They'll Call It Treason by Jordon Greene Page A

Congressman would be finished with his speech, and not a second to lose.
    “Where are your men in the CNN Center?” Jason asked Abrams as they ran down the street.
    “Third and eighth floors.”
    “We’ll take the fifth floor then, work down from there,” Ethan said.
    They barreled in through the glass front doors of the CNN Center, the iconic letters stamped in white on the glass. As they entered, Ethan eyed a reception desk off to the side.
    “FBI, where are the stairs?”
    The receptionists looked confused and almost panicked by the suddenness of their entrance. Finally, a woman behind the counter pointed toward the hallway just ahead, “About half way down the hall.”
    They bolted forward, shoved through the stairway door, and took the steps by twos. The staircase was brightly lit, the stairs painted a bright red, lined in white. Large black numbers labeled the current level by each exit door. They passed the second and third floor exits.
    Out of the corner of his eye Ethan noticed a red printed sign hanging on the fourth floor exit door. He stopped, and Jason almost ran into him.
    “What is it?” Jason asked, puzzled.
    Do Not Enter – Remodeling
    “This floor should be relatively empty, shouldn’t it?” Ethan asked, not expecting an answer, pointing to the sign. The lights behind the door were off, unlike the other doors they had passed. “Let’s start here.”
    “Are you sure? Wouldn't it make sense up higher?” Sean Abrams reasoned, urging them to take the next floor.
    “Four stories up is plenty of clearance,” Ethan assured Sean, unholstering his Glock .40.
    Sean shook his head and nodded forward at the door.
    “It’s empty too I imagine. It’s the perfect place.”
    Ethan paused, hoping he was right. They did not have time to waste. “Alright, stick to the exterior rooms. Let’s each take a separate room and continue down the hall.”
    Jason and Sean readied their pistols, keeping them low but ready. As quietly as he could, Ethan pressed the door open.  He heard a faint metallic click as the latch opened and the door moved forward.
    The hallway extended the full length of the complex.  It would have been pitch black if not for the flashing of a few multi-colored lights accompanying a tangle of wiring along the skeletal right wall. The sheet rock was missing. The wiring was exposed, branching from the ceiling and entwining between metal supports like kudzu.
    The rooms to their left bordered the exterior wall. The remodeling crews must have started with the perimeter rooms first. Their walls were fully covered in unpainted sheet rock. The doors were new. Factory labels still adhered to the heavy wooden slabs, vacant round holes sat where doorknobs would soon go.
    Ethan took the first room. Jason and Sean each moved on to their own in sequence. Ethan pressed his back against the wall and placed his hand against the door. He took a deep breath and gently pressed the door forward. He kept his pistol low and ready as he slung the door open, sweeping over the room with his eyes and pistol.
    It was empty aside from a few steel beams running from floor to ceiling and a bundle of cords on the floor waiting to be installed. Expansive glass windows spanned the wall from floor to ceiling from one end of the room to the other. Outside he could see the World Congress Center from his perch, but no suspect.
    One down, who knows how many more to go.
    Ethan rushed back to the hallway and jogged quietly to the next room. Jason exited the next door, followed shortly by Sean at the next door. They both gave the all clear.  Ethan took the lead, moving down the hall again, continuing the search.
    “We’ve secured the Package, ready to extract,” came a voice over Ethan’s earpiece.
    “No, not yet. Hold your position until the perimeter is cleared,” Ethan whispered the command. He knew they only had one chance at getting the Congressman out alive. They could not afford to be careless.
    Ethan turned the