Agent Sanchez needed a decision — quickly.
“Mr. President, what would you like to do?”
“You think we should go back?” MacPherson asked.
“I do, sir.”
“Bob, what about you?”
“I agree, Mr. President. Camp David is fine, but we’re closer to the White House, and I think it sends the right message if you’re there.”
“Fine. Agent Sanchez, get us back on the ground. And, Bob, get on the line with State. I want Secretary Warner on a plane within the hour, headed back to D.C. He’s obviously not going to Moscow, but there’s no point leaving him in Beijing.”
“You got it, sir.”
Corsetti began working the phones while MacPherson turned his attention back to Kirkpatrick, still on the line. “Marsha, what do we know about Bennett and McCoy?”
“No word yet, sir.”
“Were they still in Vadim’s office?”
“So far as we know. But the situation is pretty chaotic at the moment, Mr. President. All but one of their DSS detail are confirmed dead. Bennett’s driver is still in the parking garage but pinned down by heavy fire. And he hasn’t been able to get through to Bennett or McCoy for the last half hour.”
Through the night, McCoy could hear the gunfire getting closer.
Corridor by corridor. Office by office. No one could move. No one could sleep. She feared for Bennett’s life. It wouldn’t be long before he slipped into shock. He was losing too much blood.
McCoy gritted her teeth and tried to push away the fear of losing him. But that was impossible. She remembered the last time she had wondered whether she would lose the man she loved. Suddenly she was back at Dr. Mordechai’s home in Jerusalem, kneeling over Bennett, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from two gunshot wounds he’d sustained from an Iraqi terrorist tied to Al-Nakbah.
Just like on that day, she could hear the thunder of gunfire crashing all around them. She could smell the gunpowder in the air. At that time, Bennett hadn’t been a follower of Christ. She and Bennett hadn’t even been dating. But she had loved him. From the moment she had met Jonathan Meyers Bennett, she had fallen in love with him. And the idea of not only losing him but letting him slip away into an eternity without Christ had been more than McCoy could bear.
She had begged God to save his body and his soul. And she had wept like she wept when both of her parents died, when she’d been left all alone in the world, without brothers or sisters or a family to call her own. God had answered both her prayers that day. Jon’s eternal destiny was secure. But his body was once again in danger. And so she prayed for Jon again.
She wiped the tears from her eyes and the soot off the face of her watch.
It was just after four in the morning. As best she could tell, the rebels had blasted through the last defensive perimeter at the stairwells and elevators. McCoy knew the agents in the hallway were putting up fierce resistance. But by now it was obvious that they were outnumbered and outgunned. She had no idea how many agents loyal to the regime remained in fighting condition in the Kremlin compound, much less in this building. But unless Vadim’s forces were able to mount a counterassault within the next few minutes, they were about to be overrun.
McCoy scanned the room, calculating their odds.
Of the nine agents barricaded in the office with them, four were down. Two lay dead of gunshots to the head and chest. Another had been blown to pieces in one of the early mortar attacks. A fourth lay writhing on the floor with an ugly wound to the right arm as two other agents fought to keep their comrade alive.
Her back pressed against the wall, McCoy stood up slowly, inched her way to the nearest shattered window, and peeked outside, only for an instant. Tracer bullets and flares lit up the night sky, thick with smoke.
Several nearby buildings were engulfed in flames. She could see no emergency equipment nearby, but she could see tanks — four of them — each of their turrets aimed directly at their floor.
These men were hunting Vadim, and McCoy had no doubt they would take down the entire building if they thought it necessary.
Another window shattered.
A flash bomb exploded a few yards from where McCoy stood. Again the room began to fill with smoke. The impact seemed to shake Bennett from his stupor. He was gasping for air and coughing violently.
The hallway suddenly erupted with automatic gunfire. The floors and walls shook violently as one grenade after another exploded on the other side of the French doors that locked them in. Two more agents went down. A third lay dying in front of her, badly burned by the explosion.
McCoy made her move.
She hit the deck and scrambled over spent shells and broken glass for a submachine gun and tossed an automatic pistol to Bennett. The remaining Russian agents didn’t seem to care. They knew they were down to mere minutes. They had no hope of getting out of this room alive. The best they could do at this point was buy Vadim as much time as they could.
McCoy looked over at Bennett. He was in bad shape, but he would have to pull himself together enough to make a final stand. “Jon, grab that guy and follow me,” McCoy shouted, pointing to one of the dead bodies a few feet from Bennett.
McCoy grabbed another dead agent by the lapels, dragged him to the inside wall near the hallway, dipped her hands in a pool of blood, and began smearing it all over her face and neck.
Bennett was obviously in intense pain. McCoy helped him pull the dead man to the wall and smear himself with the man’s blood.
Then both sat with their backs to the wall, pulled the dead men onto their laps, and waited. They could hear people on the other side of the wall.
“They’re attaching plastic explosives to each set of doors,” McCoy whispered. “They’ll be in here any second. You cover that side. I’ll cover this side. Wait until at least three or four are in the room before you open fire.”
“And then?” Bennett asked.
McCoy looked into his eyes. She could see how much pain he was in. It was everything she could do not to sob in his arms. He needed to be strong, for a few more minutes, at least. Which meant she had to be strong as well.
“And I’ll see you in heaven, my love.”
She leaned over and kissed him, her eyes blurred with tears. She could hear the sound of military helicopters approaching from the east. Their only hope was that the choppers brought a counterattack by forces loyal to Vadim.
Suddenly, the doors to their left and right exploded into a hundred pieces of burning wood and metal, followed by more flash bombs and tear gas.
Vadim’s remaining protectors unleashed the last of their ammunition, but it was not enough. They were met by overwhelming force, and one by one they fell to the ground.
Gagging on the noxious fumes, unable to see, unable to aim, McCoy could wait no longer. There was no doubt the attackers were in the room now. She could hear their boots and the tinkle of spent shells hitting the floor as the rebels put the last of Vadim’s forces out of their misery.
And then it was quiet. Eerily so.
“Clear,” one of the men shouted in Russian.
That was their cue, McCoy decided. Hidden behind two dead Russian agents, she knew she and Bennett had an element of surprise. It wouldn’t be much. But they would not go down without a fight. She aimed toward the open room.
“Now!” she yelled.
17
The room again erupted with gunfire.
A dead man on top of him, Bennett held the automatic pistol with both hands and began firing at shadows in the smoke.
He pivoted to the left — another shadow, another round — then turned back toward the center and pulled the trigger again and again until the gun stopped firing.