again and deposited the secretary of Homeland Security, Marianne Templeton, into the room. He nodded at her before following Hafferty. On his way to the mobile watch floor hub assembled in the far corner of the room, he took note of the people in the room. He counted four Secret Service agents, two guarding each door, along with at least six personnel hovering around the four workstations comprising the mobile hub. Beyond him, Ms. Templeton appeared to be the only person worth protecting within the situation room.
"Get Joel Garrity at NCTC on a secure line for the director," Hafferty said.
Less than five seconds later, one of the analysts stood up from his chair and backed away, holding a telephone handset out to Shelby. Shelby took the phone and remained standing, stretching the cord. His first priority was to establish continuity of operations. As cold as this would sound to Garrity, the immediate survival of the investigation took priority over the casualties.
"The line is secure, sir," the analyst said.
"Joel, what happened?"
"We're still trying to piece it together, sir. I have some digital feedback showing a man in an NCTC windbreaker involved in some kind of controversy on the watch floor. Agent Mendoza shoots him in the middle of the FBI workstations, and that's where it gets confusing. A woman charges onto the scene at about the same time, dropping herself onto the bomber. An agent seated nearby shoots her in the back, and the bomb goes off immediately after that. I don't think anyone on the floor survived."
He would ask more about the woman in a moment.
"Joel, this may sound heartless considering what happened, but—"
"Continuity of operations," Garrity interrupted.
"Yes. I need you to transfer everything on your servers to FBI headquarters. I'll have one of our techs contact you immediately to—"