"Mr. President, that's the situation. I strongly advise you not to leave the White House in the next couple of days—stay inside as much as possible."
Often referred to as the Presidential Mansion, the White House was currently where Jack had just finished briefing President Palmer on CTU's latest intelligence. Although it was clear that White Mask was planning an assault on the White House, Jack still didn't believe they had the means to breach it. That's why his recommendation was simply for the President to remain indoors, where it was safest.
"Understood. I'll be cautious. Martin will handle everything," Palmer replied calmly.
Jack hesitated, but in the end said nothing more. It was clear that President Palmer had great trust in his chief of security, Martin. Martin was also the head of the Secret Service, a veteran who had held the position even before Palmer became President. Since Owen's suspicion of a mole was still unconfirmed, Jack felt it was best not to voice anything, especially when the suspected individual was under Martin's command.
"Terrorists... Fuck. These bastards actually plan to attack the White House..." President Palmer swore, something he rarely did. "White Mask—how much do we know about them?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but our intel on White Mask is limited. We only have a few names. Avril has been behind several recent attacks, but we don't know for sure if she's the leader of the organization."
"I see. Then CTU still has its work cut out."
"Yes, sir. I apologize, Mr. President—excuse me, I need to take this call."
Jack's phone rang at an inopportune moment. Seeing it was from CTU, he answered. Palmer waved it off, signaling it was okay.
"Yeah... Got it."
"Mr. President, there's been—"
Before Jack could finish, the office doors burst open. Chief of Security Martin strode in, his tone urgent and commanding. "Apologies, Mr. President, I must interrupt—there's been an attack. Your safety is at risk."
The atmosphere in the room instantly became tense. The President and Jack stood up, and two Secret Service agents immediately flanked Palmer.
"What happened?"
"Two minutes ago, several armed heavy trucks breached the White House perimeter. They're currently engaging our outer security."
"What?" Palmer turned to Jack. Jack nodded—it was the call he had just received.
"Mr. President, please step away from the windows."
A Secret Service agent stopped Palmer from moving toward the window. Palmer complied. Jack peered through the window instead. Outside, as Martin had said, two armored trucks and a group of terrorists were engaged in heavy combat with White House security forces.
The windows of the White House were all bulletproof and soundproof—upgraded because of frequent protests. Unless open, the gunfire outside was inaudible from within.
"Hubble, clear the halls. Gather the staff and keep them from panicking. Issue maximum alert. Notify the Marine Corps."
Martin began issuing orders rapidly. The Marine Corps was the only branch under the direct command of the President—his personal military. Marines often handled key security positions inside the White House, and their ceremonial uniforms were a common sight.
"Mr. President, we're escorting you to the underground safe room. Even if the terrorists breach the White House, they won't be able to get to you there."
Palmer nodded. In this situation, Martin was the professional. His role was to ensure safety—Palmer's role was to follow.
Martin glanced at Jack. Jack immediately understood. The PEOC—a secure underground facility—was reserved only for the President, Vice President, and top officials. Even though Jack was head of CTU, he wasn't officially part of the evacuation protocol.
But Palmer came to his aid: "No—Jack is coming with me. I need him."
With the President's permission, Martin stopped insisting. They proceeded through corridors and doors, escorted by two Secret Service agents and two Marines, heading for the fabled underground bunker.
…
A few minutes earlier—when the garbage trucks first engaged police outside—the East Wing of the White House, not far from where Owen had entered, saw activity from a group of a dozen men in blue coveralls. These "maintenance workers" were inside the President's private theater, supposedly upgrading the sound system. As with all guests, a Secret Service agent was stationed at the door.
"Fuck you, asshole! You ran into me."
"Bring it on, punk! I'll beat the shit out of you!"
Suddenly, a brawl broke out inside the theater. The agent frowned, peering in. These guys were fighting—inside the White House theater of all places? What did they think this was, their own living room?
Annoyed, the agent stepped inside. "Hey! Knock it off. Do you have any idea where you are?"
The two still appeared to be at each other's throats, ignoring his warnings. Frustrated, the agent approached them, ready to put them in their place.
But as soon as he was among them, two men grabbed his arms. The two "fighters" abruptly stopped and one of them raised a nail gun—firing several steel nails into the agent's chest at point-blank range. The sharp "ting" of metal striking flesh filled the room. The agent barely struggled before his eyes went glassy.
"Here, Staz."
One of the men tossed the fallen agent's sidearm to the leader, along with the magazine. Another unscrewed his flashlight and poured out a suppressor from inside.
"This is the suppressor."
Staz calmly affixed it to his SIG P229, then signaled to the others.
"Follow me."
P229 hidden behind his back, Staz walked toward the nearby security station, flanked by two of his men, with others behind.
"Excuse me, we're having some issues with the sound system..." he said casually, approaching.
"What was that?"
"Pfft—pfft—"
Staz opened fire the moment they were close. The Secret Service agent hadn't even reacted before collapsing. One of the men quickly grabbed his weapon and added a suppressor.
This pattern continued—each dead officer meant another weapon gained. Staz's team grew more heavily armed by the minute, progressing smoothly and according to plan.
"Bobby, where are the trucks now?"
They were about to assault the White House armory. Only by taking the armory could they gain enough firepower to go head-to-head. Otherwise, they were stuck with pistols.
"Trucks One and Two have established a defensive line at the intersection. Trucks Three and Four are en route," replied Bobby, Staz's most trusted subordinate.
…
Just outside the armory, the outer door was suddenly thrown open. Several men in blue coveralls burst in and opened fire without hesitation. The muffled shots of suppressed pistols rang out. Three guards inside were cut down in seconds.
Bobby stepped over one of the bodies and yanked off his access card. He rushed to the armory's secure door. Staz gave a nod. Bobby swiped the card.
"Pfft—pfft—pfft!"
Gunfire immediately resumed. The armory guards had only just noticed the breach on the surveillance monitor and were reaching for their weapons when Staz's men flooded in, riddling them with bullets.
(End of Chapter)
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