"Apologies, Mr. Vice President."
Carol handed the communicator back to Vice President Larfson somewhat sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't mind her sudden outburst.
Though Larfson's eyes narrowed with displeasure, he said nothing. He simply picked up the transmitter again and spoke firmly: "Agent Steve Owen, this is Vice President Larfson. I need to know the President's status immediately. Is he with you?"
"Yes, Mr. Vice President, President Palmer is currently with me…"
"I must speak to the President personally."
"I'm sorry, that won't be possible right now. The President is injured—he's unconscious. We're doing everything we can to stabilize him…"
"Damn it! What's your plan then?"
"We're trying to—oh, shit, what the hell is that?!"
Suddenly, a storm of swearing exploded over Owen's end of the call. Inside the Pentagon, those present couldn't grasp what was happening, so they all turned toward the big screen. On the screen, the White House lawn was ablaze with chaos. The presidential limousine, the Cadillac, was speeding across the grass in circles, while two heavily armed SUVs fired relentlessly at it.
…
On the White House lawn, Walker was driving the Cadillac around the iconic fountain out front. Behind him, two modified Secret Service SUVs gave chase. Unlike usual, however, both escort vehicles had roof-mounted mini rotary cannons that were tearing into the Cadillac with sustained fire.
Staz grinned with satisfaction as bullets peppered the presidential limo's armored surface, leaving white pockmarks. He held down the trigger of the vehicle-mounted minigun, showing no mercy. Though smaller than the standard GAU-17, the compact design allowed it to remain hidden inside the escort vehicle until deployed—turning the SUV into a mobile fire platform.
The Cadillac darted across the lawn, with one SUV flanking from the side and another trailing behind. Rounds continuously impacted both the sides and rear. The thick armored plating absorbed the punishment, but the bulletproof glass was rapidly becoming frosted with white impact craters.
Owen, seated in the passenger seat, felt his heart leap into his throat. The side of the car facing the gunfire was his. Though the glass was holding—for now—he knew the limits of its protection. The layered float-glass and PVB laminate might stop regular fire, but those were Gatling guns out there.
He'd once seen a test where continuous minigun fire eventually penetrated tank armor. If even tanks couldn't withstand sustained fire, how long could this car hold out? Even though these appeared to be compact versions and not full-blown 6,000-rounds-per-minute monsters, they were still miniguns.
…
The media went wild. They didn't know exactly what was happening, but suddenly three vehicles had burst out onto the White House lawn in a deadly chase. Leading the way was the unmistakable presidential limo.
No need for orders—camera operators smashed their shutters, lenses glued to the pursuit. Though the car windows were tinted too dark to see inside, the mounted gunners were visible, and with the right timing, someone might catch something explosive.
…
From a third-floor window inside the White House, Martin watched the chase unfold. The President had escaped. At this point, catching the man who rescued him would only offer symbolic revenge.
Suddenly, his pager buzzed. He checked the message and smiled. Picking up his radio, he spoke calmly: "Staz, go easy. The President is in that car. We need him alive."
"What did you say? The President—"
"Yes. Don't ask me how I know. I just do. He's in that car. Capture him alive. And remember, that limo is armored like a tank. Your little toys won't pierce it. Find another way."
…
Inside the Cadillac, Walker asked Owen, "Why did you say the President is still with us? Did something happen?"
"Don't worry about it. The less you know, the better."
Owen hadn't even finished speaking when Martin's voice came through the radio, telling Staz about the President.
Walker cursed, "Now I know why. Damn bastards…"
…
Back in the White House, Carol turned to the Vice President, urgently pleading: "Mr. Vice President, we have to act. The President is in that car!"
Larfson hesitated, then picked up the phone and called the Marine commander stationed outside the White House. Just as he gave the order, everything on the screen changed.
From a second-floor balcony, a door was flung open. A terrorist appeared, dragging a group of hostages onto the terrace. Then, the White House's external broadcast system came alive with Martin's voice:
"I know what you're planning. You'd better stop. This is your warning!"
As soon as he finished speaking, gunshots rang out. All the hostages were executed on the balcony and their bodies thrown off. The media gasped—chaos erupted. But it wasn't over yet.
Moments later, two VIPs were dragged out—Secretary of Defense and Secretary of State. Guns were pressed to their heads. The message was clear: next time, it would be them. Flashbulbs exploded as the press captured every horrifying second.
"Abort mission! Abort now!"
Larfson shouted hysterically, slamming down the phone before the Marines could even carry out his order. The troops outside, poised to move, backed down. Now, all they could do was watch helplessly as the chase played out on the lawn just yards away.
…
After Martin's message, the firing on the Cadillac eased up noticeably. At least they stopped targeting the body of the vehicle. Now, their fire focused on the engine block and the tires—they were clearly trying to capture, not kill.
"What do we do now?"
Walker, still behind the wheel, asked anxiously. He could tell the car wasn't handling as smoothly—it had taken damage.
"Damn it…"
Owen had noticed the military's initial movement, and for a brief moment felt hope—only to realize they'd frozen again. Then he saw the balcony.
He hadn't witnessed the executions, but he recognized the figures with guns to their heads: the Secretary of Defense and Secretary of State.
Suddenly, two streaks of white smoke shot from a third-floor window. Owen cursed. He knew that smoke all too well.
"RPGs!!"
He shouted, lunging across Walker to grab the wheel. The car veered sharply, dodging the first rocket, which exploded just short of the hood. The blast jolted the car, but didn't inflict serious damage.
"Hold tight!!"
Owen gritted his teeth, bracing himself. Walker's eyes widened—another RPG was heading straight for them. There was no way to dodge this one.
That was why Owen had yanked the wheel and held tight—if they couldn't avoid it, they'd face it head-on. One hand gripped the wheel; the other braced his body.
"Hope Cadillac's not full of shit," Owen thought grimly.
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion. The RPG slammed into the Cadillac. The entire car jolted upward. Owen's body recoiled, his chest aching violently. The shockwave penetrated the reinforced shell, rattling his insides.
The rocket exploded on the hood. Flames surged up—but miraculously, the car kept moving. The Beast had lived up to its name. The armor held. The blast scorched the front, but the President's limo powered on, unbroken.
(End of Chapter)
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