Read Online Arc Light by Eric Harry - Free Book Online Page B

Lambert could answer they heard “Bill? Greg? Anyone there?”
    â€œYes, sir, Mr. President,” Lambert said. “We’re both here.”
    The bright landing lights of a helicopter descended with surprising speed to the lawn. It was not the dark green Marine One that normally carried the President, but a squat gray air force helicopter.
    â€œBill, listen to me. I want you to call the Chinese and tell them what’s coming.”
    â€œBut sir . . . !” Lambert began.
    â€œI will not be a party to this!” the President declared, and in the background Greg heard the voice of the director of the White House Military Office say, “Mr. President, Crown Helo has landed.”
    â€œLook, Greg, we’re pregnant with this, and I refuse to go down in history as tacitly endorsing the Russians’ use of nuclear weapons by sitting on this information! Bill, you call Beijing directly and you warn them—right now! Where are you headed?”
    â€œRaven Rock Mountain, sir,” Secretary Moore said.
    â€œYou call them,” President Livingston said just as Lambert noticed a large group of Secret Service agents emerge from the White House, “then you report back to me when you get there.”
    â€œMr. President!” Greg said, getting out of the car as he saw the President and First Lady head down the steps to the South Lawn. The helicopter’s engines were deafening—the pilot kept the rotors turning at high speed. “Sir!” Lambert shouted as he plugged one ear and began to trot across the lawn to meet the President at the helicopter door. “We’d better think about whether—”
    â€œWhat?” he heard faintly from the phone. “I can’t hear you!”
    â€œSecretary Moore!” Lambert yelled as the branch of an unseen bush smacked his face. Lambert immediately stared down the barrel of an Uzi machine pistol; the red glow of a laser shone, he looked down to see, a tiny red dot of light on his chest. “Secretary Moore!” Lambert shouted again, but as he looked up he saw the President at the door of the helicopter; his portable phone hung loosely in his hand as he spoke with the director of the White House Military Office.
    â€œID!” the agent with the Uzi snapped.
    â€œGoddammit! It’s Greg Lambert!” A flashlight flicked on from the right, and Lambert turned to face the glare of the bright light that shone in his face. “It’s okay! He’s clear!” the second agent said, shutting off the light. Lambert immediately dashed for the helicopter.
    At opposite sides of the lawn two pairs of Secret Service agents in dark suits stood, one of the men in each team with a slender tube, a Stinger missile, Lambert realized, mounted on his shoulder and pointing skyward. He hoped National Airport had gotten the word to divert their air traffic. On the ground at the door of the helicopter, three men in full combat gear knelt with rifles pointed out.
    Lambert stooped under the rotor and dashed in the helicopter door, squeezing between the banks of electronic equipment in search of the President. Through the maze of crewmen seated in the aircraft jammed with gear he saw the Livingstons looking unsettledin their unfamiliar places, strapped into cramped bucket seats. The White House military aide—the air force officer carrying the nuclear code case known as the “football”—was the last person to board, and the helicopter lifted off before the crew shut the door. Lambert and the military aide struggled to maintain their balance for the next minute or so as the helicopter maneuvered recklessly. Finally a crewman scrambled to shut the door and ushered Lambert to a lone fold-out seat. He strapped himself in, looking out the tiny porthole to see that they were flying at extremely low altitude. Lambert felt another steep bank just in time to see the brightly lit Washington Monument streak by