Security: Jack Randall #4, page 10
Eric sighed. Jack was ruining his fun.
“Oh, and by the way, I have Red Cell coming to test your improvements in two days, maybe sooner.”
“What? Two days?”
“Sorry, did I forget to mention that?”
Greg smiled at Eric’s discomfort. Red Cell would actually be there tomorrow, but only he and Jack knew it.
Jack grinned. “I guess you better work well with these guys, huh?”
“You’re killing me, boss.”
“I know. Anyway, Greg and I will be touring the tunnels and the dam itself. Construction will still be going on so it will take awhile. You may not see us until the end of the day. Any questions?”
He got head shakes all around.
“Nothing here, Jack,” Larry said through the speaker. “I’ll be working on that other project tomorrow here in the office so call if you need me.”
“Sounds good, Larry. Thanks.” Jack watched for the light to go out and when it did he cleared his throat.
“I have one thing to add and it’s personal. My wife will be there tomorrow as well. She’ll be taking the same tour with their plant manager as part of her job. We decided to take a couple of days off together after all this and enjoy the area. Just wanted you all to know.”
“Why didn’t she fly up with us, Jack?”
“I didn’t think it was appropriate to use the Bureau plane for her trip so I used the company jet. She arrived this morning.”
“The company jet?” Eric asked.
Greg said, “Jack’s company has a nice Gulfstream V. I saw it once, it’s okay.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Really? You have a jet?”
“It’s my Dad’s plane, Eric.” Jack shot an evil look at Greg who feigned innocence.
“What? I forget sometimes that you’re a rich bastard.”
Sydney giggled at the look on Eric’s face. They had just assumed that he had known all this time.
“This is funny to you?” Jack asked her.
“Oh hell, Jack, you’re rich, okay? Just own it. It’s not a crime.”
Jack just shook his head and turned away. He hated the label and the stigma that came with it. But she was right, he was a one-percenter, whether he liked it or not.
“That reminds me! What kind of car are you getting to replace the Corvette?”
Jack decided to twist the knife a little.
“Oh, you’re going to hate it even more now.”
The seatbelt light came on with an accompanying ping and they all buckled up in time for the plane to begin its descent. Everyone packed up their paperwork and got ready to leave.
“Everybody get some sleep and be in the lobby by six.”
Jack looked out the windows. The lights of Buffalo could be seen out the right side while the black hole of Lake Erie showed only the lights of the occasional ship on the left. The darkness stretched to the horizon.
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
At the hotel Jack left the others in the lobby and found his way to the bar. He spotted Debra sitting at the end talking to an older woman whose back was to him. He scanned the room out of habit before entering and saw the usual vacationers mixed with business types wearing suits. One of them noticed him and gave him a smile and a nod that Jack found curious. The man looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place him. Debra’s face lit up when she saw him and she waved him over. The woman she was with swiveled on her bar stool and produced a practiced and phony smile. Jack hardly noticed his wife’s welcoming peck as his eyes were riveted on her companion.
“Honey, you know Senator Prescott?”
Jack recovered quickly. “Yes, how are you tonight, Senator?”
“Very good, Mr. Randall. I was just enjoying a late drink with your lovely wife. It seems we all have a common interest this week.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The power plant, honey. Senator Prescott is touring it tomorrow as well. I’ve invited her to join me.”
“Really . . . that’s great.”
“Did my office not inform you?” The senator feigned astonishment. “I’m so sorry, I’ll have to talk to my secretary. It’s no trouble is it? I thought I would understand things better if I attended one of your . . . inspections.”
Jack adopted his poker face. If she wanted to play gotcha he could play that as well. “It’s no problem at all, Senator. Glad to have you.”
Debra picked up on the tension and quickly changed the subject. “The senator and I were discussing the Asian carp problem.”
Jack gave her a look only she knew. Gawd, I love you, it said.
“Carp?”
“They’re an invasive species and really becoming a problem. If they make it to the Great Lakes it will be much worse.”
“I see. Not the kind of fish I pursue, but you ladies go right ahead, don’t let me keep you.”
The senator gave a polite chuckle. “No, I think I’ve had enough for one night. I understand we have an early start tomorrow. Debra, it’s been lovely and I look forward to joining you. Mr. Randall, if you could find some time for me?”
“I’ll make some time, ma’am.”
“Very good. I’ll leave you two alone. Until tomorrow then.”
“Goodnight, Senator.”
Her entourage jumped up and followed her into the lobby.
Debra asked, “Okay. What was that all about?”
“She’s the ranking Republican on the committee and in the pocket of some of my biggest problem companies. She’s not here to be educated. She’s here looking for ammunition.”
“Oh, Jack, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. This was going to happen sooner than later. Did she ask about what I was doing?”
Debra scrunched her brow. “No, we just talked about my work. I guess I was dominating the conversation without realizing it. She didn’t pry or ask any leading questions that I can remember. Besides, I know better than to do that.”
“You do,” Jack agreed. “And she’s too smart for that. Just be careful tomorrow. With her it’s about power, always has been. She thinks she can be president if she plays her cards right.”
“President? Really? Sorry, but I certainly don’t see that in her.”
“Her echo chamber tells her it’s a possibility. It makes her dangerous. Just be careful tomorrow. She’s good at the whole propaganda game, just grossly incompetent everywhere else.”
“I see. I thought I was through with plastic people. I guess they’re everywhere. President? Wow.”
“Remember Sarah Palin? Prescott is just as bad.”
“Oh, there’s a picture in my head, thanks, Jack. Now I need another drink.”
“Me, too.”
Jack signaled the bartender. “One of those—” he pointed to Debra’s glass, “—and a Glenlivit, three cubes, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
The drinks had just arrived when Sydney entered the bar. Debra waved her over and Jack groaned.
“Will you relax,” his wife whispered.
Jack squirmed while his wife and former girlfriend did the air-kiss greeting and made some small talk. It was his own fault he reminded himself. He worked on his scotch and stewed.
“Jack, guess who I just saw in the lobby?”
“Senator Prescott?”
“Yup, with all her cronies. What’s she doing here?”
“Jack and I were just discussing that. Evidently I invited the wolf in without knowing it. She’s joining me tomorrow at the dam.”
Sydney grimaced before motioning for the bartender.
“Whatever she’s having. Make it a double.”
They waited until her drink arrived and she had sampled it.
“Okay, so how do you want to handle this?” Debra asked.
He hated it when both of them were looking at him. It was a little unnerving. But both of them up against the senator? Not even close to fair. Jack grinned.
“I have an idea.”
THE PAUL TREGURTHA
Abdi stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows move back and forth while the ship rode the frequent swells. Moonlight danced on the water and sent a kaleidoscope of patterns through the thick glass. Like a fire, it drew his attention.
They had been out of the Detroit river for several hours and should now be passing an island off to the south. Put-in-Bay the crew had called it. A place for tourist and sport fishermen to visit with their expensive yachts. He had listened to the crew talk of bikini-clad woman sunning themselves on the decks of the boats as they passed. Sometimes they wore even less. Some grumbled about the lack of skill by the fishing boat captains, many of them darting around the Tregurtha as if it were an island in their way. They didn’t expect too many bikinis on this trip, the weather was still cold, but the fishermen would be out in great numbers. The pass between the islands would be crowded, even at night.
A look at his watch told him it was almost time. He rose from his bed and took in the view out his window. The water looked cold. Cold and black. A far cry from the warm green Indian ocean that he’d known growing up. But that was a long time ago, and things had changed for him greatly since then.
He pulled his prayer mat from under the bed. He had managed to get it aboard without his adopted father seeing it. It would have raised too many questions and that would endanger his goal. But he could not bring himself to leave it behind. It gave him strength, and tonight he would need all of it.
The decorative compass on the table pointed him east and Abdi spread the mat out on the worn carpet of the stateroom. He kept his voice low, so as not to be interrupted by a passing crewman. When finished he carefully rolled and stowed the mat before retrieving two other items he had snuck aboard. The handgun went into one pocket while the radio went in another. He pulled a baggy hoodie over his head and adjusted it so it covered his bulging pockets. He put boots on slowly, the laces each receiving an equal amount of pull before being finished off with a double knot. Shoes—he had five pair now. In Somalia he had never had shoes until he’d made a pair of crude sandals from an old tire and some discarded nylon rope. He had worn them for a week before discarding them. They felt too foreign, as these boots did now. As everything did now. Even his shoes told him that he didn’t belong here.
He listened at the door before opening it to an empty passageway. As he passed the captain’s stateroom he could hear his adopted father’s snoring over the steady drum of the ship’s engines. He made his way to the bridge. The first mate was sitting idly on watch.
“You’re up early.”
Abdi shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”
“Been there myself a few times.”
Abdi strolled the bridge and took a look at the radar. His father had explained to him how it worked.
“Where are we?”
The mate pointed out the port side at some distant lights. “Southeast of Pelee island. We just finished making a turn to the northeast. We’ll stay on this heading for the rest of the night.”
“Where is . . . put-in?”
“Put-in-Bay? Passed it to the south about an hour ago. We’re ahead of schedule a bit.”
Abdi forced himself to show no reaction. He watched the radar. There were many boats around them. Most to the south were either coming or going from the American state of Ohio. He watched long enough to dismiss those traveling in other directions and concentrated on the boats off their stern. One of them seemed to be following at a distance. They were in the shipping lane so this was not unusual, but the radar said the boat was small. The first mate was working on a crossword puzzle between looks at his screens. The radio over his head was tuned to the Guard frequency. Abdi slipped his hands in his pockets and strode out onto the bridge wing, shutting the door behind him to ward off the cool night air.
He looked aft while his fingers felt their way to the transmit button on the radio. It had been tuned to the correct frequency weeks ago. He pressed the button three times in a row and waited. Nothing. He tried again. This time a low voice answered.
“God is great.”
Abdi smiled into the blackness behind the ship. They were out there. They were ready.
He mustn’t fail them.
FOR THE RECORD: SLEEPER CELLS INSIDE OUR NATION?
—The Blaze
—THIRTEEN—
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK.
Brothers Mukhtar and Ahmed rose from the concrete floor they had been sitting on. Their legs were stiff and their bodies shivered in the cold warehouse. They had been here for four days, arriving in the country by way of a fishing boat purchased six months ago. One that had left its home port in Maine to be refitted at a shipyard in Mississippi. Only it had never arrived there. Instead it had traveled north and met an ocean-going container ship off the coast of Iceland. There the brothers had left the large ship that had carried them from Egypt and been secreted into the hold of the smaller boat. The journey from there had been horrible. Seasickness, along with the overpowering stench of fish, had made them ill for three days. Upon reaching land they had been smuggled off the boat and into a large truck. The truck had deposited them in this warehouse where they had joined the other men. A mere four miles from their target, they had spent the time preparing for today’s mission.
Ahmed looked at the men around him. Most slept on cardboard packing material in an effort to stay off the cold concrete. Shipping blankets doubled as beds and despite them the men still shivered in the foreign climate.
“I wish we had more.”
“Twenty is enough,” his brother answered.
“You hope.”
“They have no weapons and will have no place to run. Mustafa’s map tells me it is a maze, but also a cage. We only have to block the entrances and it is ours.”
Ahmed frowned. His brother had never seen combat. He didn’t know anything about holding a position against a superior force.
“I think we need more men. Four is not enough for you to hold the control room. Most of my men will be too busy to counter any strike they may mount.”
“Once I have the control room I have them. Our security is the station itself. It will be a weapon they will not want to face.”
“And Hanad?”
“In Allah’s hands now. If he is successful we will know. The world will know.”
“Father would be proud.”
“Yes.” He checked his watch. “Mullah Fazlullah will be back among our people soon. They will need him badly.”
“I don’t think he will be safe there. He should go to Pakistan as soon as he is able.”
“He must stay for a while, or we lose the opportunity.”
Mukhtar turned to his younger brother. While intelligent and an excellent student he still failed to see the larger picture. He smiled at him.
“Brother, today we build an army. You and I, Hanad and these men, will strike against the Americans harder than bin Laden and Atta ever dreamed. Today we will destroy more than two buildings for them to watch on television. Today they will feel it in their own homes, for hundreds of miles. And it will last for days if not weeks. What we do today will rally nations of people to fight against them. America will be forced to withdraw behind its own walls and vacate our lands. Then the mullah will build one nation, from the Mediterranean to the Himalayas, for the true believers. We will supply the rallying cry, the mullah must be among his people in order to lead that cry.”
Ahmed nodded and smiled. His brother was the big thinker of the two. When the Americans had killed their family he had stopped Ahmed from running off and joining the terrorists. Mukhtar had stifled his brother’s rage. Bottled it up and carried it with him until he found an outlet worthy of its release. Today they would use their Western education against the Americans, striking at the foundation of their comfortable lives and showing them the true power of the believers. The infidels would pay dearly for their crimes against his family and his people.
“Wake them, brother. There will be time for prayers before we go.”
THE CLAIR MARIE
Five miles behind the Paul Tregurtha, Hanad, the new captain of the fishing boat Clair Marie, was still getting the feel for the craft. The crew was busy moving the barrels on deck and rigging them for transfer. They brought several wooden crates up from the hold and secured them on deck under a tarp. They couldn’t afford to have them get wet now, they were so close.
The crew lost control of a barrel and it slammed into the stacked crates before landing on deck. Several of them grabbed it before it toppled over.
“You idiots! Keep that rope tight!”
He glared at them from his place on the bridge, watching them scramble around in the thick clothes that were all new to them. Several flinched when the bow sent cold spray over them and their yellow teeth chattered.
“Captain!”
“What?” He turned his glare on the youngest member of their group, a boy of seventeen whom he had tasked with cleaning his predecessor’s blood from the windscreen.
“The radio!”
Hanad snatched up the handheld and held it to his ear, thumbing the volume to its maximum setting in time to hear someone break squelch three times. His anger faded, replaced by jubilance; their mission was still alive. He answered the message before spinning to address his crew, now securing the last barrel on deck with a large cargo net.
He held the radio high and shouted down to them. “Abdi is with us!”
Their cries answered and he let them wail.
He inspected the windshield. It was clean, but there was blood still across the gauges. The boy worked to remove it.
“That’s good enough.” He nudged the body at his feet. “Take this below and get rid of it. Then clean the weapons, we’ll need them soon.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Hanad stared through the newly cleaned Plexiglas at the distant lights dead ahead. He thumbed his cellphone on and checked the signal strength. Two bars. He’d been told it would drop to zero within an hour. Only then would they make their move.
