George bent over and picked up the paper. Just as he had it firmly in his hand he heard the roar of an engine. He realized immediately that the truck had rapidly accelerated. He dropped the paper, straightened up and saw that the van had indeed picked up speed. He only had seconds to process all the information his mind was receiving. The truck was unmarked, white, coming from the east, rapidly accelerating and occupied by a lone man. The hair stood up on the back of his neck and he drew his nine-millimeter automatic from inside his coat. At the end of the driveway, on the edge of the street, he planted both feet a shoulder width apart and aimed at the driver.
Just as he had the driver’s head in line, the van began to turn. George realized that the van was not going to drive by and shoot; it was going to enter the driveway. Immediately he knew he had made a mistake. He had assumed the truck would contain shooters, if anything, not explosives. He now realized the truck was a moving bomb and it was going to enter the driveway and detonate at or near the house. In his earpiece, he heard, “Take him, George, take him.”
He had one second to make his shot and he would get one shot only. The truck was just starting the turn, if he hit the driver in the head now it would be in time to prevent him making a complete turn into the driveway. In that second, he thought of all this, the trajectory of his bullet and that he might just prevent the truck from getting close enough to injure Jane and Franklin. Not once had he thought of himself.
George squeezed off his shot and his body was immediately impacted.
~*~
Brent Spears watched the white panel truck turn onto Cherry Lane with disinterest. It was a common occurrence, but in a few seconds he realized this was not common. Something was out of the ordinary. For one thing the truck was driving right down the center of the street and it had just accelerated.
Brent jumped out of the SUV, pulled his weapon and leaned across the door to aim, but then seeing George at the end of the driveway with his gun out, he yelled into his microphone, “Take him, George. Take him!”
The impact was immediate and sensational. Brent felt a sudden pressure all over his body and nothing else.
~*~
The Metro DC 9-1-1 dispatcher’s board lit up like a Christmas tree. The first call he took was from a frantic woman, saying, “There’s been an explosion on Cherry Lane. I’m at 1495 and it was just west of me on the other side of the street. My windows all blew out! There’s glass everywhere! It’s horrible, just horrible!”
“Yes, ma’am. Calm down now and tell me. Is there any fire?”
“No… no… no fire.”
“Okay, any damage to any houses that you can see and how many?”
“At least five houses are almost flattened. All of my windows and windows all over the place are gone.”
“Okay. Anyone injured that you can see?”
“No, not that I can see… I… I.”
“What is it, ma’am, what do you see?”
“I see… a… a part… of a… body… in my front yard… oh it’s horrible… horr… ible.”
All the time he was listening the dispatcher was typing information into his computer and it was automatically sending appropriate alarms to the fire station, but now he realized he may have something not suited for the fire department. An explosion of that magnitude with that much damage and no fire was not likely an accidental occurrence. It was also not likely to have been a gas line. He had worked those before and the damage was more limited. And with a gas line explosion there was almost always a fire.
~*~
Captain Brandt was notified shortly after the 9-1-1 dispatcher realized he might have a criminal act and not an ordinary fire call.
“Where was the blast centered?” he asked Shawn Welch.
“Not sure just yet, sir. The first fire trucks just reached the scene and our first response team isn’t there yet, but the fire personnel report bodies and pieces of bodies spread over almost an entire block. There’s no fire so they are holding at the perimeter for the Metro team.”
“Cherry Lane you say?” Terry asked again.
“Yes, sir. Cherry Lane. The first call came in from 1495 and the woman reported she was about a half block away on the other side of the street. She reported body parts in her front yard. Now that’s one wail of an explosion.”
Terry made no response, but he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he walked to the wall map of that area of DC and examined it. Finally he said over his shoulder, “Call the FBI, Homeland Security and the secret service, Shawn. Tell them we’ve just had a massive explosion reported near 1402 Cherry Lane.”
“Okay, but what’s at 1402 Cherry Lane?”
“The President’s daughter.”
Just as he had the driver’s head in line, the van began to turn. George realized that the van was not going to drive by and shoot; it was going to enter the driveway. Immediately he knew he had made a mistake. He had assumed the truck would contain shooters, if anything, not explosives. He now realized the truck was a moving bomb and it was going to enter the driveway and detonate at or near the house. In his earpiece, he heard, “Take him, George, take him.”
He had one second to make his shot and he would get one shot only. The truck was just starting the turn, if he hit the driver in the head now it would be in time to prevent him making a complete turn into the driveway. In that second, he thought of all this, the trajectory of his bullet and that he might just prevent the truck from getting close enough to injure Jane and Franklin. Not once had he thought of himself.
George squeezed off his shot and his body was immediately impacted.
~*~
Brent Spears watched the white panel truck turn onto Cherry Lane with disinterest. It was a common occurrence, but in a few seconds he realized this was not common. Something was out of the ordinary. For one thing the truck was driving right down the center of the street and it had just accelerated.
Brent jumped out of the SUV, pulled his weapon and leaned across the door to aim, but then seeing George at the end of the driveway with his gun out, he yelled into his microphone, “Take him, George. Take him!”
The impact was immediate and sensational. Brent felt a sudden pressure all over his body and nothing else.
~*~
The Metro DC 9-1-1 dispatcher’s board lit up like a Christmas tree. The first call he took was from a frantic woman, saying, “There’s been an explosion on Cherry Lane. I’m at 1495 and it was just west of me on the other side of the street. My windows all blew out! There’s glass everywhere! It’s horrible, just horrible!”
“Yes, ma’am. Calm down now and tell me. Is there any fire?”
“No… no… no fire.”
“Okay, any damage to any houses that you can see and how many?”
“At least five houses are almost flattened. All of my windows and windows all over the place are gone.”
“Okay. Anyone injured that you can see?”
“No, not that I can see… I… I.”
“What is it, ma’am, what do you see?”
“I see… a… a part… of a… body… in my front yard… oh it’s horrible… horr… ible.”
All the time he was listening the dispatcher was typing information into his computer and it was automatically sending appropriate alarms to the fire station, but now he realized he may have something not suited for the fire department. An explosion of that magnitude with that much damage and no fire was not likely an accidental occurrence. It was also not likely to have been a gas line. He had worked those before and the damage was more limited. And with a gas line explosion there was almost always a fire.
~*~
Captain Brandt was notified shortly after the 9-1-1 dispatcher realized he might have a criminal act and not an ordinary fire call.
“Where was the blast centered?” he asked Shawn Welch.
“Not sure just yet, sir. The first fire trucks just reached the scene and our first response team isn’t there yet, but the fire personnel report bodies and pieces of bodies spread over almost an entire block. There’s no fire so they are holding at the perimeter for the Metro team.”
“Cherry Lane you say?” Terry asked again.
“Yes, sir. Cherry Lane. The first call came in from 1495 and the woman reported she was about a half block away on the other side of the street. She reported body parts in her front yard. Now that’s one wail of an explosion.”
Terry made no response, but he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he walked to the wall map of that area of DC and examined it. Finally he said over his shoulder, “Call the FBI, Homeland Security and the secret service, Shawn. Tell them we’ve just had a massive explosion reported near 1402 Cherry Lane.”
“Okay, but what’s at 1402 Cherry Lane?”
“The President’s daughter.”
