BACK AT LANGLEY, Kennedy was already on the job.
Things were moving along at a frantic pace. General Campbells Joint Special Operations Command staff was busy monitoring every aspect of the mission and telling the general only the things he needed to be most concerned about. Fortunately, everyone in the room had received enough training and, in some cases, real-life experience that they knew to keep their mouths shut unless what they had to say was imperative. During a frenetic operation like this, it was easy to swamp the lines of communications.
Kennedy tapped Campbell on the arm.
"I'll handle Iron Man. You worry about the Whiskey Team."
Campbell nodded his consent. Colonel Gray, the commander of Delta Force, was to his right and overseeing the actions of his Alpha and Bravo Teams. The Alpha Team was on the move and about to be inserted onto the roof. The Bravo Team had left its cover under the Arlington Bridge and was on its way in. General Flood and Director Stansfield sat in the back row and watched. They were both very careful not to interrupt.
Kennedy looked at the three monitors on the big board that most concerned Rapp.
"Iron Man, you are all clear. There is no movement in the hallway, and the Tango is sitting with his gun resting on his lap." Kennedy squinted at the screen.
"There's a chance he could be sleeping."
"ROGER THAT." Rapp climbed the steep concrete staircase that led to the Oval Office. When he reached the top, he pressed the latch and pulled the wall in toward him. He checked to his left first and then moved through the dining room and into the pantry. There he stopped and looked out at the door across the hallway.
"Whiskey Four, are you in position? Over."
Harris and his three SEALS were crouched against the wall just outside the White House mess. Having gone through this drill together countless times, they fell into their slots. Reavers was number one, followed by dark, Rostein, and finally Harris—the same way they had jumped out of the plane.
"We're ready to go on your command, Iron Man." Before moving, Rapp asked, "How does my Tango look, control?"
"No change in status," replied Kennedy.
"Roger that. All right. Harry, let's bag 'em on three. One…" Rapp moved across the hall.
"Two…" He placed his right hand on the doorknob.
"Three!" Rapp threw the door open and stayed in his crouch. The Tango looked up, and as he did so, the thick black suppressor of Rapp's submachine gun coughed twice.
Downstairs Mick Reavers raced into the White House mess in a crouch and peeled to his left, sweeping his area for targets. A split second into the room-clearing maneuver, he found one. The Tango was standing with his weapon cradled across his chest. Reavers placed two rounds directly in the center of the man's forehead and sent him to the ground The next three SEALS came in right on top of Reavers, each man peeling away and searching their area. Tony Clark, the number two man in the train, found his target thirty feet away and directly across the room The Tango was bringing his gun up to fire, but it never happened. Two bullets hit him right between the eyes and sent him back over a chair. As Jordan Rostein entered the room, he peeled farther to the right and came up blank. He fought the urge to sweep farther to his right and went back over his area again. Harris was right on his heels and pivoted ninety degrees to cover the area all the way to the right. No more than eight feet away, the snubbed muzzle of a shortened AK-74 was being brought to bear.
Harris was quicker and sent two rounds into the man's face.
Reavers called clear, and he was followed in quick succession by the other team members. They heard Rapp's call over their radios, and then several of the hostages began to cry out for help. The SEALS ignored them and kept their weapons up as they searched the mass of hostages for any Tangos that might be using them for cover. Harris ordered dark and Rostein to watch the hostages, and then he and Reavers moved out to secure the other areas of the room.