Any Means Necessary (a Luke Stone Thriller-Book #1)

Chapter Forty Four

11:27 p.m.

Mount WeatherEmergencyOperationsCenter - Bluemont, Virginia

Chuck Berg drifted in and out of consciousness for hours, until another explosion woke him. The sound was deep, like faraway thunder. It made an impression in the air, like a wave on the ocean. He seemed to swim underwater for a long while, then he rose to the surface.

He broke through and opened his eyes. Thirty-seven years old, Chuck had been in the Secret Service for almost twelve years. He had spent two of those riding a desk, and nine of them as part of an advance security team. Six months ago, he had been awarded the plum assignment of a lifetime, working as one of the Vice President's personal bodyguards. It didn't feel so plum right now.

Chuck pieced together what he could remember. They had exited the elevator and were moving down a narrow corridor to the TV studio. They were a couple minutes late, and were walking fast. He was behind the Vice President. Two men, Smith and Erickson, were in the lead.

Suddenly the steel door in front of them blew inward. Erickson died instantly. Smith turned to come back up the corridor. His face was lit with the firelight as the flames burst through the shattered doorway. He saw a shadow stagger through the bright orange and yellow of the flames. It was Smith, lit up like a torch. He screamed for only a second, then went silent and keeled over. Berg pictured Smith inhaling fire. His throat ruptured, the scream had died almost before it began.

Chuck tackled the Vice President and held her down.

A shockwave moved through the hallway. The entire facility seemed to tremble. Something hit Berg in the head. He remembered thinking: Okay, I'm dead. Okay.

But he wasn't dead. He was still here, in the same corridor, in pitch-darkness, on top of the Vice President. The pain in his head was bad. He ran a hand along his scalp and found a wide slice tacky with dried blood. He pushed into it. A cracked skull should make the pain worse the more he probed. It didn't happen.

He was alive, and he seemed to be operational. And that meant he had a job to do.

"Mrs. Hopkins?" he said. She was tiny, so small compared to him that lying on top of her was strange.

"Ma'am, are you with me?"

"Call me Susan," came her surprisingly resilient voice. "I hate all that ma'am shit."

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm in pain," she said. "But I don't know how bad it is."

"Can you move your arms and legs?"

She squirmed beneath him. "Yes. But my right arm hurts a lot." Her voice was shaking. "The skin on my face hurts. I think I was burned."

Chuck nodded. "Okay." He did the math. She could move her extremities, so no important nerves had been severed. They had been down here a long time. Internal injuries or severe burns probably would have killed her by now. So her injuries, while painful, were probably not immediately life threatening.

"Ma'am, in a moment, we're going to see if you can stand, but not yet. I'm going to crawl away just for a minute, then I'll be right back. I don't want you to move at all. I want you to stay exactly where you are in exactly the position you are in. It's very dark and I need you right where you are. Do you understand? Please say yes or no."

"Yes," she said in a little girl voice. "I understand."

He left her behind, moving like a snake along the floor. He had noted an emergency kit stored behind glass directly across from the elevator doors. If that part of the hall was intact, he would be in business. He moved slowly, touching everything in front of him, looking for sharp edges and possible drop-offs. There was a lot of debris. He also felt along the wall. After a time, his hand touched the indent in the wall which told him he had reached the elevator.