by James Rosone
The grumbling noises grew until someone finally asked, “What’s the problem?”
Aslan informed the group, “We’ve been discovered. An FBI raid is being readied and could happen at any time.”
One of the members asked, “If we know they’re going to raid the farmhouse, why do we not just get in our vehicles right now and try to make a break for it?”
It’s a fair question, but clearly he hasn’t totally thought this through, Aslan thought.
“Ishmael, the FBI has our location under surveillance. They know where we are and would probably ambush us if we left. No, we’re going to use this information to our benefit. We know they’re coming tonight, so here’s what we are going to do…”
Aslan and Shamil had been the leader of their Chechen terrorist group for the past five years. They knew everyone in the vehicle and had trained and fought with each other in Afghanistan, Iraq, Chechnya and Syria. If this was going to be their last stand together, then they would make the FBI pay when they launched their raid. They spent the better part of forty minutes talking over the strategy, who would do what, where each of them would be stationed and how this raid would go down.
The farmhouse had a basement with two windows on each side of the basement. They would look to leverage the cinderblock windows and basement like a pillbox. They would position five shooters in the basement to fire out of the windows. The other four shooters would be positioned in a different corner on the second floor. This would allow them to provide clear lanes of fire and have a good view of where the FBI agents would be coming from. Just as they were about to leave the vehicle, Aslan made sure everyone understood that the farmhouse was most likely bugged. They needed to keep their chatter to a minimum. They also needed to move quickly; they didn’t know exactly how much time they had.
As the Chechens walked back into the farmhouse, they spotted a dragonfly as it moved from a door frame to one of the ceiling fans. One of the members swatted at it and knocked it to the ground. Upon further inspection, he discovered it was a small mechanical device, not a dragonfly at all. Aslan barked, “Everyone, look and see if you can find any more of these in the house!”
In a matter of minutes, they found three more and destroyed them. With the FBI’s drones gone, they immediately went to work getting the farmhouse ready for the assault. They moved furniture in front of the various doors and placed additional objects in front of some of the walls that they planned on firing from.
Three hours later, the sun had finally descended and it began to get dark. As the last glimmers of sunlight left the sky, the Chechens turned on their night vision goggles and waited.
*******
Director Michael Stone walked up to SAC Deeks, who was talking with several of his agents. They were apparently pretty upset. Stone got the attention of his partner, Special Agent Jim Leary, and said, “Hey, something’s up.” The two of them approached Deeks to find out what was going on.
“Is everyone all right?” Stone asked, hoping everything was still on track.
Deeks ignored them for just a moment as he turned to his agents and announced, “I want everyone suited up and ready to go. We have to speed up our timeline.”
Turning back to face the two outsiders from D.C., he admitted, “We have a problem. About fifty minutes ago, the Chechens all went to the barn and climbed into one of the SUVs to have a conversation. They must have discovered the place was bugged, because when they came back into the farmhouse, they found one of the dragonflies and destroyed it. Within a few minutes, they had found the others inside the house and destroyed them as well.”
If the Chechens know we’re coming, this isn’t good. They’ll be waiting for us, thought Stone.
“Agent Deeks, if they know the place is bugged and are now preparing for your assault, then I think we should reconsider our options here,” Stone said.
Deeks sighed deeply before replying, “Director Stone, the subjects are trapped in that farmhouse. We know there are only nine of them, and we further know that they only have a limited supply of ammunition. I have thirty-two FBI agents and another thirty DEA agents for this raid. I am confident our sixty-two federal agents will either capture or kill these nine individuals,” he asserted, agitated at being second-guessed, especially by someone from Washington.
Agent Stone narrowed his eyes and walked a bit closer to the special agent in charge. “Listen, Deeks, you may have numbers, but how many of those men are going to die tonight because you want to stick to your plan? You may think I’m some desk jockey who doesn’t know what he’s doing. Well, I spent eight years in Delta Force prior to joining Homeland. I’ve personally fought Chechens in Afghanistan. These guys are professionals, and they know how to fight. I’m telling you, no plan survives first contact, and whether you like it or not, the enemy has found out about your strategy. Perhaps someone tipped them off, but they know you’re coming. I don’t want to see any of your agents killed needlessly when we can prevent that. Do I make myself clear, Agent Deeks?” Stone asked with an air of authority in his voice. He hated to pull rank, but he didn’t want to see a bunch of FBI and DEA agents lose their lives just because their SAC wanted to prove a point.
Deeks took a step back, almost like he had been punched in the gut. He surveyed the people around him and his face turned pale, as if he pictured losing some of the people he knew. Looking down at the floor for a second, then back up at Director Stone, he admitted, “You’re right. If they know we’re coming, then they’ll be waiting for us, and my people won’t have the element of surprise. What do you suggest we do instead, Director Stone?”
Looking around the armory, Mike spotted the man he was looking for. “Lieutenant Colonel Jacobs. Sir, can you come over here for a second?” Stone yelled.
Lieutenant Colonel Jacobs was the battalion commander for the unit that operated out of this National Guard armory. He had been talking with one of the DEA agents as they were doing last-minute checks on their weapons. He saw Director Stone in his khaki utility pants and a tactical shirt call out to him and wave for him to come join him and Special Agent in Charge Deeks from the FBI.
Jacobs stuck his hand out and introduced himself. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Jacobs, the Commander for the 1st Battalion, 178th Infantry Regiment. And you are?”
“I’m Acting Director Michael Stone, from the National Counterterrorism Center Immigration and Refugee Screening Center. As the name implies, my department is responsible for the screening of immigrants and refugees entering the country—and yes, my department is the one that screwed up the screening of these terrorists. The previous director is no longer here, and I am now in charge,” Stone explained.
Jacobs nodded and a slight smirk spread across his face. “So, Acting Director Stone, what can I do for you or Special Agent Deeks here?”
“Colonel, we have a problem. The Chechens know we’re coming. I’m not sure how, and frankly it’s irrelevant. The point is, they are now alerted, and that means we need to change our plans. Your battalion has Stryker vehicles, correct?” Stone asked.
“Yes. We are a Stryker battalion. What are you thinking of?” Jacobs asked.
“This group of terrorists are currently preparing for our arrival. They will most likely have the place fortified and ready for the assault. If we attack as we had planned, a lot of FBI and DEA agents would most likely be killed. What I propose is that we use several of your Stryker vehicles equipped with heavy weapons—the .50-cal. machine guns—to make our approach. We’ll offer the terrorists an opportunity to surrender. When they refuse, I propose we light the farmhouse up. The .50-cals will rip the farmhouse apart and hopefully kill them. We can also make sure that more than half of the rounds are tracers. Those incendiary rounds will cause the farmhouse to catch fire and they will either have to surrender and come out of the house, or they will burn to death. In either case, we won’t have to lose agents in a direct assault,” Director Stone explained stoically.
At first, the colonel just stoo
d there, not sure what to say. Then he looked at Agent Deeks, who also seemed somewhat dumbfounded at the suggestion that they use military vehicles and burn the building down.
SAC Deeks cleared his throat before he asserted, “Director Stone, while I appreciate your wanting to protect my men, we can’t just commandeer military equipment like that. Plus, you’re wanting to burn them out, and headquarters would never authorize that. It would be a giant scandal to use military vehicles on a civilian compound like that.”
Nodding in agreement, Stone replied, “You’re right that headquarters would never authorize this, but I can go above their heads. If need be, I can contact JSOC and have them be the ones to carry out the raid. If you’d like, I can make the call right now.” As he finished speaking, Mike pulled out his government-issued smartphone.
The colonel laughed at first, until he realized that Stone was serious. He was silent for a moment as he made a mental calculation, and then he responded, “Director Stone, if you can get authorization, I’ll gladly let you use as many of my vehicles as you need. As to the ammunition and heavy weapons, if you get the approval, we can make sure you get what you need.”
Director Stone nodded. Before he excused himself to make a phone call, he instructed SAC Deeks, “Call off the raid. Keep the farmhouse surrounded, but don’t approach until I’m done seeking authorization.”
Stone made four phone calls before he was able to speak directly to the Secretary of Homeland Security. He relayed his plan to the Secretary, who agreed. “If you found an alternative plan that does not involve dozens of FBI agents getting killed, I’m all for it. I’ll contact the White House for final authorization and get back to you.”
Four hours went by as darkness descended on the city of Elgin and the farmhouse. The lack of activity was making everyone restless. Suddenly, Mike’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. “This is Director Stone.”
He immediately heard the gruff sound of the DHS Secretary’s voice. “Mike, I just got word from the White House. They don’t like the optics of the plan, but I convinced them that this was the right call to make and would save the lives of dozens of FBI and DEA agents. The Attorney General and the Director of the FBI also agreed that this is the best course of action. The President just signed off on your plan. You are to take full control of the situation as the onsite commander. A JSOC team is being flown in to your location as we speak. They’ll operate the equipment and carry out the attack against the farmhouse. The FBI and DEA will assist you as needed. Is that clear, Mike?”
This was now his baby. If things went sideways, then it would be his head served up on the platter. If it worked out, then he would be hailed the hero. Stone let out a sigh of relief out before responding, “Yes, Sir. I understand. I’ll get things coordinated on this end and we’ll be ready. I’ll keep you advised on the timeframe for when the raid will take place. Chances are, it will be sometime tomorrow afternoon. Thank you again, Sir, for trusting me on this. I appreciate it.” His voice was filled with genuine relief and gratitude.
“Just don’t screw this up, Mike. I went out on a limb for this mission. We have to bring these guys to justice or kill them. Too many people died last week in Chicago. Just finish this thing,” the Secretary proclaimed, and then he ended the call.
Director Stone looked at the four others standing with him. “They approved the mission,” he announced. “A JSOC team is flying in right now and will be responsible for driving the vehicles and manning the heavy weapons. Colonel, I’m going to need four of your Stryker vehicles made ready and equipped with .50-cal machine guns. We’ll also need those extra tracer rounds, like we talked about.”
Turning to face Agent Deeks, Mike continued, “I’m going to need you to establish a wide perimeter around the farmhouse. I also want your agents to make sure any houses in the immediate area are evacuated. Set up roadblocks and checkpoints. No one gets in or out of this area,” he said as he pointed to the farmhouse on the map and indicated a wide area around the property.
Then, as if a lightbulb suddenly got turned on, Mike spurted out, “Oh, I also want to make sure there are no media helicopters or drones flying in the area. Keep them back. If anyone spots a media drone, I want it disabled. If a news helicopter violates the airspace around here, I want that helicopter escorted out of the area. No media is to be allowed anywhere near this place until after the raid has been completed. Let’s get the local sheriff and police brought into the loop as well. We’re going to need their help closing down the roads in the area and assisting with the evacuations.” His mind was racing a million miles an hour. He had a lot of things to get done, and not much time to make it happen.
The rest of the evening and into the early morning hours went by in a blur. The sheriff helped to get the various roadblocks and checkpoints set up, cordoning the area off. The police helped to get people in the affected areas evacuated to nearby hotels until they could safely return home. Around 0200 hours, the JSOC team arrived at the armory and settled into the cots that had been readied for them. They would sack out and grab a few hours of sleep before everyone got ready for the day’s activities.
*******
At 0600 hours, most of the people staying at the armory were awake and getting ready. Lieutenant Colonel Jacobs, true to his word had four of his Stryker vehicles ready at 0630 hours. All four vehicles had a .50-cal heavy machine gun set up and five hundred rounds of ammunition. Every other round was a tracer round, ensuring there would be more than enough incendiary rounds. At 0900 hours, the fire chief was scheduled to arrive at the armory, and they would bring him up to speed on what was going on and what kind of support they would need from him. Once the farmhouse caught fire, they would need to make sure the fire didn’t spread beyond the house into the nearby trees.
Colonel Jacobs walked toward Director Stone, letting out a big yawn. “Nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning to wake the senses, eh?” he joked.
Mike chortled. “Yeah, you could say that, Colonel. Thank you again for your quick help in getting the vehicles ready. I know your guys would love to be the ones using them today, especially since we’re going to kill those Chechen devils, but it’s better if they aren’t involved.”
“I know you’re right. We are disappointed, but then again, none of my guys want to have a fatwah issued on them, so we’ll let the JSOC guys have that honor,” he said, still keeping the mood humorous.
Stone chuckled.
Colonel Jacobs saw an alert on his phone. “Oh, just so you know, we have Panera being brought in for breakfast. They should be showing up around 0730. One of the soldiers in the unit has a family member who owns the place. They give us a great discount, so we order from them whenever we have a large number of people to feed or for special occasions.”
“Oh, man, I hadn’t even thought about breakfast. We had planned on doing the raid last night, so we probably wouldn’t have even been here today. Thank you for taking care of that, Colonel. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk with the JSOC commander and get him up to speed,” Director Stone said, shaking the man’s hand again. Then he swiftly moved to find the next guy he needed to speak with.
*******
After Jamaal received his instructions from the Chechen leader Aslan to attack the FBI, he met up with Muthana at his apartment. The two of them got their assault rifles ready and were discussing how they were going to attack the FBI agents when Jamaal’s cell phone rang. He saw it was work and he almost let it go to voicemail, but at the last moment, he decided to pick up.
His boss was on the other end. “Jamaal, I’m glad I caught you. Are you able to come into work early?”
“I don’t know…” Jamaal hesitated.
“The armory has placed a large breakfast order to be delivered in the morning.”
In that instant, it dawned on Jamaal that the FBI agents must be staying there another day before they attacked the farmhouse. This would be the perfect opportunity to attack them. “Of course, I will come in
early. Not a problem.”
After he had established the schedule with his boss, Jamaal hung up and went over the attack plan with Muthana. Muthana would hide inside the back of their delivery truck, and once Jamaal backed the truck up to the armory bay to unload the food, he would emerge from the back of the truck with his rifle and start shooting everyone. Yes, this would work perfectly.
At 0400 hours, the two of them drove over to the Panera Bread, where Jamaal let Muthana into the back of the delivery van. They loaded in Jamaal’s weapon and ammunition as well. Once he was situated inside the vehicle, Jamaal went to work getting the morning’s breakfast ready. While mixing the muffin mix, he made sure to add in some rat poison, so if anyone actually ate the food they were delivering, they would get sick and hopefully die.
Time went by quickly. Jamaal and Becky finished the preparations for the morning delivery and began to load the truck. Jamaal made sure he was the one to load the truck while Becky focused on other tasks. Then the two of them jumped into the truck and headed over to the armory to make their delivery.
On the drive over, all Becky would talk about was a new guy she was dating and how excited she was about her big date she had that evening. Jamaal just nodded, his mind a million miles away.
As they approached their destination, they noticed a number of additional military personnel and several military vehicles being made ready to head out somewhere. Jamaal drove the van over to the back of the armory, where the tables had been set up for lunch the day before.
“Becky, why don’t you jump out and let them know we’re here? I’ll stay with the truck and back us up to the bay entrance. Ask them to open it up so I can back the truck up to the door. That way we don’t have as far to carry all the food, OK?” he asked his colleague.
“Sure thing, Jamaal. Thanks for helping out with this. I know you had to come in extra early,” Becky said. Then she hopped out of the truck and began to walk over to one of the soldiers and an FBI agent.