A/N
I ended up splitting this chapter at 3,100 words.
I'll shut up now…
Jeffersonian Museum, West Wing
As Booth resumed running he willed his roiled emotions to settle down again. At least he had one less thing to worry about now – his nightmare of Temperance being on the other side of a hostage standoff wouldn't come to pass now, thank God. He made a promise to think of some way to properly thank Him later. He could feel his equilibrium returning.
Soon, he reached the security door which provided his 'back door' entry point in to the actual museum. He slowed down then stopped to catch his breath.
He checked in on the radio.
"Booth here. The private areas I've passed appear to be clear, no signs of any penetration by the terrorists. I'm about to enter the public area of the West Wing. What's the status outside?"
"The outer perimeter is complete. An inner perimeter has been set upon the Mall just across the street from the front of the museum. We have some new reports of a few people starting to exit the museum from the front, first that have been seen."
There was no telling just what that last tidbit meant. "What about the Lab?"
"We've just been told it's secure. Another team should be moving into position in your current location before long, where they will hold for the time being."
"Got it. Just make sure they know I'll be out in front of them when they do make entry." It'd be a helluva thing to get hit by friendly fire. "I'm having to turn down my speaker volume, so it's possible I won't be able to hear you if it gets noisy." For the umpteenth time he damned the faceless drone who'd blocked his tactical radio. Right now he'd give his left nut for just a friggin' earpiece for his current rig. "Count to ten so I can adjust it."
"Copy that. Oh, and good luck. Counting now: one, two, three…"
He dialed back the volume knob until he could just hear the speaker reach ten.
He took a few calming breaths and put on his game face as he closed the final gap with the security door and peeked through the wire mesh embedded in the slit window. Nothing. Once he went through he'd be in a much more open space with less cover where there'd be much more chance he'd be seen. He'd have to hug the various nooks and crannies along the walls. As he fished out Goodman's access card he remembered a bit of old Army lore, "You never hear the shot that kills you." Today just might be the day he found out the truth of that for himself.
He extended the collapsed butt-stock of the MP5 so he could shoot it properly from the shoulder, then he squatted down to present a smaller profile as he slid the card through slot of the magstripe card reader mounted on the door frame. It took a couple of tries from his angle before it got a good read, but he finally hit it right and the solenoid in the electronic lock made a barely audible clunk as it retracted.
Booth prayed he was ready to handle the various manmade horrors he might encounter on the other side. The only good thing about the situation was that he'd been able to derail the terrorist's original plot. They'd have to improvise now on the fly, much, much better for all than if they'd had a chance to become thoroughly entrenched as at Beslan. With a handful of men at most they'd almost certainly be sticking close to each other given the large number of hostages and not lying in wait.
He carefully opened the door about halfway. Fortunately it had been mounted to swing inward so his act didn't announce itself to anyone further up the big hall.
Directly ahead of him it was clear. He could just hear the sounds of a crowd of people but the details were mercifully muffled by distance. No gunshots at the moment either, thank God. He shifted left so he could get a more oblique view off to his right before he risked getting his head shot off. It seemed clear in the immediate vicinity, but he took the small mirror out of his kit supplied just for this purpose and took another look. Clear. He mentally crossed his fingers, stuck his head out down low and snuck a quick peek directly to the right. No visible threats. From where he was there was not a direct line of sight all the way to the Rotunda. The main concourse was around another corner.
This was it. Showtime.
He bolted from the doorway and ran in a crouch hugging the wall to his right to the first cover ten meters away, an upright display case containing a samurai warrior's get-up. Any other time he would have taken a professional interest in the functional yet beautiful red and black lacquered leather armor and the deadly elegance of the arcs of the paired katana and wakizashi swords, but today they registered not at all.
He began his advance trying to balance the conflicting needs for both speed and stealth. It seemed there were no more than a handful of surviving terrorists, but they could be almost anywhere even though he was counting on them being clustered near the IMAX and the hostages. If he'd had at least one teammate they would have employed a leap-frogging assault technique, but going solo, which seemed more and more a questionable decision on his part, he had to settle for a nerve wracking peek-scoot-and-repeat.
On his third stop he heard the muffled reports of two gunshots. God dammit. He had to continue his careful approach.
On his fourth stop, hiding in a short spur of a hallway that dead-ended in restrooms, he heard something that sent a surge of adrenaline through his system. He thought he'd already had the needle on that particular meter pegged…
"Besoraa, besoraa!" a male voice ordered from around the corner to his right. The volume was moderate, but the urgency was unmistakable.
Booth reached way back into his past and remembered…
'Faster, faster!' …in Arabic.
He could hear what sounded like the footsteps of only a handful of approaching men, and other softer voices which he couldn't make out but which still didn't sound like English in their rhythm.
A chill went through him. Perhaps they were trying to bug out. That didn't seem right, but he wasn't going to question his luck. So this was it…
Facing the outlet to the main concourse he quickly moved from the left wall to the right and backed into what should be their blind spot as they crossed in front of him. He'd ambush them as they passed into view. Hopefully they'd all be in front of him when he struck. He knelt down on one knee, to present a smaller target while having a stable firing position that he could still move out from quickly if needed.
He flipped the fire selector from Safe to three round burst, brought the butt-stock of the short weapon to his shoulder, reseated his hands on the forestock and pistol grip, and leaned forward to brace himself against the recoil.
On second thought… He flicked the selector from burst to full auto, and put his finger on the trigger just before the first bearded man rushed into view. Wait, wait…
His finger began to take up the slack in the trigger…
The others came into view suddenly in a tight cluster…
Now!
There was barely a millimeter left in the trigger pull when he let go.
At the same instant the man in the lead spun and saw him, eyes widening in fright.
"Yaha!" he exclaimed. That was the rough equivalent in spirit to 'Oh shit!'
Booth shared the sentiment as his conscious mind caught up with his reflexes...
The man's wife, wearing a hijab veil that left her face exposed over a long dress, carried a baby and had two boys, one a young teenager and the other a bit older than Parker, clinging to her.
The man spun about and grabbed them to him.
Booth had almost slaughtered them all. He lowered the MP5 and flicked the fire selector back to Safe.
He faked a reassuring smile even though it felt like his face would crack from the strain. "It's ok. I won't shoot."
The father smiled back nervously, nodding "Ok, ok." He didn't look too convinced
"Do you speak English?"
The man shook his head, "No so good."
Booth figured the difficulty of translating on the fly while scared shitless earned the man a pass. He eased forward all the way to the corner of the wall until he could point back past the direction from which he'd come without exposing himself. He dislodged a few more dusty words he thought he'd long since forgotten…
"Roah!" Go. He pointed to an emergency exit that opened on the side of the wing. "Hennak." There.
The Arab man hesitated, staring at the sub-machine gun in his hands, obviously afraid they'd be shot in the back.
Shit. If I wanted to I already woulda… Hell, he almost did. May as well put that fear to work. Booth waved his gun for emphasis though not pointing it at them.
"Egry besoraa!" he ordered. Run fast.
The man got the message this time. They fled.
Booth watched them reach the exit then leaned back against the wall and slowly sank into a squat. He closed his eyes. Jesus Christ... He'd nearly wasted a whole fucking family.
Apparently he wasn't nearly as calm, cool and collected as he'd foolishly deluded himself into thinking. He opened his eyes again and smiled bitterly. Maybe Gregory had been right and this was all a bad idea… but it was far too late for second thoughts. He was committed.
But that realization didn't stop his gut from quivering and his mouth from filling with flat, metallic tasting saliva -- for a moment he thought he was going to vomit right then and there. But he didn't. He couldn't. He had to get his shit together…
The emotional wringer he'd been through was taking its toll. He had excellent reflexes so that was the only explanation for his sloppiness. Too jumpy and he'd kill an innocent. Too slow to pull the trigger, and he'd get himself killed before accomplishing anything.
Get your head back in the game, goddammit!
Booth forced himself to stand up, and he went to the water fountain where he got a quick sip. He lifted his goggles, wet his other hand, and wiped his face. He used the radio to update the op center on his position, and warn them about the Arab family before he moved out again.
From his momentary cover a few hops later, Booth saw a gaggle of hostages make their way quickly past. These appeared to be free and headed for the exits. Time for some intel.
A man and his teenaged son were passing…
"Psssst! FBI… over here!"
The startled look on their faces when they spotted him would have been comical but for the situation.
The father looked back in the direction of the Rotunda then pulled his son over his way.
"How did you escape? How many terrorists have you seen?" Booth asked.
The man looked shell-shocked, and his son was clearly anxious. "We didn't 'escape'. They, uh, they let us go. I don't know how many there are, but we did see a dead one in the Gallery."
Let us go… "Are they holding people in the IMAX?" Booth was trying to fit the pieces together…
"They herded a bunch of us in there at first, but a few minutes ago they started splitting us up. For a while they seemed really pissed off about something and argued amongst themselves." The man nervously licked his lips, and put an arm across his son's shoulders and pulled him closer. "I thought they were about to just start shooting us all, but instead they started letting small groups go. They told us to come out this way."
"Anything else?" he demanded. It still doesn't fit...
A gunshot echoed, the first he'd heard since entry. Booth forced himself to ignore it and the resulting increase in crowd noises muffled by the distance.
The man looked ill and hesitated.
"Tell him, Dad," the son insisted.
"They were pulling out women, mothers with smaller children, older toddlers, kindergarteners, that sort of thing, but no infants." He looked like he was going to cry. He continued, "They only wanted one child per woman. Any more and they had to pick which child to keep with them and which to hand them off to someone. A couple men refused to be separated from their wives and… and they were shot in the head right in front of their families."
Fucking animals. He felt his teeth baring in a silent snarl. That was pure evil, perverting a mother's instinct to protect her children by keeping them close into an almost certain death sentence for them. May God have mercy on them. Now it was coming together…
"Anything else you can think of? Anything at all?"
"I think they were getting ready to move the women."
Got it. Booth thanked him and was about to send them on their way when he thought of one more thing… "Is your wife…?" he couldn't bring himself to finish the question.
The man shook his head, blinking back tears, "No, she's at home with our youngest who has a broken leg." He let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, "I never thought a compound fracture would be good luck."
Booth eyes stung as he patted him on the shoulder, "Thank you. I have to go." He'd had no idea that being a parent himself would bring such painful sympathetic reactions; he'd better be careful or he'd lose it at the worst possible time.
The man wiped at his eye as he nodded, then changed gears suddenly. His expression was now fierce as he gripped Booth's forearm, "Nail one of those motherfuckers for me!"
It was Booth's turn to nod silently, his throat tight, as the father and son left.
He had to wait a second to get back his voice before radioing it all in. He summarized what he'd been told then gave his conclusions…
"It sounds to me like they're shorthanded and releasing hostages they can't really control properly anyway, using them to provide cover as they regroup. I'm guessing they are looking to fall back to a smaller, more defensible space for a reduced group of hostages. I'm going to try to get closer."
He tried to put himself in the shoes of the terrorists, and another thought, a particularly nasty one, occurred to him. He felt dirty just thinking about it. "Don't be surprised if they start shooting at the last batch of hostages being released as they make their way out." Having to deal with casualties and the increased chaos would further slow down any advance by rescuers.
The brain trust on the other end promised to pass on the intel.
Booth continued his frustratingly slow advance, hugging every bit of cover. With more small groups of released hostages passing by now, there was even more reason not to draw fire.
He was still well short of the Rotunda and the Gallery when he caught what would be one of his few lucky breaks. On the south side of the west wing, ahead and to his right lay the entrance to the hall used for special traveling exhibits. It was of more modern construction and had just opened a few years ago. Several months back he'd brought Parker to a kid-friendly exhibit on exotic bugs.
As Booth was advancing to his next hide he saw his first terrorist. The man, armed with an AK and wearing a bomb vest, was bringing up the rear of the group of women and children he'd been told about. He only a caught a brief glimpse as, at the same moment he went to ground trying to disappear himself, the group passed out of sight into the exhibit hall.
He'd almost blown it by being seen. Shit. Regardless, he was too far away to get a reliable headshot with the short barreled MP5 anyway. Shit!
He radioed in what he saw, waited a few more seconds, then broke cover and ran up near the entrance. He didn't like what he found…
The bug exhibit, which had had lots of both great cover and room for maneuvering with multiple avenues of approach, had been replaced, and in its stead was one on the treasures of some long lost sunken coastal town from ancient Greece, with a big "Pardon Our Progress" banner hung to inform guests that the new exhibit would open in another month. Where there had been a broad opening there was now a walled off false front and a narrow entrance to a curving corridor. The layout had totally changed. There had been some hard walls inside, he remembered, but it appeared temporary walls had been installed to better guide the flow of foot traffic. Fuck! Now as far as he was concerned it may as well be a fucking maze.
He racked his brains trying to figure out just why, other than the goofy floor plan, they would think it was a good hiding place. He remembered – inside near the back there was a smaller auditorium and some adjacent bathrooms. He passed his theory on.
Shit. He was frustrated. It looked like he'd reached the end of his run even though the most vulnerable hostages were probably with a hundred feet or so of his current position. But the labyrinth inside was just too unknown. Everything now pointed to doing it by the book from here on out – waiting for a full team and trying to find the proper back way in. God dammit.
He was about to ask for guidance when he heard shouts and screams from inside and an expectant chill ran through him…
BR-R-RAP!
Even muffled by the walls, the sound of the gunshots felt like a punch in the gut. The screaming, crying and shouting rose in volume until punctuated by another gunshot, after which the voices inside slowly subsided to a murmur again. Women and children…
The anger which had been under control was threatening to boil over again.
He keyed the radio, "They are killing hostages. I'm going in."
A/N
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