by John Ringo
" . . . asking that everyone keep an especial lookout for any unusual activity," the sheriff for Orange County said to the room full of reporters. "I would now like to introduce Lieutenant Bob Dunn, head of the Orange County Anti-Terrorism Task Force. Lieutenant Dunn?"
"Thank you, sir," Dunn said, stepping up to the podium and blinking at the bright lights. "I've got a short statement about the events that have just occurred. Two major weapons of mass destruction attacks occurred in the Orlando–Orange County area. The first was by use of a stolen spray truck. The intent appeared to be to drive down the north end of International Drive. There was a short release near Sand Lake that, unfortunately, caused several deaths. That area is now closed off and we don't have a full casualty list as yet. Due to the nature of the attack, we are having to approach the area cautiously. When we do, and next-of-kin have been informed, we will release the casualty list. Currently there are only five confirmed casualties but, unfortunately, we are certain that there will be more. Two terrorists are among the confirmed dead.
"A second attack was attempted at Wet and Wild. That attack was prevented, fortunately without loss of life."
He took a breath and, knowing that it would be bad politics to snarl, tried to put a good face on the rest.
"Both of the attacks were stopped with the assistance of a special operations team working through the U.S. Army Special Operations Command. As you are all aware, the federal government has been providing support during this crisis under the War Powers Act. Federal agents from the FBI as well as military personnel are involved in this investigation. With their support, both attacks were stopped. I will now take questions."
"Lieutenant Dunn," the first reporter said. "There's a rumor that the special operations team was, in fact, the Georgian commando group called the Mountain Tigers. Could you comment?"
"No," Dunn said, trying not to snarl but his jaw worked. "I cannot comment on the nature of the special operations team."
"Lieutenant," the next reporter said. "About the car chase on I-4. The helicopter that took out the stolen chopper and the Mercedes was a black Hind, just like the one that was seen in the Keys. The U.S. military does not use that type of helicopter. Was it the same helicopter?"
"I honestly don't know," Dunn replied. "I am not privy to everything that is going on on the federal side. You might want to ask them."
"Lieutenant, was the car involved in the chase a Ford GT? Because only one of those has been sold recently in the Orlando area. It was sold to a corporation called Mountain Tiger Beer, Inc. on Friday according to open records. Was that the same GT?"
"I am not able to comment on that," Dunn said, angrily. "I don't know when or where the damned car was bought. For all I know the idiot—"
The sheriff stepped forward and nudged Dunn to the side with a nod of thanks.
"All the attractions in the Orlando area, with the exception of Wet and Wild and those in the immediate area of the attacks, remain open. We are not going to let terrorists stop people from having fun. We are going to stop them from doing that. We're just asking that people keep a sharp eye out for potential threats. Report anything suspicious through the normal 911 center or to a local security person. Thank you for attending, no more questions."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Will Carter sighed when he exited the monorail. The lines to get into the Magic Kingdom were insane.
Will and his wife Dafney had brought their three children, Lindsey 11, Jason 9, and Allison 6, to Disney several times before. It was an annual pilgrimage from their home in Radcliff, Kentucky. Dafney's mother and father lived in a retirement community near Clermont, a town just west of Orlando. They came down on winter break because, normally, the lines were a bit better than at Christmas.
But not this time. Even though there was a terrorism threat in the Florida area, it seemed as if everyone in the world had descended on Disney.
The press of bodies on the monorail ramp slowly moved forward and he could see why it was so packed: Disney was obviously taking the terrorist threat seriously. Each of the entry points had a security guard on it and they weren't just checking bags but wanding each person. And "Mouse-trail" lines had been set up stopping about fifty feet back from the actual entry point. It was going to take forever to get through them but he was sort of glad to see that Disney was taking the steps; he didn't want his kids dying at Disney.
"It doesn't look bad once we get into the park," Dafney said, laying a hand on his arm. She knew that her husband got frustrated waiting in line.
"I can see," Will said. From the top of the monorail ramp you could just see into Main Street and it was apparent there weren't all that many people on the street. But getting there was going to be a nightmare. "I'll try to keep my cool."
Some of the characters were out working the line. Maybe that would keep the kids from getting out of hand . . . .
Mike walked along the line of security booths, watching the bag checkers. Most of them were following Fisher's orders, carefully checking not only the obvious contents but things that could be disguised. He saw one of the checkers pull out a can of OFF, identical to the one that he'd demonstrated to Fisher, and hand it to the person being checked. Of course, Mike wouldn't have bothered, given that it was a blonde teenager. But the girl, after a moment's confusion, sprayed some on her arm.
Mike paused as another person came to a booth near the far right. The man was Middle Eastern in appearance, carrying a new backpack.
"Konstantin," he said. The communicator was voice activated, so he didn't even have to press a throat mike. "Booth Four."
Konstantin Shaynav was already on the target. The man appeared nervous, but a lot of the targets had. He kept the crosshairs on the man's head, though, dialed back far enough that he could watch general actions.
"Bag's being checked," Dzintars, his spotter, said. "Can of spray . . . Shit."
Mike watched as the checker on Booth Four, an elderly woman who had a vaguely Jewish look, lifted a green spray can out of the bag then set it back in as she pawed through the contents. She had an expression that told him she was clearly pissed at the stupidity of the intense search.
"Fisher," Mike said, gesturing with his chin.
"What?" the man said. He'd been examining the lines and trying to figure out how to move the people through faster. There were two reasons it was on his mind. One was simple customer service. People had come to Disney to have fun, not stand in line waiting to get in. There were going to be massive complaints. The second was security related; he wasn't happy with that many people packed in together.
"Booth Four. Spray can. Didn't get checked."
The man had completed his check and nodded at the checker with a smile as he started to walk away.
"Booth Four," Fisher said into his radio. "Stop him."
Mike and Fisher walked forward as the security guard backing up the checker put his hand on the man's arm.
"Excuse me, sir," the guard said. "We'd like your cooperation . . ."
"You are stop me because I am Arab!" the man said, raising his voice. "This is prejudice against Arabs! I insist that you treat me as human! You kill Arabs in Iraq and you don't care . . ."
"Sir, if you'll just calm down," Fisher said, stepping over to the irate customer.
"Sir, if you'll just look at your chest," Mike said, much more quietly.
"What?" the Arab said angrily. Or at least he appeared angry on the surface. But his eyes weren't.
"Look down," Mike said in Arabic. "And stay still."
The man looked down and his dark face went gray at the sight of a spot of red light wavering over his heart.
"Now," Mike said, still in Arabic, "if you'll just accompany us I'm sure that this can all be resolved quite quickly. And if you continue to present a problem to me, innocent or not, I'm going to splatter you all over the ground. Do you understand?"
"Yes," the man said, his jaw working.
"Slowly hand the bag to the security guard
," Mike said. "Then step towards that door, slowly," he continued, pointing to a door marked "Cast Only." Two of the Keldara, wearing much the same clothes as Mike, including the extra bulkiness, were walking over. They flanked the man as, followed by the security guard, he was marched over to the door.
Fisher had gotten a new security guard for Booth Four and went over to the checker.
"Mrs. Meier," Fisher said as the entry supervisor hurried over. "You didn't check a spray can."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Fisher," the woman said angrily. "But this is all so stupid! Nobody is going to put anything in a can of OFF."
"Let the security guard do the checking on this one," Mike said. "I think that Mrs. Meier could do with a little demonstration."
"Okay," Fisher said. "Mrs. Meier, if you could accompany us?"
The threesome walked over to the door and went through. On the other side was a section sealed off with plastic sheeting. Inside the plastic sheeting, two of the Keldara were fitted with poison gas gear.
The Middle Easterner was standing by nervously as the security guard, gingerly, removed the spray can. The two large Keldara still flanked the potential terrorist. The security guard put the can on a tray and slid it into the sealed area through an air lock.
"Sir, if you would step in there," Mike said, politely. "And demonstrate that that is normal OFF in the can, I'd be very grateful."
"I will not!" the man shouted. "You are picking on me because I am Arab! You will stop this now! I will protest to CAIR!"
"Fine," Mike said with a sigh. He drew the Desert Eagle and pointed it at the man's head. "Once upon a time the .44 Magnum was the largest and most powerful handgun in the world. It was subsequently replaced by this one, the Desert Eagle .50 caliber, which can kill an elephant at short range. Admittedly, subsequent to that other more powerful handguns such as the Casull .454 have been developed but that is not entirely germane to our discussion since I am not currently pointing one of those at your head. I will, however, add that I'm having a very bad day. I've gotten shot at, gassed and done a rather nasty swim. My harem manager has been kidnapped and is being tortured at the moment. I'm tired and cranky and I haven't gotten laid recently. So. You can demonstrate that there is not VX in that can or you can be shot by a gun normally used to kill elephants. Your choice. I'm good either way."
"You wouldn't shoot me," the man said, shaking his head. "Not in cold blood. Not with everyone watching."
"Bets?" Mike asked, cocking the pistol. "This is a hollow point round. When it hits your head this entire room will be covered in blood and brains, but I've got spare clothes and I've been covered in blood and brains before."
"I will not spray that on myself," the man said, shaking his head. He was clearly terrified, but it could have just been the massive gun sitting on his occipital bone. "No."
"Georgi," Mike said, raising his voice. "Try it on one of the gerbils."
The Keldara reached into a cage and removed a gerbil, then placed it in a different cage. First he sealed the cage, then inserted the can and his hand through a rubber seal. He shook the can and sprayed a very small quantity into the cage. The gerbil began spasming immediately.
The Middle Easterner tried to run but the two Keldara wrestled him easily to the floor and slid cuffs on his hands and feet and a hood over his head.
"Now, Mrs. Meier," Mike said, decocking the weapon and putting it away. "You just let VX gas into the Magic Kingdom and that really pisses me off. How many other cans did you fail to check?"
"I . . . I don't know," the woman said, her eyes wide and fixed on the dead gerbil that could be seen through the clear plastic. "A . . . a few."
"Any carried by men of Middle Eastern extraction?" Mike asked.
"I try not to look," the woman said, angrily. "That's profiling. I refuse to treat people differently just because of the color of their skin. If you were from my people you would understand that."
"This asshole wants to wipe every Jew off the face of the earth," Mike said, kicking the terrorist in the side. "Jews are, after all, descendants of apes and pigs. So I don't find you noble or honest or good or anything. I find you to be a fucking idiot. The sort of fucking idiot that thought that Hitler couldn't possibly be 'serious.' But, congratulations, you've probably killed quite a few people today, no matter what I fucking do. Because we can't weed them all out, now. Congratu-fucking-lations. I hope you enjoy your moral superiority."
He stalked out of the room and looked up at the sky, shaking his head.
"Teams," he said, turning the communicator back on. "We have a live one. There may have been leakers. And some of them might have noticed this. So be on your toes. Who has the crowd?"
"Braon," Braon said. "I'm scanning but there's a bunch of people. Manos has over twenty potentials."
"Where's Lasko?" Mike asked.
"Cinderella's Castle," Oleg replied. "Main Street position."
"Get him up here," Mike said, looking over at Fisher. "I need a sniper transferred from Cinderella to here, fast."
"I'm on it," Fisher said. "What about the crowd out front?"
"That's why I need the sniper."
Will had Allison up on his shoulders since the six-year-old had nearly been trampled by the crowds. They were finally down to the mouse-maze but it was apparent that, for whatever reason, the checkers were really taking their time. The lines were moving slower than for any ride he'd ever been on.
"It'll be okay," Dafney said, rubbing his arm. "We're almost to the front."
"Yeah," Will said, shifting the six-year-old around. "I'm good."
He'd have been better if the guy behind him hadn't smelled like a goat. The guy, Middle Eastern or Hispanic, Will wasn't sure, clearly had never heard of a shower.
* * *
"Target Nine," Lasko said. "Middle Eastern male. Backpack. He's watching the security and he's really unhappy."
"If he dips in the backpack and comes up with anything, take him down," the Kildar replied.
Lasko flexed his jaw and touched his communicator.
"Target is blocked. Girl on her father's shoulder. Line Fourteen."
Mike looked past the booths, where the checkers were taking much more care, and spotted the target. Sure enough, some guy had his kid up on his shoulder. Cute little kid, too. Five or six with dark brown hair and clearly looking forward to a day at the Magic Kingdom.
"Take two shots."
"Honey, you're getting to be too big of a girl! I got to set you down," Will said, bending forward and sliding Allison to the ground. As he did the guy behind him turned and bumped into him, spilling both of them to the ground.
"God damnit!" Will cursed, turning and starting to stand up just as the man, who had a can of bug spray in his hand, stumbled backwards. There was a red hole in his chest and blood exploded upwards from his mouth. The can hit the ground and rolled into the crowd.
Dafney had turned to look when he stumbled and she was the first to scream . . . .
"Everyone down!" Fisher screamed over the announcement system. "EVERYONE HIT THE GROUND, NOW! THERE ARE TERRORISTS IN THE CROWD! DOWN, DOWN, DOWN . . ."
"Target," Braon said as Target Seven pulled his bag around to the front. Some people were running but most were following orders and dropping to the ground. Gunfire helped with that. The suspect pulled out a can and flew backwards as blood and brains covered the crowd around him.
"Left," Manos said. "Target Fifteen. On the ground, fumbling in his backpack."
"Target," Braon said as the man slumped.
"Right . . ."
"You know," Mike said, as paramedics with stretchers moved into the still-crouched crowd, "this is actually a great way to filter for terrorists. When you tell civilians to get down, especially when bullets are flying, they generally do. The terrorists keep trying to do their mission and turn themselves into targets. The Israelis use it sometimes. I'm just glad none of them were wearing explosive vests."
"One hell of a PR nightmare," Fisher said, watching t
he dead bodies being loaded.
"Why?" Mike asked. "I mean, assuming all the tangos were for real. You just stopped, pretty much butt-cold, a terrorist attack. There's nine dead terrorists and, as far as I can see, zero dead guests. You should come out smelling like a rose. That is, assuming no more got into the park. You shutting down?"
"That's my next call," Fisher said. "I want to. God I want to shut down. But that's up to park operations. What's your call?"
"This was a back-up attack," Mike said. "The main attack is still to come. I'm actually of two minds. One says that to save lives, you shut down. The other says that we want to find the other VX. If they're aiming for Disney, and I'm pretty sure they are, now, then if you shut down they just lay low and either hit another day or hit another target."