by Rick Jones
Outside, the modern-day portcullis to the Gatehouse was opening wide in invitation.
Then from the shadows along the distant tree line, shapes were moving against the facility.
* * *
The lights inside the facility went into blackout mode. And since the backup system failed, the military personnel guarding the Blacksite fortress were left blind with no lights, no sirens, no outside communications—the entire site had been crippled, killed, and then rendered dark. The guards who managed the facility had no backup procedure after the state-of the-art failsafe systems went down, which were allegedly protected by firewalls considered unbreachable.
Now finding themselves powerless to respond to critical situations, a terrorist faction was moving towards the Blacksite to take new ground.
* * *
Everyone within the terrorist cell was equipped with an NVG monocular, dragon scale vests, and suppressed assault weapons. While the assault team advanced toward the Gatehouse, a sniper stationed along the tree line with a CheyTac M200.408 rifle drew a bead on the tower guard within the crosshairs of his NVG scope and pulled the trigger. Almost immediately after the trigger pull, the guard was knocked off his feet and carried over the railing, his body then pinwheeling uncontrollably to the yard below.
With a five-round magazine and one bullet spent, the sniper immediately set his sights on the second guard within the same tower, lined up his shot, and pulled the trigger. This time the second shot was to center mass, which caused gore from the man’s exit wound to shower the tower’s wall behind him with a Pollock-like design that was truly chaotic in its display.
Immediately turning his weapon to a third target inside the Gatehouse, the guard, who appeared bewildered at the malfunctioning gate as it opened, was working the console when a round punched through the window and sheared away the left side of his head.
There were now two rounds left in the magazine.
Using the NVG of the rifle to locate additional opposition and discovering no one, the sniper stated softly into his lip mic, “Clear.”
The response from Team Leader: “Copy that.”
* * *
The unit moved easily through the darkness with their assault weapons raised to eye level. After checking the Gatehouse and confirming the death of the gatekeeper, the unit began to make their way toward the sally port. Once they reached the master portal that was as impenetrable as a bank vault, Team Leader said,
“Alpha One, we’ve reached the point of entry.”
“Copy that.”
A few moments later and after a series of clicks, the bolts began to pull back from their circular sockets and the door started to swing wide. As soon as the door was open, the team moved into the facility knowing the blueprinted floor plan as if they had been the architects.
With half the team fanning to the left-side corridors and the other half maneuvering to the right, Team Leader’s faction was moving swiftly towards the package.
Even though the corridors were as black as pitch, they were able to exercise free mobility through the facility without being contested.
When they reached the metal door that led to Charlie Block, Team Leader stated into his lip mic, “Open Paradise.”
After a long buzz, the door to C-Block retracted on a set of rails and began to slide into the wall.
“We’re in.”
The terrorists now had access to the package.
* * *
Miner continued to man the Control Room with the rolling keyboard on his lap.
Nearby on the floor, blood pools began to spread from the bodies in near-perfect halos, while the air started to take on the strong odor of metal. As he waited, time seemed to move at a glacial pace.
Then from Team Leader, whose voice sounded with clarity through Miner’s ear bud, “Alpha One, we’ve reached the point of entry.”
Miner registered relief with a quick sigh. “Copy that,” he said. Then he started to type additional commands into the keypad, checked to see if the programming was correct, and then hit the ‘ENTER’ button.
A few moments later: “Open Paradise.”
More communication with the Blacksite system, an override program, and then a tap to enable the final command. A few seconds later: “We’re in.”
Once he heard that Team Leader had attained access to Charlie-Block, the computer tech typed another command to access the schematic to the cellblock doorways, which appeared on a TV monitor as green linear lines that were cartoonish in design. After applying more instructions that enabled the search command, the lines on the screen began to move around with the diagrams shifting from cell to cell, until it came upon a specific compartment and homed in.
Bingo!
After a few more presses on the keyboard, the green lines on the screen turned red, and the word on the monitor screen changed from ‘SECURED’ to ‘ACCESSIBLE.’
Then into his lip mic, Miner said, “The Package is ready for extraction.”
“Copy.”
Miner, who rolled his keyboard into a pipe-like shape and shoved it into his backpack, left the Control Room knowing that he had done his job to perfection.
Now it was up to Team Leader to finish it.
* * *
Mohammad Allawi could sense the world of absolute darkness around him shifting to his benefit. Things moved in the shadows, something that would sweep him from this netherworld and escort him to another.
He had heard the buzzing and the sliding of metal doors opening.
And with his eyes continuing to fix on a point against the far wall he could no longer see, he could hear the door to his cell slide back into the recess of the doorjamb.
Then from shadows too dark for his eyes to penetrate, Mohammad Allawi heard a familiar voice.
“Commander Allawi.”
For the first time in the two-plus years that he had been incarnated, Mohammad Allawi smiled. With the guidance of Allah, he would exact revenge on those who dared to thread upon Allah’s desires to promote one rule under the one true God.
First, he would start with Shari Cohen, the woman who was responsible for his brother’s death, and see her dead. And if granted the privilege, he would seek out the priest who was not a priest and provide him with the same courtesy as the woman.
“Here,” he finally answered from the edge of his bed.
“Allah has plans for you,” came the response.
Allawi’s smile curled at one corner like the bend of a fishhook. “I know He does.”
After Allawi put on an NVG monocular that had been proffered to him by Team Leader, his world suddenly became all too clear.
Chapter Two
The White House, Oval Office
Six Days Ago, 0815 Hours
Inside the Oval Office, President Burroughs was sitting behind the presidential desk with a laptop in front of him. Also present was FBI Director Larry Johnston, CIA Director Doug Craner, and Homeland Security Advisor Rupert Moncrief. After the raid on the Federal Blacksite Containment Center in Virginia, an immediate council was ordered by the president. Burroughs, who was beginning to show shades of gray along the temples and the wizened seams of crow’s feet, sat with his fingers tented before him. “All right,” he said. “Number of losses?”
“Five,” said FBI Director Johnston. After removing a page from a manila file, he added, “One from the gatehouse, two from the tower, and two more inside the Control Room.”
“Do we have a chronological order of events as to how this went done?” asked the president.
The FBI director nodded and handed the sheet to President Burroughs. It was the primary page to Geoffrey Miner’s biographical history. “Geoffrey Miner,” he said to the president. “Private First Class. Born in Malden, Massachusetts in 1994—”
The president raised a hand to stop the director from speaking. “I can read, Larry,” he said.
Miner appeared to have all the boxes checked which included the accolades necessary to be a member of a Blacksite legion. He
had the clearances, the skill sets, the high IQ, and was a graduate of VMI, which also happened to be the college that President Burroughs’ daughter graduated from. He was also the facilitator who paralyzed the site’s power systems.
The president then placed the sheet on the desk. “This man Miner . . . He was the means behind the site’s takedown?”
“He was,” Johnston answered evenly. “If you hit the ‘ENTER’ button on your laptop, Mr. President, you’ll see the last recorded images before the power failure.” Hitting the button on the laptop as suggested, President Burroughs watched Miner produce a pistol, then shoot both men dead. In the subsequent scenes, Miner unfurled a rolling keyboard, somehow tied it into the system of the mainframe, typed, and then he hit a button, with emphasis, to disable the entire online system. That was when the screen on the laptop went black, as well. Burroughs closed the lid to the computer softly and stared at his people with the muscles in the back of his jaw working. The man was obviously trying to control his annoyance.
“That Blacksite facility was supposed to be state-of-the-art,” he said. “An impregnable fortress. Yet we have this kid—and I say kid because he’s in his mid-twenties, if that—who’s able to bypass all the protocols created to vet those with questionable backgrounds, and ends up opening the front door for a terrorist group that showed a great deal of military sophistication. Does anyone here want to explain to me how something like this happened?”
“Miner had no questionable background issues,” said the FBI director. “But then there was a reason for that.”
The president waited for Johnston to continue without his prompting, which the director did.
“In neglecting to check with the death certificate of Miner’s mother, who passed away six years ago and his father, who passed away in 2012,” he added awkwardly, “recent background checks came up with something rather pertinent, which should have been discovered earlier but was obviously buried by Miner in the databases, in order to hide the information.”
“And that information would be?”
“We were able to confirm that the real Geoffrey Miner died six months after he was born in 1994. And this Geoffrey Miner,” the director pointed to the biographical record on the president’s desk, “usurped the child’s identity by erasing all data from the Middlesex Health Department which chronicled the actual child’s death, then created a false biographical history that spanned twenty-four years.”
“Do we even know who this guy is? What his real name is?”
“No, Mr. President, not at the moment.”
“How is this even possible in this day and age?” the president stated with a hint of displeasure. “Background checks are to be completed with the utmost combing of details. Are you telling me that this guy—Miner—went to VMI and graduated, then enlisted in the military as a Blacksite operator?”
“Mr. President,” the director appeared awkward as his chin started to lower, “all data of this man, recorded and archived, suggests that whoever he is has the capability to hack into the most sophisticated systems and databanks, and implant artificial information to create a fictitious history. The banks I’m talking about, Mr. President, is the Pentagon and Langley. And this man, whoever he is, left marginal evidence of a cyber-fingerprint that cannot be traced.”
“Langley.”
The president appeared surprised by this. “The CIA?” Then he turned to Doug Craner who was the agency’s front man. “Is this true? Is this guy breaching our intel services?”
“It appears, Mr. President, that he was diligent enough to introduce a false history into every possible database so that his existence could be confirmed. Not only was he able to create a mock history and then place them in our banks, he also placed them in the databases of VMI, the alleged high school he attended in Malden, Massachusetts, everywhere that would require a look from background investigators. On paper, this man existed. In reality, however, he’s a homegrown terrorist.”
The president eased back into his seat. “Are you telling me that this terrorist cell has the means to hack through our most proficient firewalls of our most renowned institutes?”
“All we can say at this point, Mr. President, is that this was how Miner was able to stand front and center of all the eligible candidates. He created a stellar past and placed them where they needed to be seen by the principals. And that’s how he was able to maneuver into position to do what happened last night.”
“We let the enemy right through the front gate!” the president yelled. “Worse, they’re compromising our national security!” After rubbing his hands against his face, he was able to compose himself. “All right,” he said calmly, “tell me about the retrieved target.”
“The target was Montrell Thompson, AKA Mohammad Allawi, a proud and self-proclaimed member of the Islamic State and a homegrown terrorist. It’s also been confirmed that he has established ties to ISIL and ISIS, and recruits’ members from all over the world, especially from notorious hotspots in the Middle East.” “I know that name,” stated the president. “His brother was killed in a weapons raid that was conducted by Shari Cohen. Am I right on that, Larry?”
The FBI director nodded. “And because of it her family was killed in retaliation.
When that wasn’t enough, he tried to kill her too. Thank God she lived through the crisis, though not without suffering physical consequences.”
“Lost a piece of her lung, I understand.”
“And a piece of her bowel. She was also in a coma for several months.”
“And how was Thompson captured again?”
The director shrugged. “Local authorities received a call regarding a terrorist by the name of Mohammad Allawi, and that they would find him inside a vacant housing unit. When they got there, they discovered the man beaten half to death. All Allawi kept mumbling about was something about a priest. Thing is, we don’t know how Allawi came to be in that condition or who made the call.”
“And now we know that it was Allawi who absconded from the Blacksite with the aid of militants who not only has advanced cyber knowledge, but military sophistication as well. And you think Mohammad Allawi is leading the charge once again?”
“Mohammad Allawi,” began FBI Director Johnston, “is an extremely dangerous man who commands high-level people with a high-level of intelligence.” He opened the manila folder and pulled out several pages regarding the terrorist.
“Thompson is an American-born citizen who found Allah during a prison stint in New Jersey. He also has a measured IQ of 182, which is twenty-two points above the MENSA standard. He’s bright. He’s dangerous. And he’s a menace to society beyond imagining. And he will bring terrorism back to within the country’s borders. We need to utilize whatever resources are available, Mr. President, to locate this man and his top lieutenants. God only knows what this man is planning, now that he’s out and about. The CIA will need to monitor offshore communications, and the NSA will have to check all communications within the States regarding possible homegrown insurgencies.”
“Done,” said the president, who pointed to CIA Director Craner and Homeland Security Advisor Moncrief. “Both of you, get the gears going on this ASAP.”
The supervisors nodded.
And then: “Tell me something,” the president began. “How sophisticated was this operation?”
“Very,” responded the FBI director. “The cell had been compiling data over the two years that Allawi was incarcerated. They breached the schematics of the Blacksite, discovered its nuances, its flaws—”
“All under the blind eyes of our intel agencies,” Burroughs interrupted, “without so much as leaving a cyber footprint.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“So, they were able to study the schematics to determine the best way to breach this fortress, as well as to prepare for the operation militarily for two years. And this Geoffrey Miner guy, or whoever he is, became Allawi’s in-house contact man.
Allawi knew all along wh
at was going to happen, didn’t he?”
“We believe so, yes.”
The president nodded as he bounced the tips of his fingers against his chin in thought. And then: “The greatest country in the world may have just lost control of the greatest terrorist under its command and watch. Find him, people, and fast. This is critical from all points no matter how you look at it. We need to shore up our failsafe systems, our facilities, the lands within our borders, or this nation will fall should people like Mohammad Allawi begin his religious quest against the people of our nation. One devastating explosion against an American interest will cause the DOW to tumble into a freefall. And that’s just the beginning, since other world economies will begin to fall in suit.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“What about Shari Cohen? I would like to align her with our counter-terrorism detail. Can she handle it, given that it’s Allawi?”
“Allawi murdered her family and nearly killed her when she disbanded his gun-running operation. She may be emotionally compromised.”
The president looked ceilingwards as if to mull this point over. Shari Cohen was a major player and a certifiable star in the field of operation. But Allawi had penetrated her circle and destroyed everything that was dear to her in life. A husband and two daughters, gone. And her life nearly snuffed out after Mohammad Allawi had pulled the trigger from a high-end sniper’s rifle.
The president closed his eyes. Shari Cohen would have been the operation’s greatest asset, its greatest hunter, but she was also a human being with raw emotions, too. And he doubted that she could operate with a level head knowing that the man who terminated her family was on the loose. People, no matter how professional, sometimes fell victim to chaotic emotions that compromised positions rather than aid in them.
Opening his eyes, the president said, “I agree. As much as I would like her to take lead, I believe there’s merit in what you say, Larry, about her being emotionally compromised to the point where it may impair her judgment. In fact, it might be best if she lays low until Allawi can be neutralized. I’ll have the attorney general draw up a memo of order regarding Ms. Cohen’s separation from the case.” Then he turned to the FBI director. “Does she even know?”