The First Hostage: A J. B. Collins Novel (33 page)

62

I stood there in the darkness and couldn’t believe it.

Had we really just found the president?

I turned to Yael, and she nodded slowly. She’d recognized him too.

But now what? We were no more able to get him out of that cage than any of these children, and even if we could, we had no place to take him. Seething with rage, I moved to the small door within the larger doorway and motioned for Yael to follow me. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. The only way we were getting out and getting the president and all those children out and going home was by going through that door and killing everything that wore a hood and moved.

Again Yael didn’t stop me. So I took a deep breath, put my finger on the trigger, and turned the handle.

The first thing that happened was that I was temporarily blinded. The room on the other side was fully lit, and it felt like my night-vision goggles had just burned holes in my retinas. Yael saw me turn away in pain and quickly removed her goggles and scrambled into position behind me to assess the situation. Fortunately, the gunfire was so intense it masked any sounds we were making.

As I recovered, it was clear we had indeed made it to the bottom
level of the warehouse. Through a smoky haze I could see no fewer than nine ISIS fighters. One was close, maybe five yards away. Others were spread out in a row. The farthest was about fifteen yards away. They were all hiding behind mine carts, overturned metal tables, and pallets stacked with steel boxes of some kind and piles of unused artillery shells they’d apparently been filling with sarin precursors before the Delta offensive began. And they were all firing in the direction of exit doors and elevators on the far side of this lower level of the warehouse.

I aimed at the closest fighter, pulled the trigger, and put four bullets in his back. Blood darkened his shirt, and soon he stopped screaming and twitching and fell to the floor, dead. Without waiting, I pivoted slightly to the right, fired another burst at the next closest fighter, and felled him instantly. Yael, meanwhile, fired at the terrorist farthest away and began working back across the room from right to left.

The effect was to create chaos in the warehouse. We had completely caught the ISIS fighters off guard, but we’d blindsided the Delta team, too. They had no idea who we were or where we were coming from or that we were allies. Bullets were flying everywhere. The jihadists were scrambling in all directions. Yael was radioing the general what was happening, but I can’t imagine he or anyone else on the comms could hear over the battle.

Several of the black hoods now turned toward us and began firing back. Instinctively, I pulled Yael back through the doorway and slammed the door shut. I could hear a barrage of bullets hitting the door, but none of them could penetrate.

“Red Team Leader, Red Team Leader, this is Katzir and Collins!” Yael shouted over the radio as both of us reloaded. “We’ve found a way into the warehouse
 
—lower level
 
—from the back. That’s us doing the shooting. Over.”

“That’s you, Katzir?”
came the reply.

“That’s affirm
 
—press the offensive.”

“Roger that. Do you have grenades?”

However hot the firefight had been sixty seconds earlier, it had just gotten exponentially hotter.

“Say again,” Yael shouted into the radio. “I repeat, say again.”

The terrorists seemed to be unloading everything they had against the smaller of the two doors. And then I realized there was no lock. The bullets were breaking through the steel. But if any of the fighters still alive on the other side decided to open the door, we had no way to stop them except to shoot them point-blank.

“Grenades, Katzir. Do you have grenades?”

“Yes, I have two,” Yael replied.

“Get them ready,”
said the Red Team leader.

“Okay, hold on,” she said, then turned to me and told me to back up, aim for the door, and not let anyone past, no matter what. She pulled out a flare, set it off nearby to give us a little light to operate since there was no way we could keep switching to night vision and back again. Then I watched as she pulled two grenades out of her vest.

The children were screaming now. I didn’t blame them. But then I heard Taylor’s voice, trembling and in shock. “Collins? Collins, is that you?”

“It is, Mr. President. Just hold on.”

“How did you find me? And who’s this with you?”

“We came with the Delta Force, Mr. President. They’re here to rescue you. But I can’t explain any further. Not right now. Just move to the back. Stay against the wall.”

I saw the president comply as Yael moved to the door.

“J. B., come here,”
Yael shouted.

Immediately I moved to her side.

“Set your gun down.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “Set it down.”

I did.

“Now hold the handle and when I say go, open it just a crack
 
—just enough so I can toss these through. Got it?”

“Yes,” I said and grabbed the handle.

“Okay, I’m ready,”
Yael shouted over the radio.

At that point I noticed that bullets were no longing pummeling the steel door. I wasn’t sure why, but I took it as a positive sign.

“Okay, good; we’ve drawn their fire back to us,”
came the response from the Red Team leader. “Now you’re going to toss them both through
 
—one to the center, one to the left, on my mark.”

“Your left or mine?”

“Mine. Your right.”

“So center and my right.”

“Yes.”

“Ready.”

“Good. On my count
 
—one, two, three, go
 
—now-now-now!”

I yanked the door open about half a foot. Yael pulled pin one and tossed the grenade to the right. Then she pulled pin two and tossed it to the center, just as she’d been told. She yanked her hand back and I slammed the door shut. We both reached for our weapons as we heard the explosions go off. And then all was silent.

63

We waited for a moment, just to be sure.

Then the Red Team leader said the words we both wanted to hear.
“We’re clear.”

For the first time in several minutes, it seemed, I finally started to breathe again. I turned to Yael, but she was already moving back to the door. She readied her weapon just in case and radioed ahead that she was coming in. Then she slowly turned the handle and pulled the door open. Instantly she was hit in the face by a wave of black smoke. She immediately shut the door again but the damage had been done. Thick, acrid smoke poured in, and I smelled the ghastly odor of burnt flesh. I turned away and covered my nose and mouth, but it wasn’t enough. My eyes started watering. My throat was burning. I heard the president and the children choking and gagging behind me.

“Mr. President, are you okay?” I asked, moving toward his cage.

“I think so,” he sputtered, trying to clear his throat and catch his breath. “Is it over?”

“Yes, Mr. President, for the moment,” I said. “But we still need to get you and all these children out of here. American rescue choppers are inbound. We need to get you aboveground and fast.”

“Start with them,” he said between coughs. “They’ve been living a nightmare.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” I replied. “Let me just tell the others that we’ve got you.”

I radioed to the general and the rest of the Delta team that Yael and I had found the president. He was safe. But we needed medical and logistical help immediately. Then, as Yael lit several more flares to provide some desperately needed light, I explained the situation as we’d found it
 
—the cages, the locks, and the children. Ramirez immediately ordered the Red Team leader to take charge of freeing the president and the children while the rest of Red Team moved back upstairs to the ground floor to aid the men fighting to keep the ISIS forces at bay.

“The choppers are twenty minutes out,” Ramirez told us. “Everybody stay focused. Keep fighting. But don’t lose heart. The cavalry is almost here.”

I didn’t find myself rejoicing, however. The strain in Ramirez’s voice was clear. The intensity of the gunfire around him was clear as well. A moment later we heard him make a satellite call back to CENTCOM in Tampa and call in the most devastating series of close air strikes so far.
“They’re everywhere,”
we heard him say.
“I don’t know if we can hold them back much longer.”
Then someone next to him told him he was still on comms, and he fumbled to shut off his mic.

A chill ran down my spine. We weren’t out of the woods yet, and twenty minutes suddenly seemed like an eternity.

Just then someone started pounding on the door.

“Katzir, Collins, it’s me,”
shouted the Red Team leader.
“I’m coming in.”

Yael opened the door and let him through, and more billows of smoke poured in with him. She closed the door again immediately and then turned a flashlight on President Taylor. I did the same.

“Mr. President, we’re here to take you home,” the Delta leader said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine; I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just take care of the kids.”

“Dr. Katzir and Mr. Collins will do that,” he replied. “My job is to take care of you. Now stand back as I get this door open.”

“Did you find the keys?” I asked.

“No
 
—I’m afraid they were blown to kingdom come with everything else on the other side of that door.”

“Then how are you getting in?”

“Semtex
 
—now stand back.”

He pulled out a small piece of the puttylike plastic explosive, attached it to the padlock, and told us all to cover our ears. Then he triggered the detonator. After a small, measured explosion, it was over. The padlock blew apart. The chains fell off. The door swung open. The president was free.

The team leader then handed a small case of the explosives and detonating cords to Yael, who proceeded to blow the locks off all the cage doors. Meanwhile, I rushed into the president’s cage and helped the Delta leader get Taylor to his feet.

“When was the last time you had something to eat, Mr. President?”

“A few days ago, I’m afraid,” he said, standing now in the orange jumpsuit we’d seen him in on the video, his legs wobbly and his hands quivering.

“And to drink?”

“Yesterday, a little
 
—or maybe it was the day before,” he said. “I’m sorry. The days are running together.”

“That’s okay,” the leader said, handing him a small bottle of orange Gatorade. “Take a little of this, in small amounts. But don’t worry. We’ll get you back up to speed.”

“Thank you, all of you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to see your faces. I never thought I’d see a friendly face again.”

“We’re glad to see you, too, sir. Can you walk?”

“I think so,” Taylor said.

“Good; then I need you to come with me. We’re going to get you out of here. Okay?”

“Thank you
 
—thank you so much. I couldn’t be more grateful.”

The smoke was clearing now, apparently being sucked out by an exhaust system neither Yael nor I had noticed. But the president was still coughing and wheezing. He was also getting emotional. His eyes were welling with tears, and it wasn’t simply from the soot or the stench. He had several days of growth on his face. His gray hair was unwashed and askew. And his mouth and lips were trembling. I was sure he was going to break down and start sobbing any moment. I’m sure I would have done the same.

Seeing how fragile the president was physically and emotionally, Yael insisted I accompany him and the team leader back through the tunnels to the villa.

“Forget it, Yael; I’m staying with you and the children,” I said.

“J. B., the president needs you,” she shot back more forcefully than I’d expected. “You know the way. And I’ll be fine with these kids. Don’t worry. We’ll be right behind you. But move. You don’t have much time.”

I could see she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. So I slung the MP5 over my shoulder and took Taylor’s right arm while the team leader took his left, and we started moving.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” the president said, still on the verge of succumbing to shock and relief.

“It’s an honor, sir,” I said as we began walking.

“I guess I owe you an apology,” the president said as he limped forward.

“No, sir,” I said. “Not at all.”

“Of course I do, Collins,” he said. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t see what was coming or how fast. You did. I should have listened, and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” I replied. “I appreciate that. Can I get that on the record?”

“Don’t push it, Collins.”

“Fair enough, sir. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Abu Khalif
 
—do you know where he is?”

“I wish,” he said. “Last time I saw him was when they made the video. But we’d better catch him. When we do, I want to personally flip the switch on him.”

“Wait till you see what’s ahead,” I said.

But first, the Red Team leader pulled out a satellite phone and hit speed dial.

“White House Situation Room,” said the watch officer who picked up the call.

The Delta team leader identified himself and asked to be patched through immediately to Holbrooke. When the watch officer said the VP was busy, the team leader handed the phone to Taylor.

“This is the president of the United States
 
—put me on with the vice president
 
—
now
.”