by Akart, Bobby
She kept her distance from individuals who appeared unstable or dangerous. On occasion, she’d gotten off the train a stop early because she felt uncomfortable with the interactions between some aggressive young men and the female passengers on board. In her mind it was better to arrive later, on the next train, than pulling out her pepper spray or having a physical altercation with a bunch of thugs.
As for the ability to engage in self-defense, Hayden was extraordinarily fit, and part of her exercise regimen included regular Krav Maga classes. The self-defense fighting technique was built on simple principles, instinctive movements, and practical techniques developed by the Israel Defense Forces.
Initially, she undertook the training as part of her fitness training. After a few years of watching the news reports and seeing the gradual collapse of society, she immersed herself in the curriculum so that she felt comfortable taking on any form of attacker.
The ride that evening was uneventful until passengers boarded at the second stop of her trip home at the Navy Yard Metro Station. A group of drunk tourists boarded the train and immediately caused a ruckus in her car. Because they were gathering near the entrance, Hayden gave up her seat and moved toward the front of the train, which also gave her a clear view into the car in front of hers.
It was only a minute after the train pulled out of the Navy Yard that the first sign of trouble began. At the Navy Yard station, the train cars became packed with exuberant, inebriated concertgoers headed for the late-night New Year’s gala at the Entertainment and Sports Arena near her stop at Congress Station. The concert featured the band Judah & The Lion and Grammy Award-winner Mary J. Blige.
The concert, and the crowd it would draw from the city, hadn’t even crossed Hayden’s mind until she saw the new passengers cram their way onto the train. Standing at the end of the car, she was able to see the scrolling advertising above the handrails, which included ticket sale posters for the event.
She took a deep breath and checked her watch. She was halfway home and had plenty of time to get home before the ball dropped. Catching an Uber to her home shouldn’t be a problem at this hour, especially with all of the additional activity at Congress Station. The train pulled away and Hayden held on to her strap as it accelerated with a sudden jolt, propelling it downward and under the Anacostia River.
At its deepest point in the tunnel, the train lost power and abruptly came to a halt. When the lights went out, Hayden immediately thought of her earlier experience in the elevator. Logic took over, leading her to conclude that the periodic power outages in the District were due to the weather. Only, the snowfall had just begun, and it wasn’t anywhere near the ice storms they’d experienced in the past.
“Great,” she muttered in the dark, amidst the shrieks and laughter from the others in her train car.
“Hey! Watch where you’re stepping!”
“Get your hands off me, jerk!”
The only ambient light in the car came from cell phone displays being illuminated in an attempt to place a call or text. The depth of the Anacostia was known as a dead zone to regular riders of the green line between the city and the southernmost end of the District. Hayden reached into her saddlebag-style briefcase, not to grab her phone, but rather, to search for her mace.
Her fingers closed around the pepper spray as a series of morbid screams emanated from the car in front of her. She turned and pressed her face against the glass door, her eyes searching blindly from side to side, searching for the cause of the distress.
Pushing and shoving was occurring behind her as people became frightened, and others became angry at the prospect of missing their concert. Hayden squeezed the pepper spray for reassurance, trying to fight back a second bout of claustrophobia while keeping her head together to protect herself.
A shot rang out in the rail car in front of her, followed by another, and then a third. The shrieks of surprise turned into chaotic screaming as people pushed and shoved to get closer to the exit door. Hayden held her position and allowed the others to dictate what happened next. She was certain that once the doors were forced opened, the train car would empty, leaving her alone. She didn’t want to be wandering the tracks, in the dark, hoping for the power to come back on, while there were gunmen on the loose.
Her mind raced as she considered what had happened. The train had lost power completely, as had the inside of the tunnel. Were they connected to the same power source? Why weren’t there emergency lights?
These questions occupied her for a moment until a loud snap sound was heard, and the doors were forced open. As predicted, the frightened and unruly passengers jumped to the floor of the tunnel, sometimes landing on top of one another. Within a minute, Hayden was left behind, in the dark. And alone, or so she thought.
Chapter Thirty
Mercedes-Benz Stadium
Atlanta, Georgia
The AMBSE Security Management Team had a detailed emergency action plan for scenarios like this one, but Will never imagined it would have to be implemented. A full evacuation of Mercedes-Benz Stadium created an operational nightmare that was potentially deadly in and of itself.
The plan covered designated responses for all levels of employees within the stadium, from security to ushers. Each person filled an important role to ensure their safety and the safety of the event’s attendees. Like in life, people don’t pay attention to their surroundings when it comes to an emergency. They need guidance.
While driving, the operator of any type of vehicle must consider the possibility that an oncoming car or truck might swerve onto their side of the road. However, they don’t. They don’t pay attention to the exits in a theater to avoid an active shooter or the safety instructions given by flight attendants as a flight takes off. For most, if they hadn’t personally experienced a life-threatening event, they didn’t bother to consider safety measures to protect themselves.
That can’t happen to me.
Will knew better. First, he sent a text to his son.
9-1-1! Stay in your seat. I will come for you.
Then he entered the 200 Concourse and made his way to the handicapped seating along the rail of the balcony just as the performers were being removed from the stage without warning to the concertgoers.
The first reaction of the attendees was one of dismay. The harrowed look on Beyoncé’s face could be seen on the gigantic monitors, which filled the entire stadium. Shocked at the sudden stoppage of the performance, the adoring fans stood primarily in silence until a few began to yell.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
“Is it over? It’s not New Year’s yet!”
Others got angry and began to boo. Overall, the mood of the seventy thousand plus fans became surly. Will’s first inclination was that crowd control would be challenging as the announcement finally came on the public address system that the concert was over, and the stadium needed to be evacuated immediately.
The crowd was instructed to leave the stadium in an orderly manner, to seek out clearly marked exit signs, and to move away from the building as quickly as possible.
Will stood at the top of gate 208 and helped direct the departing concertgoers toward the ramps that took them to the ground levels and the exits. Despite the grumbling and complaining of a few, the exodus was mostly controlled, so he made his way toward the elevators designated for security personnel.
He was a rover, as the Security Management Team called his position. He was not assigned a specific duty or area during an event or an emergency. This freed Will up to respond to specific calls and emergencies as needed.
The first thing on his mind was to get to his kids and ensure their safety. Just as he reached the elevator located in the maintenance hallway, the first explosion sent blast waves through the 200 Concourse. Will rushed out to investigate.
Panicked, the once subdued crowd forced themselves back toward their seats, colliding with those attempting to exit. Young people were knocked down and trampled. Some were forced backward
s into the railing, crushed under the weight of the retreating mob.
Will frantically searched for the source of the explosion. The frenzied crowd was racing toward him from the entrance of Harrah’s, so he pressed himself against the wall and pushed against the flow. He was just about there when the ventilation system caught his eye.
He keyed the microphone on his two-way radio. “We’ve got smoke coming out of the ventilation system on two hundred. Possible fire. Repeat. Possible fire on two hundred.”
Seconds later the high-pitched wail of the fire alarms sounded, causing everyone to cover their ears as the piercing noise filled the air.
Will pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the display. Ethan hadn’t responded to his text from earlier. He texted his son again.
Are you in your seats? Please confirm.
Will stared at the phone’s display for several agonizing seconds. The crowd was rushing past him, shoving bodies in his direction and bouncing him off the wall. He was oblivious to the madness as he nervously awaited a message from his son.
No response.
Now he was in a panic. He crashed into the crowd, knocking people to the side as he bulled past them to get to the nearest entrance to reach the maintenance hallway. He raced past food-service workers who were trying to cram into a service elevator. They were jockeying for position, knocking one another out of the way. Will opted instead for the stairwell, which led to the lower floors and the ground level.
Less than a minute later, he rushed onto the 100 Concourse and found the scene to be similar to the other level. Masses of people were pushing and shoving their way into the concourse in an effort to make their way to the exits. Screams of fear surrounded Will as he pushed his way through the sea of terrorized people.
He made his way to the gate where his kids were seated for the show. He prayed to himself that Ethan had heeded his instructions. He was concerned by the fact that his son hadn’t responded, but seeing their faces, safe and secure, was all he needed at the moment.
Will got tripped up in another man’s feet, causing them both to crash to the floor. Attempting to break his fall, he lost control of his radio, which was promptly kicked down the walkway leading to the seating in the 100 Concourse. Will crawled to the side of the entrance, getting kicked in the ribs and his hands stepped on in the process. He was finally able to regain his footing and forced his way toward the kids’ assigned seats.
His eyes searched in all directions. Most of the seats were empty now, including the seats that his kids had occupied.
They were gone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Times Square
New York City
Like two teenagers, Tom and Donna had hustled back to their room and changed into their walking clothes, as Donna called them. Living in downtown Charleston, they had access to all of their doctors, favorite shopping spots and restaurants. They strapped on their sneakers, bundled up in warm, fleece-lined pants and bulky sweaters, and braved the cold air filled with snow flurries to join the madness in Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Unless you’re a wide-eyed tourist, on a normal day, New Yorkers look at Times Square as the unhappiest place on earth, the polar opposite of Walt Disney World, the self-proclaimed happiest place on earth. The traffic creeps along, the tourists wander into the paths of those who have a purpose in their foot travels, and then there are the creepy people looking for handouts or wearing disheveled clown suits, performing for a few bucks.
To many New Yorkers, Times Square was the city’s armpit. The capital of trickery. Nothing about it was real, at least to those who lived there. The glitter and glam portrayed on Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve was far from reality.
If there was one time of year that a New Yorker would rather be caught dead than visit Times Square, it was New Year’s Eve. On that glorious night enjoyed by millions on television worldwide, New Yorkers would rather be anywhere but on the streets of New York. But to the visitors, it was nothing short of one of the Wonders of the World, right up there with the Great Pyramid of Giza or the Statue of Zeus at Olympia.
For Donna and Tom, who were hesitant at first to enter the throngs of people, it was an experience that took them into a potentially stressful, uncontrollable situation. However, within minutes, they embraced the year’s biggest party as they bounced off other revelers and made their way through the crowd to the south end of Times Square, where the ball would drop.
They talked about catching a glimpse of Ryan Seacrest or Anderson Cooper, sans Kathy Griffin. They found their way near music stages featuring performers they’d never heard of—Antonique Smith, Chyno Miranda, and Camila Cabello.
None of that mattered as Donna beamed, her grin spreading from ear to ear at the spectacle. The smile on her face was priceless to Tom as he held her tight. She’d been through so much, fighting hard through the emotional and physical devastation of her breast cancer diagnosis. As the couple worked together to bring the cancer into remission, they felt they had a new lease on life. Their personal struggle, and forty years of marriage, had brought them to Times Square to ring in the new year.
And they were all ringing it in. There were people as far as the eye could see, dancing, singing, and waving their arms in the air. Tom swore the ground was shaking slightly, as if the Earth itself was pulsating from the energy generated by those above it. The noise levels were deafening, causing conversation between the two of them to be near impossible. Donna’s normally soft voice couldn’t be raised loud enough to overcome the constant roar of yelling and the occasional shriek in delight.
Tom had quickly determined they could approach One Time Square if they moved away from the middle of the crowd and hugged the Jersey barriers, the hard plastic modular walls that lined Seventh Avenue and Broadway as they came closer to merging together.
Tom and Donna felt the rush, transforming them from sixty-year-old retirees to partygoers. They were surrounded by more than a million people, with another hundred million or more watching at home. They began to live in the moment, one filled with confetti and snow flurries and heart-thumping music.
And the illusion. The illusion that New York’s Time Square was, in fact, the center of the universe. In that moment, Times Square felt like the right place to be for Tom and Donna Shelton.
They finally stopped their progress as the front of the ball-drop stage appeared before them. They’d traveled several blocks to get the best view in the house through pushing and shoving of strangers, all of whom were experiencing the same excitement.
Midnight approached and the anticipation was building. That evening, Tom learned that despite the differences he and Donna had with all of the revelers, whether it be age, race, or culture, they were all sharing the adventure of New Year’s Eve in Times Square together.
He’d opened his mind to the phenomenon and threw caution to the wind to please his wife, and he was glad he did. For when you were spending time with the one you love, even an outside-your-comfort-zone night could turn out to be magical.
Unless something went horribly wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Port Imperial
Weehawken, New Jersey
Just a few years prior, it would’ve been difficult to find a junior staffer in Washington who was interested in discussing the use of drones by terrorists. Then suddenly, the face of drone warfare changed. An entire division of experts was created at the National Counterterrorism Center after it was reported that Islamic fighters in Iraq and Syria had effectively deployed off-the-shelf quadcopters to drop grenades on unsuspecting targets below, including U.S. Special Operations forces. The experts opined that if terrorists could use the airborne devices in Raqqa, there was nothing to stop them from using drones on Americans’ homeland.
The expectation was reached that the threat was both probable and imminent. Drones were easy to acquire and were virtually untraceable. With advanced technology, they were fairly simple to operate, nearly imp
ossible to disrupt or monitor, and their range capabilities grew with each new product.
While most drones sold in the U.S. were small short-range devices aimed at hobbyists and unsuited to carry cargo, technological advances had created commercial models to be used by companies ranging from UPS to Pizza Hut. These commercial counterparts were heavier and more powerful, capable of delivering a small package weighing up to twelve pounds for miles.
Commercial quadcopter drones were nearly silent, easily maneuverable at low altitudes in all types of weather, and capable of bearing a small bomb or toxic material far above the metal detectors, police barricades, and SWAT teams that surrounded Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Drone technology had advanced with respect to their operation as well. For the average consumer, the drones were guided using a handheld device that resembled the Nintendo controllers of old. The antenna’s range was limited and, therefore, the drone became increasingly unreliable at greater distances.
All of that changed as scientists adapted quadcopters with global positioning technology. Using GPS to identify package drop-off locations for UPS, for example, a commercial drone could be dispatched from a central warehouse facility with the exact coordinates of a home or business. With a small computer operating the drone autonomously, it could identify and survey terrain and potential obstacles, adjust accordingly, and steer itself between trees and power lines to its destination.
The device could then navigate on its own to a home’s front porch, drop the package, and photograph it as it departed to create proof of delivery that was immediately emailed to the recipient.
Once again, the wonder of science was created for commercial use to make the consuming public’s life better. And it created a new weapon for terrorists in the process.