Fitzgerald panicked a moment.
…GOT TO GET THE JACK PLATE OFF THE WALL…calm down… there’s probably all manner of tools and knives about this house and grounds… there is no rush…
For the first time Horton started tapping the tips of his fingers on the surface in front of him, at a rate of about 400 taps a minute.
…get out in the middle of the road Santos…answer the phone Hawkins…
Kelly managed to keep her eyes on the vehicles in front. The phone ringing in her lap didn’t weigh enough to register through the folds of her trench coat. She reached down blindly and felt around for it.
As Fitzgerald was walking to the kitchen to search for tools, the outside lights went off.
…power failure…?
He ducked around trying to find a view through a window to see if lights were on somewhere else in the vicinity.
Kelly found the phone in her lap and on the sixth ring…
Up ahead in the lead truck, Harlan turned on his blinker to turn right toward the house, more than a little disturbed to notice the power go off. It rarely went off and for it to happen when a guest was coming…
All eyes of the action team watched the three vehicles approach the intersection to turn. Horton was nearly beside himself with frustration with Sandoval for waiting so long. The price of failure haunted them all as in a single mind.
Media coverage will
not
say, “Despite impossible time constraints, and incomplete intelligence, a spy for China was captured”…
Instead, it
will
say “Despite high tech surveillance aircraft warning of their approach, three innocent people who government agents sought to protect, were killed in a battle between the FBI and one of their own rogue agents…”
In his soft steady voice, Sandoval commanded, “House Team, Go…
Without turning their lights on, because the drivers were wearing night vision goggles, the trucks bearing the remainder of the Hostage Rescue members roared to life and dashed into the intersection while the oncoming vehicles were just yards away, preparing to turn.
The members who cut the power and phone had already started running to their assigned locations around the perimeter.
Sandoval, as if ordering maple syrup with his pancakes, intoned, “Car Team, Go…”
Fitzgerald rummaged through kitchen drawers for a screwdriver or thin bladed knife.
…everyone has a junk drawer, where is it…worse comes to worst pry the plastic jack plate until it breaks right off of the screws…
“Hello, Kelly Hawkins.”
Horton was still tapping and involuntarily whispered, “Please, God, let the Senator stop them.”
“Kelly, where y’at, cher?”
“Senator, believe it or not, I was about to call you.”