Security: Jack Randall #4, page 9
“Guten tag, Herr Hill.”
“You’re in England, you dumbass.”
Lenny smiled at the familiar voice and set the file down.
“Hey, Jack. Sorry, I’m reading in German right now, screws me up. How are ya?”
“Good as can be I guess. I’m sitting here in my office with Larry and we just read a report from a source in Somalia. I understand you have it, too. What’re your thoughts on the subject?”
“Well, it’s hard to say if it’s worth anything. Cold water? To a Somali anything under eighty degrees is cold. If we take it to mean cold by our definitions it becomes more serious. Are they targeting a ship again like they did the Cole? Maybe somewhere in the UK or a NATO base in Europe? Maybe even the States? Even though it’s spring in those places the water is still cold, especially to them.”
“True. If al-Shabab are stepping outside their waters with some of their Somali pirate recruits this means a whole new threat. The Navy is taking it serious. They’ve upped their security a level for the Fifth and Sixth Fleets.”
“What about the EPIRB signal? Are you thinking of making an attempt to get the hostages back?”
Larry answered that one as he had been holding down the office while Jack was away.
“We’re backing it up with drone surveillance and so far we got nothing. They haven’t seen any hostages get moved, but then again the signal hasn’t moved either. I would think that was a good thing, but what do I know?”
Lenny smiled at Larry’s cynicism. When Jack had introduced him to his crew he and Larry had hit it off immediately. He liked all of them and they had visited him often at the hospital while he had recovered from his injuries. Larry had come quite often and they had swapped cop stories and drank smuggled scotch for hours on end. Only one of Jack’s crew had visited more often than Larry, but that was not a subject he wished to share with them yet.
“They recovered the ship?”
“Yeah. The SEALs took it back the night before last. Empty except for one crewman. Report from the Navy says he’d been beaten to death. Left him on the bridge with a note for whoever found him. We’re keeping that from the press for now.”
“Good. Nothing to gain by giving them free propaganda.”
“The SEAL team leader is pissed,” Jack said. “He kept it tactful in his report but you could tell he was upset about being made to wait. Personally, I think he’s right.”
“Is the President a little gun-shy you think?”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
Larry changed the subject. “You have anything new on your end?”
“Well, you know the Brits lost Fazlullah. I’ve been working with their lead man, guy by the name of Will Benet. He’s a good guy, a field operative who’s flying a desk at the moment while he heals up from a gunshot wound. Sound familiar? Anyway, the mullah traveled to give another one of his sermons and they used the old multiple truck gag to lose MI6. I can’t believe it worked. They found the truck in Briton on the southern coast, but so far no sign of the mullah. To say they’re upset would be an understatement. I’ve been trying to track down some leads for them ever since.”
“Why the German?”
“One of the last calls we intercepted was to a number in Berlin. We’ve managed to track it to an instructor at an engineering school there. Two of his students were our Pakistani brothers, Mukhtar and Ahmed Zebeyr. The Germans followed him around for a year after they disappeared but he came back clean. Now we have this phone call, so we’re looking at him again.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Karachi. His father is Saudi though. Owned a shipping company.”
They shared a moment of silence as they all thought the same thing.
“What kind of engineering?”
“Industrial. Bridges and dams were the subjects of his thesis.”
“Isn’t Karachi on the ocean?”
“True. Where you going with that, Larry?”
“I’m just thinking that it would be hard not to know something about ships growing up in a family like that.”
“Good point. Something I’ll have to think about. What are you two up to?”
Before Jack could answer Larry jumped in.
“Jack’s running around the country having fun while I sit here and play office bitch. He let me go to Capitol Hill with him the other day though. That was fun.”
Lenny chuckled. He could picture Jack rolling his eyes.
Jack said, “Actually, Homeland still has me doing site inspections. I’m off to visit the Robert Moses Power Plant tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah? I’m not familiar,” he lied. “Where’s that one at?”
Larry jumped in again. “Niagara Falls, another nice place I’ve never been to!”
“I see. Romantic, too, I hear. I think I’d leave him at home, too, Jack.”
Larry feigned outrage. “I never win.”
Jack couldn’t help but laugh and Lenny joined him.
“When you coming back to this side of the pond?”
“Soon as I can track down this engineer connection. Right now it’s the only new thing we have.”
“Well, stay out of the cold water.”
“You too. Tell Eric and Sydney I said hello.”
“Will do.”
Lenny had almost hung up when he heard Larry’s voice call out again. He stuck the receiver back in his ear.
“What’d you say, Larry?”
“Thought just occurred to me. You said they lost the mullah in Briton?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Briton is on the ocean too, and the water there is pretty cold.”
Lenny’s jaw dropped.
“So it is. I’ll call you back.”
SCOTLAND YARD
“Will? It’s Lenny.”
“About time you checked in. I was beginning to think GSG-9 had recruited you!”
“I’m a little old to be kicking in doors. This line secure?”
“Sure. You got something for me, do you?”
“Just got off the phone with Jack Randall. You know him, right?”
“FBI, right? The guy who took out Mohammed Ahmed al Nasser after he bombed your embassy in Tanzania. I met him once at a meet-and-greet we had for some of your special ops people at the boatyard. Isn’t he with Homeland Security now?”
“That’s him.”
“What’s he up to?”
“They have him doing site inspections for key infrastructure. He’s doing a good job and also pissing off a bunch of lobbyists. That’s not why I called though. He and one of his guys had a thought.”
“What’s that?”
“This report we have from Somalia. Our guy says the leaders were talking about another ship. Only this one is in cold water. You remember it?”
“Yeah, I think they upped the security a bit at the ports and whatnot. Not really my department.”
“Well, their thought was this: What if they weren’t talking about attacking a ship? What if they were meeting one? Not necessarily to take anything off, but to put something, or someone, on?”
Lenny waited in silence while Will chewed on the subject. When he spoke the tone was not happy.
“Bloody hell. He ditched us in Briton . . . and I never . . . hell. I need to make some calls. Tell your friend I owe him one.”
“Will do.”
• • •
Will broke the connection and rubbed his leg while he consulted a thick directory. Finally giving up he shoved it aside and yelled for his secretary.
“Miss Stross!”
An elderly woman appeared in the doorway.
“You don’t need to yell, Mr. Benet. You can reach me via the intercom.”
“I know, I just—”
“You don’t know how to use the intercom, do you?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to . . . never mind that. I need you to get me someone who can tell me what ships were in the area of Briton on the day he disappeared. Hell, get me a list of every ship in the channel for the day before and four days after.”
She calmly pulled out a pad and pen and wrote down the request. Will drummed his fingers on the desk in impatience. No doubt Miss Stross had seen many like him come and go and was beyond getting excited over anything. Finally she finished.
“I’ll start with the Briton Harbormaster and move on from there. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, please get me Mr. Kohl at MI6 first.”
“Very well.”
Will swiveled in his seat and looked up at a wall map of the UK. It was old and out of date but still served to show him the expanse of the ocean surrounding the mullah’s last known location. They had briefly considered the idea of the mullah leaving the country and dismissed it as remote. After all, the man had not broken any laws. Ditching your police surveillance was not a crime. He had no reason to flee. They fully expected him to show his face at a mosque or other known location in the next few days. Not knowing what the man was doing or who he was meeting with was their main loss. Something Will blamed himself for.
What if the mullah had fled the country? If so the intelligence coming out of Somalia may be the key to how he had done so. Ships did not move as fast as planes or cars. Perhaps the mullah was not lost after all?
The intercom buzzed and Miss Stross’s nasal voice sounded from the tiny speaker.
“Mr. Kohl on line one for you, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss Stross,” he yelled toward the door and punched the button.
“Charlie? Will here. I’ve changed my mind. I think our boy did leave the country. I also think I know how.”
THE CLAIR MARIE
The boat was what Hanad had been told. The nets hung lifeless in the still of the night and the rigging rusted further in the damp air. The bow was a dull blue with patches of rust showing in several places. It was not much better than the boat he had grown up on. The old man who owned it had appeared out of the darkness of the hold. He was a foul man, with dirty hands and dead eyes that matched his boat. According to Hanad’s contact the boat had been brought across the lake from the state of Ohio and tied to the dock the night before. The man believed that he was smuggling illegal immigrants into America and had so far been paid well. Hanad cared little for whatever the man had been told, knowing that as long as secrecy was to their mutual benefit the man could be trusted not the say anything. Either way, it was too late. He allowed the man to lead him onboard and there his seaman’s eye took in the condition of the craft. On the surface the boat looked barely seaworthy, its gear stowed haphazardly and most in a state of decay. Below deck was another story. The twin engines were spotless, as was the hold. A faint odor of marijuana could be detected from time to time but Hanad dismissed it. This was a smuggler’s craft, its looks were meant to deceive. A young man dressed in flannel accompanied the captain, saying nothing and spitting tobacco over the side as he summed up the Somali man.
“Unless there’s a problem,” the old man said, “let’s git to it. Longer we stand here the better the chance a cop drives by.”
Hanad turned to the man that had brought them and nodded. “Bring them aboard.”
The man produced a flashlight and blinked it twice at the warehouse at the end of the small pier. Somalis walked to the boat, all of them casting eyes around at their strange surroundings.
“Get ’em all below,” the man grunted to his one-man crew.
The men filed on board and followed the man down into the hold. Hanad stayed on deck. The young man reappeared and jumped on the pier to release the stern line before reboarding. The driver did the same with the bow but held the line while the young man scrambled back aboard. The boat didn’t move in the still harbor and the captain clembed the ladder to the bridge to start the engines. First one and then the other turned over without hesitation, drowning out the blowers. Hanad examined the controls and waited patiently until the engines settled down to idle.
The smuggler spat over the side before signaling the driver. The man didn’t move, the line in his hand still wrapped around the piling.
“Will you tell that dumbass to release the line! We gotta go!”
Hanad’s answer was to grasp the captain’s chin in his hand and yank his head back. His knife moved across the smuggler’s throat and blood jetted across the control panel and windscreen. Hanad guided the man’s thrashing body to the floor and stepped out of the way of the pumping blood. The man gave a few feeble kicks before lying still. Hanad ignored him and gazed down into the hold from his elevated position. His men met his gaze around the body of the crewman lying face down on the deck, a knife buried deep in his back. The driver pulled the boat back to the pier and secured it. His men scrambled back on deck and the stern line soon followed. The driver flashed the light again at the warehouse and this time the big doors parted to reveal an electric forklift carrying a pallet of 55-gallon drums.
That would be the first of twelve loaded onboard before the boat slipped its lines for the last time and disappeared into the dark.
It headed due south.
HOOVER DAM DRILL FOCUSES ON TERROR THREATS
—US Department of Energy
—TWELVE—
AN FBI PLANE, EN ROUTE TO NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
The plane was at 35,000 feet and cruising northeast on its way to Buffalo. Despite the late departure Jack couldn’t help but smile. His team was back together. Sydney was done teaching at Quantico for the year and with no pending assignment from the upstairs office Jack had managed to get her reassigned to him. Eric was still with him and proving to be a bigger asset every day. Greg was still sporting an HRT haircut despite his announced departure. His spirit was still with the team, but his body was telling him it was time to move on. He had grumbled and bitched as was expected but eventually had come to terms with the inevitable. Jack had to promise him that they would get shot at every once in awhile in order for him to join his team. Larry was still Jack’s right hand but was unfortunately only with them in electronic spirit today via a secure link that Eric had set up with the plane’s satellite communications.
“You with us, Larry?”
Larry’s baritone squawked from a speaker on a table. “I’m here, Jack.”
“Let’s get started.”
“Okay. For those of you that did not complete your reading assignments you’re on your way, without me, to the Robert Moses Power Plant. The quick version is it’s a hydroelectric dam built on the American side of the Niagara River just downstream from the falls. They completed it in 1961 after the previous dam collapsed and it diverts water from above the falls into two long tunnels that feed a man-made lake behind it. That water then passes through thirteen turbines and produces 2,525 megawatts of juice.”
“Is that a lot?” Sydney asked.
“The guy I talked to referred to it as a ‘shit-load.’ It’s more than the Hoover dam.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“Anyway, it’s the primary power source for the eastern seaboard. New York, Philadelphia, and most of Jersey gets their power from there. It’s also a key station for the entire New England power grid. Air traffic control for power if you will.”
“Why? I mean, wouldn’t it be safer to have several places for control? Why are all of our eggs in one basket?”
“That’s what I said. Evidently the answer to that, and a lot more, is the usual, money. The grid is in terrible shape. Evidently we’ve been putting Band-Aids on it for decades and the rate it’s been required to grow is just too fast to stay ahead of. It was easier, simpler and faster to do it this way. All funding has been going into expansion instead of upgrading what we have. The new budget the President forced through last year addresses some of it, but from what I’m being told it’s still not enough. The priority is to generate more power, not improve the existing infrastructure.”
Jack broke in. “That’s what I’ve been reading, too. Any budget request seems to be a two-fold effort. Ask for funding to generate more power and then try to piggyback some additional funding for infrastructure updates onto it. The requests are getting to be huge since they’ve realized that they are only going to get a fraction of what they actually need. The numbers are so skewed you can’t tell what’s even needed anymore.”
“So what about this new construction? How did that get approved?”
Jack said, “The environmental lobby pushed it through. Well, they gave them the needed votes anyway. Hydroelectric isn’t their favorite form of energy production but it beats nuclear, coal and fracking by a long shot, at least in their eyes. On top of that the dam is already there and not going anywhere. Expanding its production was a fairly easy sell. Especially after the Canadians did it.”
“Okay,” Sydney said, “this I remember reading about. They dug a giant tunnel to feed their dam and power plant, which is basically just like the American one, and directly across the river from it. Right?”
Eric read from his notes. “One forty meter diameter tunnel stretching ten kilometers right under the city. It was the largest of its kind size-wise until we decided to one-up them. Unfortunately, they get to keep their title because we had problems on our side and had to downsize.”
“What kind of problems?”
“I’m not sure exactly but evidently it’s a different kind of rock and not as stable as what they were drilling through in Canada. It looks like we’ve gone with two smaller tunnels side by side. Information was hard to find. All I know is that one tunnel is complete and the other is still being bored. They also had to drill a smaller maintenance tunnel between them. I’m told you’ll be getting a tour with some of the engineers there to explain.”
“That’s not really our issue,” Jack said. “We’re evaluating the facility for security purposes and that will be our main focus. With the plant being the main control hub for the eastern shore power grid I don’t think I need to stress its value. This is likely the most valuable piece of infrastructure in the northeastern United States. We’ve been lucky that it hasn’t been targeted before.”
“So, how we going to do this?”
“I’m going to split us up. I want Eric and Sydney in the control room. Eric, be nice. They’re engineers, not hackers. Try not to hurt their pride too much. Just show them what you found and then show them how to fix it. Last thing I need right now is another call from the senator telling me how somebody on my team pissed off another plant manager.”
