CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
5:05 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Near the Northeast Gate
The White House
Washington, DC
“I’m down here, God damn it! Cease fire!”
Agent Ricky Saviello screamed into the mouthpiece of communications headset. He lay flat on his stomach thirty yards from the blown out remains of the fencing just to the right of the Northeast Gate.
Something was on fire on the other side of the fence, perhaps a van or a truck. Twisted, flaming metal lay strewn all over the lower lawn and on the nearby stretch of the Pennsylvania Avenue pedestrian mall.
That vehicle looked like it had been hit by a missile. If there was anybody inside there, they were roasted. Bright orange flames and black smoke towered into the sky.
Single gunshots and what sounded like heavy automatic weaponry still
