Security: Jack Randall #4, page 22
“I’m familiar with Mr. Randall. Do we have communication with these men?”
“I’m told they are working on it.”
“Who’s our man on the ground?”
“Lieutenant Scott Stovall. Formally of SEAL Team Six and now assigned to Red Cell. They’ve been working with Agent Randall in conducting site inspections. They arrived shortly after the dam was taken and took control from the local PD. I’m told we need to make that official.”
“Done. What else?”
John motioned to the young officer.
“Sir, I have some information that comes to us by way of MI6. As you know Mullah Fazlullah disappeared a few days ago while visiting a mosque in Briton. The Brits now think he may have left by sea. They tracked a cargo ship that was in the English channel at the time to the Med on its way to Yemen. A passing destroyer got some footage of the bridge and saw this man.”
He handed over a folder dressed in red trim. The President flipped it open to see a man in his thirties with the traditional beard and black garb of a Muslim. He flipped to the next page and saw more photos of him at a training camp. Another of him walking next to the mullah on a London street.
“He’s a chief aide to the mullah. We believe the mullah is on that ship with him.”
The President closed the file and handed it back.
“Where is the ship now?”
“Approaching the Suez. We have people standing by to observe it. It has no scheduled stops before Yemen.”
“Who does it belong to?”
“A Saudi company, registered in Yemen.”
“Is this company listed in the twenty-eight pages?”
His Chief of Staff frowned at that. The Naval officer wasn’t cleared for what he was referring to.
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, sir,” the Naval officer said. “Our source in Somalia informs us that the hostages have not moved. We still have the radio signal from the ship’s EPIRB. The SEAL team commander is pushing for a rescue mission before they are moved again.”
“Do you think they will?”
“I’m just the man reporting this, sir, I don’t—”
“Do you think they will?” the President said.
The Navy man had been told this President liked opinions from junior grade officers, this was the first time he’d been asked for his. He stood straighter and looked the man in the eye.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
The Chief of Staff said, “We missed our chance when they were still on the ship.”
The President nodded. If it was in agreement neither man could tell. They waited while the President toyed with a pen.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
When the officer left, the President asked, “How are the Canadians doing?”
“We’ve sent them everything we could. Units as far as Toronto and Buffalo are responding. I’m told the fire should be contained soon. The Air Force is sending a medical unit from Texas to help out.”
“Good. I’ll call the Prime Minister before we land.”
“What do you want to do with these terrorists?”
The President threw the pen down on the desk and spun his chair around. His staff waited.
“John, why did we never take action against the financiers?”
“From 9/11? You know why.”
“So they’re deep into our economy. They keep Iran in check. So what? This enemy of my enemy crap is just that, crap.”
“It is what it is.”
“Twenty-eight pages of people that bankrolled 9/11 and we let it slide? Bush was an idiot! He played right into their hands. They got richer and we shot our load in Iraq! Now they think they have free rein to do it again. Right now the M.I.C. are licking their lips hoping for another war!”
The Chief and his deputy shared a look. The President was not above the occasional rant, but this had a tone they had not heard before. They watched the man in the chair as he stared out the window.
“This mullah was in contact with these two brothers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The brothers were seen with the same group that hijacked the Maersk ship and now hold the hostages?”
“Yes.”
“And now he’s on this Saudi ship, owned by a man on the financier list?”
“We believe so.”
“We have a plan to get our people back?”
“In Somalia, yes.”
“And we have two men inside the tunnel in New York, with a SEAL team outside?”
“Yes, sir.”
They waited. Eventually the President spun around to face them.
“John, sometimes I think we should just sell all the planes and ships and tanks and use the money to make more SEALs.”
John grinned. “Yes, sir.”
The President picked up his pen and pointed it at them. “We’ve fought their soldiers long enough. It’s time to go after the heart of this hydra. I want to see plans for getting our people back. I want to see plans for taking out this mullah. I want to see plans for taking our dam back. After that, I want to see plans for the financier of this mess. In the meantime give Lieutenant’s Stovall and Parker anything they need.”
“You want them to stage for a hostage extraction?”
“Yes.”
John’s face split into a grin. This was the President he knew was there but hadn’t seen in some time. He liked it.
“Diplomacy sucks?”
“Amen it does.”
“9/11’s secret 28-page history . . .”
—Al Jazeera
—TWENTY-NINE—
THE TUNNELS
“Well, that was fun.”
Jason had reluctantly followed Jack back up the maintenance tunnel and past the second elevator. They had encountered terrorists twice, but they seemed intent on the drilling and not looking for them. They reached the last door leading to tunnel two and stuck their heads out.
It was empty of people, but strewn with equipment. The overhead conveyor was silent, loaded with crushed rock from the boring machine. Trucks had been shoved aside and up onto the bank of the tunnel to provide a road down the middle. The only noise came from the drills off to their north.
“We’re lucky,” Jason said. “The tunnel curves to the right a bit here, we’ll be out of sight quick.”
“That works both ways. It also means we won’t see or hear them until they are close.”
“Why you gotta always shoot me down like that?”
“Sorry, just something to keep in mind.”
Thirty minutes later they had arrived at the boring machine. Jason led Jack into the guts of the steel behemoth. Ducking under bracing and crawling over giant hydraulic cylinders they eventually arrived at the control room. They caught their breath.
Jack looked around at the controls in front of him. Despite the closed cockpit everything was coated in a fine layer of dust. He took in the mass of buttons, switches and gauges. Several blank screens stared back at him. It looked like the inside of the space shuttle to him.
“You sure you know how to work this thing?”
“I went to school and everything.” Jason threw a series of switches. The panels came to life in front of them and overhead.
“It looks more complicated than it is. Half of these in front of us are duplicates and all the ones overhead are fuses.”
“How does the GPS work? How can we talk with it?”
“With the log.”
“Huh?”
“It’s like a diary the machine keeps on itself. It logs readings from the gauges. Progress made. Power consumption, and so on. There’s a comments section for the crew to add stuff they feel is important. The log constantly updates to the control tower computer. It was the easiest way to back everything up. Not like we have Wi-Fi down here and I can stick it in the cloud.”
“So how do we know they’re reading it?”
“We get an answer. They can edit or add to it as well, if they have access. So it’ll be like we’re writing on the same piece of paper and handing it back and forth.”
“So we’re texting.”
“Basically.”
“How do we know it’s them and not the terrorists?”
“We don’t. But first let me try to get their attention. I’ll put in a totally bogus goal entry. The safety software will override it and ping the user. Anyone with access who’s currently online will see it.”
“And if that’s the guys with guns?”
“We’ll have company real quick.”
Jack didn’t see any other options. “Let’s go.”
Jason typed numbers onto the screen and hit ENTER. The machine responded with a ping and a red light at the top of the screen.
ODENTON, MARYLAND
Patrick spun so fast he almost spilled Mountain Dew on his keyboard. “Yes!”
He hit a few keys and the speed-dial on the phone.
“Larry, you see this? It’s from someone inside the tunnel.”
“I see it.”
“What do I say?”
“Tell them you’re the FBI and ask who it is.”
Larry watched as what he had said appeared on the screen.
This is JR and JA. Who am I talking with?
Larry said, “It’s Jack! Tell them it’s me!”
“Say what you want to say. I can type as fast as you can talk,” Patrick said.
“Oh? Okay, uh, are you okay?”
Both fine.
“Who are you with?”
JA. Engineer.
“Where’s Greg?”
Unsure. He and three others still in the tunnels somewhere.
“How many terrorists?”
Approx thirty. They are drilling into the overhead and planting explosives.
That got Larry’s attention.
“What? Are you sending this to the dam, Florey?”
“Yes, they’re getting it. What do you want to say?”
“Uh. Hold on. I’m thinking.”
Jack beat him to it.
Can you stop them? Cut power?
Negative. We’re trying to gain control of the plant remotely.
Eric?
Yes. Any ideas?
Open the valve?
Negative. The locks are in place. The terrorists may not know that.
Wait.
BIG BERTHA
“What’s he mean?” Jack asked.
“He’s right,” Jason said. “Mustafa had limited access and he wasn’t part of the initial crew when we installed the valve. It’s in the schematics though. If these guys are smart enough they’ll see it. Somebody will go up there and remove the locks.”
“Is it hard?”
“No, just a few blocks of steel that you rotate and push into the frame. You don’t even need any tools. It’s getting to them that’s the hard part. Someone’s going to have to climb up that tunnel.”
Jack sat back with a sigh. The stress and physical activity had exhausted him and the operator’s chair was very comfortable. He needed a plan. Picturing the tunnel in his head he slowly formed one.
“What if we did this?” He explained.
Jason’s expression grew increasingly pained.
“That is by far the worst plan I have ever heard.”
“You got a better one?”
Jason frowned. “No.”
“All right then. Tell me how we’re going to do this.”
“The timing, if something is off, even just a little bit—”
“Yeah, I know. Just tell them what I’m thinking.”
Jason shook his head in defeat and put his fingers on the keyboard.
“Getting wet inside this tunnel is not something I want to do, Jack.”
“Me neither.”
PORT COLBORNE HIGH SCHOOL
“I’ll take the right side. Check every door!”
The two firefighters were breaking a cardinal rule by splitting up but speed was crucial. Water dripped from the ceilings through a layer of smoke as they made their way down the hallway. They felt doorknobs and shouldered doors open, finding empty rooms. Every time they reentered the hallway the smoke was thicker.
“Where’s it coming from?”
“I don’t know. Keep clearing the rooms.”
Three doors later Pat encountered a door that refused to budge. He shouldered it again but the door held tight. He examined the frame. It was buckled and a large crack had formed in the upper corners. He looked down the hallway and determined he was only yards from the outside wall facing the lock. Had the building shifted due to the blast? He had no way of knowing.
“I’m clear!” he heard his partner shout.
“I’ve got a jammed door!”
Hank joined him and he noted that the smoke was now barely above their heads. Hank eyeballed the cracks.
“Not good. Anybody inside?”
“Dunno. On three. Ready.”
They planted their feet and lunged at the door together. The frame buckled and the crack widened but the door held.
“In here! In here!” a voice yelled.
“Hell!” Pat swung an axe at the door. It bit deep and he had to yank hard to free it. He attacked the wood at the hinges, raining blows on the door and sending echoes up and down the hallway.
“Get away from the door!” Hank yelled to whoever was inside. Pat paused to take a breath and Hank yanked the axe from his hands. More splinters flew. Pat started kicking between blows from the axe and the door soon split in half. Pat ducked under the smoke coming out and entered the room.
He found a middle-aged woman dressed in a winter jacket and jeans. She had blood running from both ears. The one window in the room had blown in and Pat could see the lock burning a hundred yards away. The heat reached him, even from that distance, and drove him back.
“Are you okay?”
The woman shook her head and pointed to the corner of the room. Three people were on the floor. They were all dressed the same and Pat thought they might be the missing bus drivers. He stripped off a glove to check a woman and felt no pulse. He stuck his face down close to listen for breathing but when he turned her head he saw the cut. A piece of glass had torn through the woman’s neck, severing the carotid. There was a trail of blood from the window to the corner. She had most likely been watching out the window when the boat had exploded. There was nothing he could do for her now. He checked another. She was alive. The third was dead.
He held up one finger to answer Hank’s silent question.
“Let’s get out of here.”
As if it had heard him the building emitted a loud groan. Pat threw the still living victim over his shoulder. The ambulatory woman was on her feet but deaf and near hysterics. Hank shook her to get her attention and pointed out the door. She rallied herself enough to move.
They had entered the hallway and were ducking the smoke toward the entrance when they heard a whoosh of expanding air behind them. The firefighters hit the deck, dragging the woman down next to them. A fireball flashed across the ceiling. Pat rolled over. Flames shot from a doorway.
“It’s a biology lab!” Hank yelled.
Pat’s eyes widened. Biology labs had Bunsen burners, usually connected to one central tank somewhere in the room. One of the lines had ruptured and flooded the room with flammable gas. The building groaned again.
“We gotta move!”
Hank leaped up and grabbed the woman again, dragging her toward the stairwell. Pat followed on the wet floor, trying hard not to drop the woman he was carrying. He managed to key his mic on the first landing.
“Two coming out. Could use some help!”
Before they could answer the tank blew. The explosion lit up the stairwell and pushed the smoke down on them. The woman screamed and cowered in the corner. Hank yanked her up again and propelled her down the stairs.
A series of booms were followed by the sound of a roaring ocean wave.
The radio squawked. “The north end of the building is coming apart! Get the hell out of there!”
Pat ran down the steps as fast as his load and bunker gear would let him. Hank was in front him with the others and pulling away. The sound grew closer when he reached the bottom. Ducking smoke he ran for the entrance but a cloud of dust and smoke blocked it out before they could get there. Falling to his knees, he set the woman down and grabbed her by the collar. Crawling, he dragged her in the direction he had last seen the door. He ran into Hank in the dark.
“Which way?”
“I don’t know!”
They crawled until they hit a row of lockers. The woman began to cough uncontrollably. Hank stood up and Pat saw only his legs for a moment.
He pointed. “This way!”
“How do you know?”
“Locker numbers!”
With that as his only explanation he turned and crawled away. Not understanding but trusting his partner, Pat followed.
To make matters worse the low level alarm on his tank began to sound. He had only a few minutes of air left.
“You better be right, partner,” Pat muttered, dragging the woman after him.
THE THREAT WITHIN: DEREGULATION AND ENERGY SECURITY
—The Financial Times
—THIRTY—
ODENTON, MARYLAND
“Well aren’t you a clever bastard,” Patrick said as he read the screen. “You see this, Larry?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“Stovall?”
“I’m here.” He asked the tunnel workers, “Will it work?”
“Maybe.”
“If Eric or I can get control of the valve?” Patrick asked.
“If you have control of the valve, yes. But that thing doesn’t open or close very fast you know.”
“I’ll plan around that. Stovall?”
“I like it. Get on it.”
“What about the people in the tower? They’re not going to be very happy when we flush their friends out the other end.”
“You worry about getting Eric access, I’ll take care of the tower.”
“I’m on it.”
