HOSTILE TAKEOVER
By AJ Squaredaway
PART TWO
This was one beginning to be one of the weirdest leaps I could remember. Well, that's not saying much; with my mind being so Swiss-cheesed from leaping, it was impossible to rely on any of my few remaining memories. But I did know that I had been here for quite a while, and it was weird that Al hadn't checked in yet. I really needed to talk to him. Although I had the name of my host, I've been unable to figure out where in the past I was. It's like the Land That Time Forgot...there was nothing here to tell me the date!
The boys, as Sam thought of them, had tossed back lunch in a spirited fashion. The conversation centered around terrorists, weapons and negotiating techniques. Sam picked up a lot, so it wasn't a waste of time for him. Whenever a student asked him a question, he did the instructor trick of asking, "What do you think?" Worked every time. Eventually, they directed their questions to Chuck, Sam's burly partner.
After lunch, they all headed back to the fake, Hollywood-style town that made up part of the training grounds. The 'boys' scattered and donned green fatigues stored in their cars. Meanwhile, Chuck shoved a hand drawn map into Sam's hands and pointed out red 'Xs' scattered around the roughly sketched training area.
"That's where we'll gas 'em," Chuck said happily. "Put about a half dozen canisters at each site. I love this part!"
Taking the map, Sam oriented himself and looked around for the canisters. Unable to locate anything remotely resembling a canister, he tapped Chuck on the shoulder. Chuck was pulling on his camouflaged shirt. "Uh, where's the canisters?"
Chuck looked at him like he sprouted a third eyeball. "You didn't bring 'em? You said you'd get 'em!"
Sam stepped back, "Oh, yeah! I did, huh? Never mind. I know where they are."
Chuck looked relieved. "OK, then."
Sam went back to the scattered cars and played a deduction game. Which one of these cars was his? He fished keys from his front jeans pocket, and zeroed in on another bland looking sedan. How come all company cars look alike? He wondered, not at all surprised when the key fit in the trunk. He popped it and found a case of canisters labeled 'CS Tear Gas'. Eureka! He said to himself and pocketed the keys. He glanced around the interior and found a metal gun case similar to Chuck's, and two duffel bags. One had green fatigues in it, so Sam took it out. The other had radios, manuals, pads of lined paper and an extremely dog-eared map book. 'Hey!' he thought. 'Those map books are updated yearly. I can get an idea of...' A hearty thump on his back nearly took the wind out of him as it derailed his thoughts.
"Hurry up, Billy! I wanna get outta here before dark!" Chuck started loading canisters in every available pocket and an empty duffel bag.
Sam shrugged on the fatigue jacket, and filled his pockets, too. Chuck handed him the duffel. "Here. Drop those off and I'll get them started. I'll meet ya at Point 1." He slammed the trunk with a beefy hand and trotted off, whistling for attention. Looking at the map, Sam located Point 1 and plotted the route there via all the red 'Xs'. With a sigh, Sam jogged into the woods.
Project Quantum Leap
March 15, 2000
Donna had tried to go directly to the Waiting Room, but was stopped by a couple of technicians while enroute to sign off paperwork. 'Better now than piled on my desk,' she thought as she glanced over the papers and scribbled a signature. Routine stuff. She was almost to the Waiting Room when the lights dimmed, then returned to their normal level.
"Ziggy?" she asked, slowing. "Why did the lights dim?" They dimmed again, and she stopped in the hall. "Ziggy?"
"I don't know, Dr. Elesee," the voice replied. "I'm running a diagnostic of basic systems now. There. It seems to be located in Section 15. A power coupling failing."
"Well, get the troubleshooters over there." Donna started forward again, noting that Section 15 was in the complete opposite direction.
"I don't trust them, Dr. Elesee," Ziggy pouted. "One of them used a hammer on my relays last week. Could you check it?"
Donna hesitated, eyes narrowing at a point in the ceiling. She got the distinct feeling she was being stalled. But if there was a failing coupling, there was always the danger of fire, and fire in an underground complex was a serious matter. She sighed. "Fine." Let Ziggy win this one, she thought. "But if this is a ruse to keep me from the Waiting Room, I'll fry your relays myself."
"Yes, ma'am," Ziggy replied politely.
That's when Donna knew the computer was covering something. Ziggy was never polite. She started back to Section 15 at a ground eating pace.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Dr. Verbina Beeks had been playing verbal volleyball with the latest Visitor ever since he'd leaped in. He was skilled at saying a lot without saying anything, using a minimum of words. She was skilled in reading all that wasn't said. It was quite a match.
She could read his body language, too, and saw that he was a lot more scared than he indicated; obviously a man used to being in control. They were insufferably polite to each other, and Beeks felt they both came away with a mutual feeling of distrust, apparently something they were both used to. The only time that she felt the Visitor knew he had the edge was when Beeks asked him the date. It was impossible to cover her shock, and she saw him repress a smile when he realized he got her.
The conversational sparring was tiring, and Beeks was thrown into mental turmoil as to her next course of action. Thoughtfully, she perused the personal information she had obtained: Name: William Takeshta. Age: 34. Occupation: FBI Investigator, currently working as a hostage negotiator in the Virginia area. It wasn't much, but she'd worked with less before, and she knew that Ziggy had started researching the instant the information was available. But the date issue had taken Beeks by surprise. She hated to admit it, but she was stumped for the moment.
She knew Ziggy had digested the information, and was surprised the parallel hybrid computer hadn't commented already. Beeks looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Ziggy," she asked. "Did you see the date Sam's leaped into?"
"Yes, Dr. Beeks, I noticed it immediately. I'm currently running scenarios as to how this could adversely effect the Project."
"That was my concern, also. Normally, we'd tell the Admiral. The circumstances have made that well, problematic." Beeks mused.
"The Observer needs to be informed, but Dr. Beckett should not. And also knowing the entanglements of human relations, Dr. Elesee should not be informed, either." Ziggy's tone was one of regret.
Beeks thought a second, arms crossed over her chest. "The Observer will no doubt be Sammy Jo on this one, at least for now. Hopefully she can hold the fort until the Admiral gets here later tonight." She tapped her lower lip with a well-manicured nail. "And Dr. Elesee is a professional, Ziggy. I think she would be fine with it, but we may have to make the date available on a need-to-know basis only. And right now, she doesn't need to know."
"All right, Dr. Beeks. But I want to inform you that Dr. Elesee is on her way here and should arrive in 1.25 minutes. And I think she may be very...curious."
Verbina raised her eyebrows at that one. " 'Curious'? Is there a reason she would be 'curious'?"
Ziggy hesitated a second. "It's time to run system diagnostics. I will answer your inquiry later, after I research human emotional responses in a bit more detail."
Beeks laughed shortly at the obvious dodge. If her feelings were right, it would be the only laugh she would have for awhile.
Washington D.C.
The cab dropped off Al in front of the Senate Office Building on Constitution Avenue. He gave Beth a quick peck on the cheek and said he'd meet her at the airport terminal. He stepped out into the brisk, spring day feeling very content. He gripped the briefcase and smiled at Beth throwing him a kiss through the cab window as she pulled away.
He entered the building and automatically removed his cover from his head. He easily passed through the metal detectors, and was picking up his briefcase when he felt his pager vibrate on his wrist. He knew what it meant, and also knew Sam would be annoyed at him arriving late in the leap; Sammy Jo did a good job, but Al felt that Sam was more comfortable with him.
When he entered Weitzman's office the receptionist smiled and immediately lifted the intercom to inform Weitzman of Al's arrival. "Hi, honey! Tell Wietzman I just got paged, so I'll be in the conference room." She nodded and passed on the message as Al slipped into the empty room. He opened the briefcase and flipped open the small computer inside, turning it on. When it was ready, he typed in his password and "What's up?"
The cryptic reply, "Target has moved, your presence is requested," made him grin. The non-information wouldn't be of any help to any hackers.
"I'll be there as scheduled, exact time to follow," he typed in, then logged off. He just finished securing the case when Weitzman breezed in the room, followed by his two aides.
"Admiral," he greeted with a phony grin, offering his hand. Al shook it in an automatic response.
"Senator," he replied. "Just got a message that I'm needed out West, and taking up your offer for the jet."
"Actually, that works out well, Admiral. I'm hitching a ride to Chicago, then it's all yours. The crew's already prepping for departure."
Well, Al thought. That works out well; it makes the wait at the terminal shorter for him and Beth. "Great," he replied. "So can I hitch a ride to the airport?"
"Yep, just on our way. I just have to drop some papers off at the Capitol Building, and the car is waiting there already. Let's go."
Al picked up the case, pleased at the timing of all this. True, he was stuck in the jet with a windbag politician and his bean-counting aides, but it wouldn't be for that long. He and Beth would have the bird to themselves from Chicago to New Mexico. He couldn't help but grin at that thought.
They left the office, aides following like trained dogs, and went down to an underground level where the Senate subway would take them directly to the Capitol Building. Another Senate perk, Al thought. Never have to worry about parking. But then again, that was never a problem at the Project, either!
The open-sided rail car arrived as soon as they got there, and soon they were whisked away from the platform, en route the Capitol Building at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue.
***************
It had taken a lot less time than Beth had anticipated picking up the coat for their daughter Liz. She arrived at the small airport terminal way ahead of her husband. She tipped the driver, and had the bags taken to the jet, then settled into the comfortable chair in the VIP lounge that overlooked the tarmac. She got a cup of hot chocolate, and pulled out a novel. She rarely had time to read, and settled down happily. The room was empty except for the host behind the small bar.
Absorbed in her book, she hardly noticed that she'd finished the drink and the amount of time that had passed. She'd read more than expected, felt how stiff her lower back was, and thought that Al should have been here by now. Glancing at her watch, she stood up and stretched. There was a wall-mounted television over the small bar, the volume off. What caught Beth's attention was the jiggly picture of the White House, obviously taken by a hand held camera at the scene. A harried looking reporter was talking directly in the camera, and Beth could see scores of uniformed Police scurrying in the background.
A very bad feeling hit her. "Turn up the sound!" she ordered, eyes glued to the screen. By the time she got to the bar, the host had turned on the sound.
"Right now, officials tell us a negotiating team is being called in, and the identity of the suspect is unknown. Clark," the TV screen reverted to a studio, with the live feed displayed on the side.
"Thank you, Doug, for that update. We will check in with you as the situation changes." The dapperly dressed talking head turned to the TV audience. "For those just tuning in, an unknown man has taken the White House gate guards hostage, claiming the truck he is in contains a bomb. The scene for five blocks around is in the process of being secured, and the President, who is inside the White House, has been notified." Beth gasped, and the host's eyes widened in shock. "It is unknown where the President is inside the White House right now, but the situation is considered critical, and not yet secure. Everyone in a ten block area is advised to stay inside and lock all doors."
The host snorted. "Lotta good that's gonna do if it's anything like Oklahoma City." Beth had to agree. The camera, obviously a long distance away, showed a shaky image of a white van next to a guardhouse, outside the White House fence, but within a stone's throw to the building. If that van were packed with explosives as the driver claimed, it would do a lot of damage.
She pulled out her cell phone and called Weitzman's office. The line was busy, and stayed busy for quite awhile. Patiently, she kept trying. She knew Al wasn't going near the White House, but it was odd he wasn't here. She felt more concerned as time passed, and no Al. Finally, she got through to Terri, the receptionist, who told her that the whole area was locked down and secured, and Weitzman and Al were probably stuck on the subway. "At least, being underground, they're safe if that thing goes," Terri reasoned, trying to calm herself and Beth. "If they were in the Senate Building they would have called, but in the subway, nothing works. I guess we just have to wait it out." Beth thanked her and hung up, only a little bit comforted.
Her next call was to the Project.
**************
When the subway screeched to a stop, the lights flickering, the first thought that entered Al's head was, 'That's what they get for using low bid contractors.' It was several minutes before a pre-recorded message came over the intercom.
"There has been a Security breach. Service will resume when security protocol has been re-established." The message was repeated in four languages, twice.
Weitzman, meanwhile just sighed. "This happens a couple of times a month. It'll get started up soon," then he turned to talk to his aide.
'Great,' Al thought. 'And I didn't even bring a book.' He settled down, and let his mind wander. Everyone else on the trolley car was as unconcerned as Weitzman.
Al was pulled out of his mental vacation by the uneasy shifting of the other passengers. He glanced at his watch. It had been about twenty minutes, and now everyone seemed to be growing edgy. He loosened his collar, as it was growing a little warmer in the closeness of the tunnel. Al noticed Weitzman checking his watch, too. Several passengers were poking at their cell phones, and obviously perturbed at their uselessness.
"Something's not right," Weitzman mumbled. He sent an aide forward to the next car. Just as the aid disappeared from sight, the whole car was rocked by a loud noise. Everyone shot to their feet.
"That sounded like an explosion!" Al snapped, his heart racing. Instinctively, the occupants crowded to the back of the car, away from the perceived direction of the noise. It was several tense minutes before another, smaller explosion was heard, and a large puff of smoke wafted over the cars. The aide shot back into the car, just as faint popping noises were heard.
"I heard gunfire up ahead! Everyone out the back!" The aide was followed by a wide-eyed crowd attempting to put distance between themselves and the explosions.
Al joined them as they moved to the back car to escape, as the tunnel was too narrow to exit out the side of the cars. He didn't like feeling trapped in the crowd; he studied the cars and the tunnel, looking for any way out. He grabbed the aide by his sleeve. "Keep these people calm. They'll trample each other!" The Admiral's demeanor left no room for argument and the aide moved to obey.
The cars emptied out quickly. Al could hear footfalls in the tunnel, and headed to the exit himself. Just as he reached the doorway platform, the sound of gunfire came from the tunnel, and he hit the floor in an automatic reaction. The lights in the tunnel flickered, then went out, and screams echoed in the darkness. When the gunfire stopped, he jumped out of the car and started grabbing people.
"Back in the car!" he ordered, shoving the dark forms behind him, towards the vehicles. He could feel smoke stinging his nostrils as he helped as many people as he could. His eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see a few forms on the ground, and he heard someone barking orders. He stood between the rails, trying to focus on the speakers, when someone roughly grabbed his arm and shoved him backwards.
"Move it!"
Al glanced over into the eyes of a masked man, and knew they were all in big trouble.
By AJ Squaredaway
PART TWO
This was one beginning to be one of the weirdest leaps I could remember. Well, that's not saying much; with my mind being so Swiss-cheesed from leaping, it was impossible to rely on any of my few remaining memories. But I did know that I had been here for quite a while, and it was weird that Al hadn't checked in yet. I really needed to talk to him. Although I had the name of my host, I've been unable to figure out where in the past I was. It's like the Land That Time Forgot...there was nothing here to tell me the date!
The boys, as Sam thought of them, had tossed back lunch in a spirited fashion. The conversation centered around terrorists, weapons and negotiating techniques. Sam picked up a lot, so it wasn't a waste of time for him. Whenever a student asked him a question, he did the instructor trick of asking, "What do you think?" Worked every time. Eventually, they directed their questions to Chuck, Sam's burly partner.
After lunch, they all headed back to the fake, Hollywood-style town that made up part of the training grounds. The 'boys' scattered and donned green fatigues stored in their cars. Meanwhile, Chuck shoved a hand drawn map into Sam's hands and pointed out red 'Xs' scattered around the roughly sketched training area.
"That's where we'll gas 'em," Chuck said happily. "Put about a half dozen canisters at each site. I love this part!"
Taking the map, Sam oriented himself and looked around for the canisters. Unable to locate anything remotely resembling a canister, he tapped Chuck on the shoulder. Chuck was pulling on his camouflaged shirt. "Uh, where's the canisters?"
Chuck looked at him like he sprouted a third eyeball. "You didn't bring 'em? You said you'd get 'em!"
Sam stepped back, "Oh, yeah! I did, huh? Never mind. I know where they are."
Chuck looked relieved. "OK, then."
Sam went back to the scattered cars and played a deduction game. Which one of these cars was his? He fished keys from his front jeans pocket, and zeroed in on another bland looking sedan. How come all company cars look alike? He wondered, not at all surprised when the key fit in the trunk. He popped it and found a case of canisters labeled 'CS Tear Gas'. Eureka! He said to himself and pocketed the keys. He glanced around the interior and found a metal gun case similar to Chuck's, and two duffel bags. One had green fatigues in it, so Sam took it out. The other had radios, manuals, pads of lined paper and an extremely dog-eared map book. 'Hey!' he thought. 'Those map books are updated yearly. I can get an idea of...' A hearty thump on his back nearly took the wind out of him as it derailed his thoughts.
"Hurry up, Billy! I wanna get outta here before dark!" Chuck started loading canisters in every available pocket and an empty duffel bag.
Sam shrugged on the fatigue jacket, and filled his pockets, too. Chuck handed him the duffel. "Here. Drop those off and I'll get them started. I'll meet ya at Point 1." He slammed the trunk with a beefy hand and trotted off, whistling for attention. Looking at the map, Sam located Point 1 and plotted the route there via all the red 'Xs'. With a sigh, Sam jogged into the woods.
Project Quantum Leap
March 15, 2000
Donna had tried to go directly to the Waiting Room, but was stopped by a couple of technicians while enroute to sign off paperwork. 'Better now than piled on my desk,' she thought as she glanced over the papers and scribbled a signature. Routine stuff. She was almost to the Waiting Room when the lights dimmed, then returned to their normal level.
"Ziggy?" she asked, slowing. "Why did the lights dim?" They dimmed again, and she stopped in the hall. "Ziggy?"
"I don't know, Dr. Elesee," the voice replied. "I'm running a diagnostic of basic systems now. There. It seems to be located in Section 15. A power coupling failing."
"Well, get the troubleshooters over there." Donna started forward again, noting that Section 15 was in the complete opposite direction.
"I don't trust them, Dr. Elesee," Ziggy pouted. "One of them used a hammer on my relays last week. Could you check it?"
Donna hesitated, eyes narrowing at a point in the ceiling. She got the distinct feeling she was being stalled. But if there was a failing coupling, there was always the danger of fire, and fire in an underground complex was a serious matter. She sighed. "Fine." Let Ziggy win this one, she thought. "But if this is a ruse to keep me from the Waiting Room, I'll fry your relays myself."
"Yes, ma'am," Ziggy replied politely.
That's when Donna knew the computer was covering something. Ziggy was never polite. She started back to Section 15 at a ground eating pace.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Dr. Verbina Beeks had been playing verbal volleyball with the latest Visitor ever since he'd leaped in. He was skilled at saying a lot without saying anything, using a minimum of words. She was skilled in reading all that wasn't said. It was quite a match.
She could read his body language, too, and saw that he was a lot more scared than he indicated; obviously a man used to being in control. They were insufferably polite to each other, and Beeks felt they both came away with a mutual feeling of distrust, apparently something they were both used to. The only time that she felt the Visitor knew he had the edge was when Beeks asked him the date. It was impossible to cover her shock, and she saw him repress a smile when he realized he got her.
The conversational sparring was tiring, and Beeks was thrown into mental turmoil as to her next course of action. Thoughtfully, she perused the personal information she had obtained: Name: William Takeshta. Age: 34. Occupation: FBI Investigator, currently working as a hostage negotiator in the Virginia area. It wasn't much, but she'd worked with less before, and she knew that Ziggy had started researching the instant the information was available. But the date issue had taken Beeks by surprise. She hated to admit it, but she was stumped for the moment.
She knew Ziggy had digested the information, and was surprised the parallel hybrid computer hadn't commented already. Beeks looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Ziggy," she asked. "Did you see the date Sam's leaped into?"
"Yes, Dr. Beeks, I noticed it immediately. I'm currently running scenarios as to how this could adversely effect the Project."
"That was my concern, also. Normally, we'd tell the Admiral. The circumstances have made that well, problematic." Beeks mused.
"The Observer needs to be informed, but Dr. Beckett should not. And also knowing the entanglements of human relations, Dr. Elesee should not be informed, either." Ziggy's tone was one of regret.
Beeks thought a second, arms crossed over her chest. "The Observer will no doubt be Sammy Jo on this one, at least for now. Hopefully she can hold the fort until the Admiral gets here later tonight." She tapped her lower lip with a well-manicured nail. "And Dr. Elesee is a professional, Ziggy. I think she would be fine with it, but we may have to make the date available on a need-to-know basis only. And right now, she doesn't need to know."
"All right, Dr. Beeks. But I want to inform you that Dr. Elesee is on her way here and should arrive in 1.25 minutes. And I think she may be very...curious."
Verbina raised her eyebrows at that one. " 'Curious'? Is there a reason she would be 'curious'?"
Ziggy hesitated a second. "It's time to run system diagnostics. I will answer your inquiry later, after I research human emotional responses in a bit more detail."
Beeks laughed shortly at the obvious dodge. If her feelings were right, it would be the only laugh she would have for awhile.
Washington D.C.
The cab dropped off Al in front of the Senate Office Building on Constitution Avenue. He gave Beth a quick peck on the cheek and said he'd meet her at the airport terminal. He stepped out into the brisk, spring day feeling very content. He gripped the briefcase and smiled at Beth throwing him a kiss through the cab window as she pulled away.
He entered the building and automatically removed his cover from his head. He easily passed through the metal detectors, and was picking up his briefcase when he felt his pager vibrate on his wrist. He knew what it meant, and also knew Sam would be annoyed at him arriving late in the leap; Sammy Jo did a good job, but Al felt that Sam was more comfortable with him.
When he entered Weitzman's office the receptionist smiled and immediately lifted the intercom to inform Weitzman of Al's arrival. "Hi, honey! Tell Wietzman I just got paged, so I'll be in the conference room." She nodded and passed on the message as Al slipped into the empty room. He opened the briefcase and flipped open the small computer inside, turning it on. When it was ready, he typed in his password and "What's up?"
The cryptic reply, "Target has moved, your presence is requested," made him grin. The non-information wouldn't be of any help to any hackers.
"I'll be there as scheduled, exact time to follow," he typed in, then logged off. He just finished securing the case when Weitzman breezed in the room, followed by his two aides.
"Admiral," he greeted with a phony grin, offering his hand. Al shook it in an automatic response.
"Senator," he replied. "Just got a message that I'm needed out West, and taking up your offer for the jet."
"Actually, that works out well, Admiral. I'm hitching a ride to Chicago, then it's all yours. The crew's already prepping for departure."
Well, Al thought. That works out well; it makes the wait at the terminal shorter for him and Beth. "Great," he replied. "So can I hitch a ride to the airport?"
"Yep, just on our way. I just have to drop some papers off at the Capitol Building, and the car is waiting there already. Let's go."
Al picked up the case, pleased at the timing of all this. True, he was stuck in the jet with a windbag politician and his bean-counting aides, but it wouldn't be for that long. He and Beth would have the bird to themselves from Chicago to New Mexico. He couldn't help but grin at that thought.
They left the office, aides following like trained dogs, and went down to an underground level where the Senate subway would take them directly to the Capitol Building. Another Senate perk, Al thought. Never have to worry about parking. But then again, that was never a problem at the Project, either!
The open-sided rail car arrived as soon as they got there, and soon they were whisked away from the platform, en route the Capitol Building at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue.
***************
It had taken a lot less time than Beth had anticipated picking up the coat for their daughter Liz. She arrived at the small airport terminal way ahead of her husband. She tipped the driver, and had the bags taken to the jet, then settled into the comfortable chair in the VIP lounge that overlooked the tarmac. She got a cup of hot chocolate, and pulled out a novel. She rarely had time to read, and settled down happily. The room was empty except for the host behind the small bar.
Absorbed in her book, she hardly noticed that she'd finished the drink and the amount of time that had passed. She'd read more than expected, felt how stiff her lower back was, and thought that Al should have been here by now. Glancing at her watch, she stood up and stretched. There was a wall-mounted television over the small bar, the volume off. What caught Beth's attention was the jiggly picture of the White House, obviously taken by a hand held camera at the scene. A harried looking reporter was talking directly in the camera, and Beth could see scores of uniformed Police scurrying in the background.
A very bad feeling hit her. "Turn up the sound!" she ordered, eyes glued to the screen. By the time she got to the bar, the host had turned on the sound.
"Right now, officials tell us a negotiating team is being called in, and the identity of the suspect is unknown. Clark," the TV screen reverted to a studio, with the live feed displayed on the side.
"Thank you, Doug, for that update. We will check in with you as the situation changes." The dapperly dressed talking head turned to the TV audience. "For those just tuning in, an unknown man has taken the White House gate guards hostage, claiming the truck he is in contains a bomb. The scene for five blocks around is in the process of being secured, and the President, who is inside the White House, has been notified." Beth gasped, and the host's eyes widened in shock. "It is unknown where the President is inside the White House right now, but the situation is considered critical, and not yet secure. Everyone in a ten block area is advised to stay inside and lock all doors."
The host snorted. "Lotta good that's gonna do if it's anything like Oklahoma City." Beth had to agree. The camera, obviously a long distance away, showed a shaky image of a white van next to a guardhouse, outside the White House fence, but within a stone's throw to the building. If that van were packed with explosives as the driver claimed, it would do a lot of damage.
She pulled out her cell phone and called Weitzman's office. The line was busy, and stayed busy for quite awhile. Patiently, she kept trying. She knew Al wasn't going near the White House, but it was odd he wasn't here. She felt more concerned as time passed, and no Al. Finally, she got through to Terri, the receptionist, who told her that the whole area was locked down and secured, and Weitzman and Al were probably stuck on the subway. "At least, being underground, they're safe if that thing goes," Terri reasoned, trying to calm herself and Beth. "If they were in the Senate Building they would have called, but in the subway, nothing works. I guess we just have to wait it out." Beth thanked her and hung up, only a little bit comforted.
Her next call was to the Project.
**************
When the subway screeched to a stop, the lights flickering, the first thought that entered Al's head was, 'That's what they get for using low bid contractors.' It was several minutes before a pre-recorded message came over the intercom.
"There has been a Security breach. Service will resume when security protocol has been re-established." The message was repeated in four languages, twice.
Weitzman, meanwhile just sighed. "This happens a couple of times a month. It'll get started up soon," then he turned to talk to his aide.
'Great,' Al thought. 'And I didn't even bring a book.' He settled down, and let his mind wander. Everyone else on the trolley car was as unconcerned as Weitzman.
Al was pulled out of his mental vacation by the uneasy shifting of the other passengers. He glanced at his watch. It had been about twenty minutes, and now everyone seemed to be growing edgy. He loosened his collar, as it was growing a little warmer in the closeness of the tunnel. Al noticed Weitzman checking his watch, too. Several passengers were poking at their cell phones, and obviously perturbed at their uselessness.
"Something's not right," Weitzman mumbled. He sent an aide forward to the next car. Just as the aid disappeared from sight, the whole car was rocked by a loud noise. Everyone shot to their feet.
"That sounded like an explosion!" Al snapped, his heart racing. Instinctively, the occupants crowded to the back of the car, away from the perceived direction of the noise. It was several tense minutes before another, smaller explosion was heard, and a large puff of smoke wafted over the cars. The aide shot back into the car, just as faint popping noises were heard.
"I heard gunfire up ahead! Everyone out the back!" The aide was followed by a wide-eyed crowd attempting to put distance between themselves and the explosions.
Al joined them as they moved to the back car to escape, as the tunnel was too narrow to exit out the side of the cars. He didn't like feeling trapped in the crowd; he studied the cars and the tunnel, looking for any way out. He grabbed the aide by his sleeve. "Keep these people calm. They'll trample each other!" The Admiral's demeanor left no room for argument and the aide moved to obey.
The cars emptied out quickly. Al could hear footfalls in the tunnel, and headed to the exit himself. Just as he reached the doorway platform, the sound of gunfire came from the tunnel, and he hit the floor in an automatic reaction. The lights in the tunnel flickered, then went out, and screams echoed in the darkness. When the gunfire stopped, he jumped out of the car and started grabbing people.
"Back in the car!" he ordered, shoving the dark forms behind him, towards the vehicles. He could feel smoke stinging his nostrils as he helped as many people as he could. His eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see a few forms on the ground, and he heard someone barking orders. He stood between the rails, trying to focus on the speakers, when someone roughly grabbed his arm and shoved him backwards.
"Move it!"
Al glanced over into the eyes of a masked man, and knew they were all in big trouble.