by Joe Nobody
The general and his staff had anticipated this period of relaxation. Four of the email recipients were to execute what military planners called “Secondary” or “Follow On” attacks. The general’s plan had been somewhat flawed, however. He believed it would take four days, not three, before the lifting of martial law.
Covington, Kentucky – August 16, 2015
Five days after the gas attack, Alberto left his apartment in Covington, Kentucky and walked to the lobby of The Towers high rise apartments. The Towers was one of the few tall buildings on the south side of the Ohio River and offered a grand view of the Cincinnati skyline. Alberto was actually a former major in the Lebanese army who had been given a crash course in basic Spanish. He had crossed the border at Brownsville,Texas two months ago.
Alberto rang the buzzer at the front door labeled “Management Office” and heard the surprised voice of a woman answer. “Oh, how good!” he said. “I am so pleased you are open with all going on. I am Alberto, and I would like to look at your apartments if is okay.”
Susan, the apartment manager, was happily surprised to have a possible tenant. She had just been going over the complex’s financials, and the numbers didn’t look good. Expensive apartments were not leasing well in this economy, and she was more than a little worried. She lived in the building and had come down to the office more to escape her cabin fever than any anticipation of renting a unit.
Sue hit a button on the intercom system and saw a well-dressed, handsome, middle-aged Hispanic man on the monitor. She said, “Hold on, I will buzz you in.”
She left the office and proceeded to the lobby where she introduced herself and reached out to shake hands with Alberto. He smiled widely, took her hand and kissed it. This caused her to giggle, and then be embarrassed at her reaction. She was 31 years old and could not remember anyone ever kissing her hand. What a clod I am, she thought, he probably thinks I’m some country bumpkin.
Alberto rescued her with, “I am recently transferred to this city. I love the water and the tall buildings and want a flat that will show me both.”
“Please have a seat, and I will check on the units we have available. Would you like something to drink?” she replied. Sue knew damn well which units were open. What she could not remember at that exact moment was how well she had brushed her hair that morning. This guy was really good looking, and what a charmer!
Alberto watched the young woman walk away and noticed that she swung her hips more than before. He cursed his sinful mind and refocused on his mission. She was tiny, even by Middle Eastern standards. He estimated her at less than 5 feet tall, weighing no more than 100 pounds, and would not pose any physical threat to him. That concern out of the way, his mind drifted back to her walk, and he realized he had not had a woman in several months. The training, transportation, insertion and other necessary tasks to arrive at his destination had kept him completely occupied. As he watched her return, he felt a familiar stirring in his loins and dismissed it immediately. Besides, he thought, those breasts are probably not real. They are far too large for such a small woman.
Sue checked herself in the mirror of the office restroom, pressed her dress down, quickly brushed her hair, and applied just a bit of powder. She had thrown on a summer dress that morning. She examined her dress in the glass, thinking it didn’t look professional at all. Oh well, she thought, too late now.
She returned to the lobby with a piece of paper and a ring of keys. She informed Alberto that the building had three different units on higher floors that would offer a wonderful view of the river and skyline. As they proceeded up the elevator, she learned that he came from a wealthy family in Mexico City, but had been educated in Brazil as a small boy. His family had recently purchased a small business in the area, and he was going to be here to help with the transfer. She looked for a wedding ring – there was none.
As they entered the first apartment, she moved to the wide bank of sliding glass doors that opened onto the balcony. She pulled back the blinds to show the view. This unit was on the 12th floor and sported a single bedroom plan. She was a little disappointed when Alberto didn’t seem to be impressed. He merely walked over to the window, looked out for a few seconds, and then asked to see the other units. He has a wife and family, she thought. He needs more bedrooms.
They rode the elevator up to the 17th floor, and as before, he quickly went to the window, looked at the view and asked to see the next unit.
The final riverside unit was on the 18th floor, but it too was a one bedroom. Her heart grew heavy as she put the key in the door because she was sure she was not going to close a sale that day. She, even more than the leasing company, really needed the money, and he was such an interesting and good-looking man.
Susan could tell within a minute, apartment 18C was exactly what her prospect was looking for. After checking the view, he asked the right questions, such as “Who lives below this flat?” She reassured him that 17C belonged to a gentleman who traveled extensively.
He asked about the next-door neighbors in A and B, and she told him that one was a banker, and the other was a retired lady who was away on a cruise with her daughters. She turned to show him the size of the kitchen cabinets and never saw him coming toward her back. He buried the six-inch fighting knife in just the right spot and pierced her heart. Susan died before she could even inhale from the shock. He dragged her body to the bathtub and laid it down.
Alberto grabbed the building keys and left hurriedly. He returned to his shabby apartment a few blocks away, retrieved two common-looking suitcases, and returned to the high rise. The entire trip took less than 15 minutes. He rode the elevator to the 18th floor and entered the apartment, sat the cases down and opened them. He quickly assembled an enormous rifle.
The Barrett .50 BMG rifle was a very heavy piece of equipment. The barrel alone weighed over 25 pounds. The entire rifle tipped the scales at close to 40 pounds fully equipped and loaded. Designed for military snipers, the .50 BMG was the largest, most powerful rifle caliber legally available to the general public. Alberto had not believed his trainers when they had told him he could simply enter any US gun store and purchase one. He had purchased this specific rifle at a gun shop in Texas right after his arrival in country. Not only did he buy the rifle, he also purchased a Schmidt and Bender 24 power scope and a Barrett computer-controlled ranging device.
Even more impressive than the rifle were the rounds it fired. Originally developed for Browning machine guns in 1910, the bullet delivers 15,000-foot pounds of energy on target. Even the most powerful hunting rifles deliver an average of 2,000-foot pounds. Until 2010, the world’s record for the longest verified sniper kill was with a .50 BMG rifle. While there were other calibers that could match the big .50’s capabilities on distance and accuracy, none could deliver such a punch at long distances.
As Alberto loaded the weapon with match grade ammunition, he thought back to his sniper training in the mountains of Lebanon. He would be shooting in a downward trajectory over a great distance. Normally, he would compensate for the angle, but the Barrett computer would perform the math and adjust his scope automatically for him. He tested the rifle and matching components several times at a public shooting range and had developed complete “DOPE,” or data on previous engagements for the weapon after several visits.
There was one special piece of equipment that had been manufactured and mailed to him. Often called a “silencer” by the general public, the correct term was a “cancellation device,” or CAN. Alberto had seen a few American movies where the CAN all but silenced the weapon, and he laughed at the concept. In reality, a CAN would eliminate a lot of the sound, but on any large weapon, especially the .50, it would be clear to anyone within hearing range that a weapon had been fired. The purchase of a CAN in the United States required a special background check and paperwork. The general had been concerned that Alberto’s cover would not pass the more detailed inspection, so he had one shipped as a machine part. It was the only
illegal piece of equipment with him that day.
Most snipers practice a method called “shoot and scoot” in order to avoid capture. Alberto was uncomfortable with the fact that he did not have a mountain pass or forest to melt into and disappear after his mission was accomplished. He did have his shabby apartment, and that would have to do.
When his email arrived, Alberto disassembled the rifle and used a grinder to remove all of the weapon’s serial numbers. This step was necessary to delay having the weapon traced back to him quickly. The delay would give him more time and options for escape should there be a change in plan or a postponement.
He took the powerful binoculars and scanned the I-65 Bridge crossing the Ohio River below him. He could see a single line of cars backed up for several miles on both sides of the river waiting to cross. A different lane held all of the larger trucks, and police were inspecting each before being allowed to cross the river. As he scanned the line of trucks, he was looking for specific features on each one. He finally found what he was looking for on the seventh truck in line. The diamond shaped signs on the white tanker indicated both hazardous and explosive contents on board. He started timing how long each inspection took. After watching three more trucks proceed thru the checkpoint, he was able to calculate with reasonable accuracy the average time spent scrutinizing each vehicle. The next task was to study the trucks on the Ohio side of the river. He estimated they were approximately 2,500 meters away, at which distance it would be next to impossible to hit a man, but an easy mark for a target the size of a tanker.
It took almost two hours before the lines of trucks provided him with exactly the pattern and timing he needed. He slammed the magazine into the rifle and adjusted its bi-pod. He looked through the scope and touched the keypad of the computer. A small motor turned the scope turrets, and he centered the crosshairs on the first truck and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked hard against his shoulder, but he recovered quickly. Before the round even struck the first target, he sighted the weapon to a second target and pulled the trigger. A third target was entering the bridge when he centered on it and fired yet again. He had 10 shots in the magazine and did not intend to waste any of them. He then examined the traffic waiting on the Ohio side and identified three additional targets. He followed up with four shots on the Kentucky side. Only one of the tankers on the bridge showed any signs of being damaged. It merely caught fire.
Alberto had been told to expect this, and quickly shoved another magazine into the weapon. He repeated the exact same shot pattern, and this time the results were spectacular. It had taken only 60 seconds for him to fire 20 shots. In that one minute, two explosions had occurred on the bridge, while a third tanker was spewing poison gas. On the ground three more vehicles burst into flames, and poisonous chemical vapors streamed from the remaining trucks.
Alberto surveyed the success of his work. He left the dead girl and rifle right where they lay and quickly vacated the apartment. He rode the elevator down to the third floor and used the stairs the remainder of his descent. After eyeing the quiet lobby, he escaped via the back emergency exit and walked calmly to his apartment. Two hours passed before sirens screamed on their way to The Towers high rise apartments. By then, Alberto was almost 100 miles away.
In Pittsburg, an analogous plot was executed, except that in “The Steel City” the shooter targeted two bridges and managed to damage an additional five trucks.
The response from the commander-in-chief was swift and unforgiving. The bridges were closed again.
Ships and very smart rats
Bishop and Terri had stayed at home since filling the gas tanks at HBR. Bishop was finally able to work out, although certainly not vigorously, and kept himself busy with reloading and running.
He was jogging through the neighborhood when he noticed some neighbors packing up for what appeared to be a long vacation.
Bishop ran in place and called out from the street, “Heading to Disney World, Bill?”
“Hey, Bishop, good to see you out, Bud. How are you feeling these days?” the man responded, while simultaneously shifting baggage in the rear of the SUV.
“I’m just about back to normal, thanks for asking. You guys heading out?”
“Yeah - brother-in-law has a ranch, and we thought we would ride this one out up there. Terri has a key to our place here, Bishop. We probably won’t be back for a while, so if you guys need anything, you are welcome to what’s left inside.”
Bishop went up the driveway, shook Bill’s hand, and said, “Good luck buddy. Do you have a weapon with you?”
“I have that pistol you taught me to shoot. I grabbed my daddy’s shotgun too. I don’t have very many shells for it though.”
“How much do you think I can pawn that big screen of yours for while you are away?”
Bill smiled and waved him off.
Bishop got home and went to his closet. The results of his reloading were stored there, and he had thousands of rounds of ammunition organized in clear containers by caliber size. He grabbed some shotgun shells and threw them in a bag.
When he saw Bill and his family driving down the street, he waved them over to the curb and handed Bill the bag. “Terri and I made up some snacks for you guys. Hope you don’t need them. They’re very spicy.”
Bill looked in the bag and then back up at Bishop and grinned. “Thanks, man. Hope to see you guys soon,” he said and pulled off.
Bishop would never see them again.
Washington, D.C. – August 18, 2015
The White House situation room
The president was meeting with his cabinet. He had spent more time in the situation room during the last 20 days than most presidents had in their entire terms. As usual, the news was not good and getting worse. The chief of staff was discussing his third PowerPoint slide, and it looked like he had many more to go.
“Mr. President, we have two major issues right now, food and energy. Swarms of people surround almost every food outlet in the country and have since the attacks. The shelves are bare, and we can’t get trucks into the major metropolitan areas fast enough to replenish the supply.”
The Secretary of the Commerce Department interrupted him, “It doesn’t do any good to deliver food. People are so scared right now, they are hoarding. Even when we have the Army escort trucks in, the shelves are empty in less than 10 minutes. We had riots at distribution centers in San Diego and Denver yesterday. Five more people are dead. On the black market, a can of soup is going for $20 in some places.”
This statement caused the Secretary of Homeland Security to inject his view. “We can’t move the trucks any faster. Do you want another Chicago on our hands? The public blames the terrorists right now. If it happens again, they will blame us. We are barely holding on. Another attack, and I can’t guarantee what will happen. Mr. President, we have over 200,000 people protesting on the mall this morning, not 500 yards from this room. So far, they remain peaceful. The Marines from the Washington Navy Yard have been deployed in front of the White House and the Capital Building, along with the D.C. Police, but there are only 400 of them. If that crowd decides it wants us out of office, the Marines and the Secret Service will not be able to hold them. My analysts tell me the public is on the edge, and another event will push them over it.”
Several in the room shuddered at the concept of a complete revolt and what might become of them if a mob stormed the White House. One of his advisors interjected, “Mr. President, perhaps we should move the administration to Camp David?”
The president looked at the man with fire in eyes and said, “ABSOLUTELY NOT! This country has endured greater threats than this, and I am not going to be the first president to turn tail and run, especially not from the American people!”
After the president’s outburst, the room remained silent for a few moments.
The head of the Secret Service looked down at the floor. He had intended to recommend that the president visit Camp David shortly after this meeting was fi
nished. In reality, he thought Fort Hood, home of the 4th Infantry Division and their 1,200 battle tanks might be a better idea.
Finally, the chief of staff cleared his throat. The president, slightly calmer now, addressed the advisor. “Please continue.”
“As I was saying, Mr. President, we have two problems. Energy is the second. Electrical grids are failing all over the country. Almost every part of the US has experienced issues ranging from complete disruption to rolling brown outs. The combination of fuel shortages, naturally failing equipment, and inability of maintenance staff to travel freely to perform repairs precipitated this dilemma. These same issues are also impacting the delivery of gasoline. Failing infrastructure, lack of personnel, and extended delays in spare parts delivery are all taking their tolls on refinement, production, and distribution. The public is hoarding fuel as well. Gasoline is now in very short supply in the northeastern states as well as along the west coast. Availability of diesel is practically non-existent. Sir, I received a call from the governor of Iowa yesterday. He told me that there was only enough diesel fuel in the entire state to harvest 5% of the crop this fall. While I haven’t verified his claim, he also told me that the governor of Nebraska had called him that very morning to ask if he could spare any diesel fuel for their harvest.”
The president paused. “Gentlemen, I would like to take a short break. Let’s reconvene in 30 minutes.” As he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, his personal secretary handed him a stack of telegrams and messages. He accepted the stack, and as he walked out of the room, began to flip through them:
The chairman of the New York Stock exchange wants to know when they can reopen.
The head of the Dairy Producers Association wants to know what he should do with 10.5 million gallons of spoiled milk and 30 tons of rotting cheese.