by Brad Taylor
“Find his phone. Get the numbers.”
I called Kurt. “We got one. Going to track the others with the numbers off of his phone.”
Kurt said, “What do you mean ‘we’?”
“I’ve got Jennifer with me,” I lied. “Tell the Virginia troopers they can collect the carcass that killed their men.” I gave him our location and hung up.
Decoy came up with the phone. “It’s a pay-as-you-go. Only one number in it. What do you want to do?”
I called Buckshot. “Put a techie on the line.”
I heard a faltering voice. “Hello?”
“I need a geolocation of a phone. And I need it in real time.”
“Uhhh… Okay. Give me the number.”
I passed it to him. He came back on. “Uhh… this is a CONUS number. I can’t do anything with the domestic telephony. I’m sorry. It’s illegal.”
Jesus Christ.
“Put on Buckshot.”
He said, “Yeah?”
“Hit him.”
“What?”
“Hit him in the face. Right now. Then give him the phone.”
I heard a smack, then screaming. When the techie came back on, he was crying.
“Okay. You’re now under duress. It isn’t your fault. You were forced to track the phones. You understand?”
“Ye-Yes. I understand.”
“Get me the phone tracks right fucking now or I’m going to have Buckshot rip off your head.”
I hung up and began ripping through the power truck, looking for anything to give us a handle on the other two terrorists. Inside was a laptop computer displaying a news page on the blackout. Enjoying his last fifteen minutes of fame. There was nothing else. Retro called from the back.
“Found the EFPs. He’s got three in here, so we stopped at least that many attacks.”
“That’s good, but not good enough. We need some way to track those guys. We only have one number, and at least two terrorists running around without GPS on their vehicles.”
Jennifer began going through the computer, looking for anything that might help us. She brought up the Internet history, clicking on recent pages. As I watched the screen slowly load, the Web page itself caused a flash of realization.
It’s talking to the Internet. Out here in the middle of nowhere.
“Jennifer, how’s that computer online? What’s it using?”
She played with the keys for second. “Looks like an AT&T 3G connection.”
My phone rang. I interrupted the techie before he had a chance to say anything.
“Can you geolocate a company computer using the cell network to access the Internet?”
“Well, sure. Basically, it’s dialing in just like a cell phone. What service?”
“This one’s AT&T, but I don’t know about the one I need tracked.”
“Well, AT&T is a GSM network, so all I need is the IMEI number from the device.”
“What’s an IMEI?”
“Just a standardized number that identifies the device over the network. Every GSM cell phone has one.”
“How do I find it?”
“I can’t explain it over the phone. I need to see the computer.”
“Would there be records of that sort of thing? At the company? Is that something a company would keep if they issued a bunch of laptops with this service?”
“Yeah. Someone would have the number in case the computer was stolen. They’d want to turn off the service.”
“Put Buckshot on the line.”
When he came on, I told him to put a fire under the analysts, finding out if Pepco had computer hookups like Dominion, and if they did, to find the IMEI of the computer the ex-con had in his truck. I knew he’d have it on, doing the same thing as the man we’d just killed, enjoying the destruction he was unleashing. He clicked off, turning the phone back to the techie.
“What do you have on the phone number I gave you?” I asked.
He gave me a grid way out in the Maryland countryside, at a place called Calvert Cliffs.
What the hell?
“Put on an intel analyst.”
A guy came on immediately, sounding scared. I could imagine Buckshot standing behind him with a tire iron.
“I need a search of Calvert Cliffs, Maryland.” I gave him the cell phone track. “What’s there? Why would one of these phones show up there?”
He tapped on the computer for a few seconds, then said, “Nothing’s out there but wilderness. It’s known for its fossil remnants in the cliffs. That’s about it.”
“Bullshit. Something’s out there. What about power? Electricity? Jesus, do I need to do this myself?”
He came back immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t know the search terms. Right north of the fossil park is the Calvert Cliffs Nuclear Power Plant. Two reactors butting up to the park, right on the Chesapeake Bay.”
73
R
afik broke out onto another gravel road, breathing hard and sweating. He had begun to worry about running out of water, the trip taking him much, much longer than he thought it would, with the forest thicker than he thought possible. He was supposed to be on high ground, according to his research, but most of the movement had been in swamps. He yanked his sleeve out of a thornbush, causing him to lose his balance and stumble back. Steadying himself on a small sapling, he took stock of his surroundings. The road, really just a rutted path suitable for four-wheel-drive vehicles, wound in front of him, first perpendicular to his line of march, then going the same direction he was headed. It had a six-foot chain-link gate across it, blocking the trail alone, with the wood line doing the job to the left and right. The only thing preventing his advance was a line of signs proclaiming a warning. Crossing the road, he read: NO TRESPASSING. THIS AREA IS UNDER CONSTANT SURVEILLANCE AND SUBJECT TO ROUTINE PATROLS.
The prohibition was repeated in Spanish, and staked out every thirty feet. He smiled.
Getting close.
He continued on, paralleling the gravel road until it wound out to the east and the coast. He continued straight north, finally heading uphill, until he broke out onto a spit of a ridgeline jutting into the Chesapeake Bay.
Spread below him was the Calvert Cliffs Nuclear Plant, housing two nuclear reactors that had been in operation since the 1970s. The plant space itself was massive, but the two unique concrete domes designed to protect the reactors stood out prominently, the nearest one about one hundred and twenty meters away, down in the low ground of the valley. Just beyond them, to the west, was the immense electrical transfer point for the energy being produced here, and his planned target.
He studied the myriad of components, looking for the EHVTs used, based on his historical research of nuclear facilities. He became painfully aware of the distance between his location and them. It was close to three hundred meters away, and the transformers at this distance looked like nine-volt batteries.
Too hard to hit, even if the EFP will work that far.
His Google Earth research had failed. There was no way to strike from this location.
But I can’t get any closer.
He could see the chain-link electrified fence of the facility just down the ridge. Moving west, toward the EHVTs, meant moving into the security perimeter.
He scanned the compound again, being drawn to the two concrete domes that housed the reactors themselves. The closest was within striking distance.
He knew there was little chance his single EFP would penetrate the concrete sheath, since its sole purpose was to contain any radiation leaks in the event of a catastrophe.
But the protection is built to withstand a sloppy emergency, like an earthquake or plane crash.
Not designed to protect against a weapon built from the ground up to defeat the best armor on earth. The strike would definitely cause damage, and if the EFP even fractured the concrete a little bit, they’d be forced to pull both reactors off-line while they did a structural analysis. Especially after the Japanese tsunami catastrophe last ye
ar. The United States would be on edge because of that tragedy.
Not nearly the impact I wanted, but maybe all that’s left.
He’d gotten the call from Carl saying that police officers had been waiting for him at the substation, which meant it was either blind luck or they had specifically tracked Carl. He was leaning toward blind luck, because the police had been taken by surprise and killed. Even so, Rafik had lost his earlier confidence. He was now unsure of reaching critical mass in the Eastern exchange, and had begun to resign himself to this final act.
He thought about the dome, and realized he was simply wishing for success. One EFP shot had little chance of doing any serious damage.
But what about two? Or four?
He began to formulate a germ of an idea. What if I fired four EFPs at the same spot? Pounding the same fracture over and over? They’re specifically designed to defeat this very thing, only made of steel. Surely repeated strikes would penetrate simple concrete.
The silos weren’t armored. Just very thick traditional concrete. He didn’t know the exact makeup of the EFPs in his control but had seen the damage done by ones made much more crudely, and the damage was impressive indeed. If he could penetrate the concrete, with one or two EFP shots actually going inside the dome, he might cause serious havoc.
He had done enough research to know that even if he got through the outer barrier, the inner reactor was protected as well, and aiming blindly outside would almost ensure a miss.
But he also knew the reactor process was a delicate one. If he managed to destroy some of the mechanisms controlling the cooling of the nuclear rods, they’d melt down, causing a catastrophic fault. And perhaps a release of radioactive waste through the fault I create, just as happened in Japan.
He began walking rapidly back toward the GPS waypoint he’d set where he left the trail, marking the path to his car. He toyed with calling one of the teams right now, telling them to meet him in the park. Perhaps Carl. Given his military experience, he would be the best choice to make the multiple strike work.
He reached the trailhead twenty minutes later and felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and saw that Carl wouldn’t be helping anything on the attack anymore.
74
C
losing in on Washington, D.C., just outside of Springfield, my phone vibrated. Opening it up, I saw a blinking icon with the label PEPCO IMEI north of Fort Belvoir. Buckshot had found the other team, only five miles to our east. Decision time.
We were hightailing it to the Calvert Cliffs State Park to take out the ringleader, but now we had a target of opportunity that we could destroy right here. I’d already called Kurt and given him an update on the threat to the nuclear facility, sending him and the Oversight Council into a frenzy of coordination for a police response. That would undoubtedly take precious time. I was sure I could beat that response to Calvert Cliffs, but bypassing the terrorists nearby might mean reaching critical mass on the power grid. It was a Solomon’s choice.
I toyed with having Kurt triangulate the police to the grid here as well, although I knew in my gut they wouldn’t make it before the strike. There was just too much bureaucracy. The assholes might be lining up on a substation right now.
Retro called. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“Bird in the hand, man. That’s what I think.”
That was enough to push me over the edge. I gave Jennifer instructions, and we began the hunt for the third team. We wound around surface streets north of Fort Belvoir, crossing Telegraph Road and continuing to the east. Eventually we ended up on a small service road for a substation sandwiched in between two older, established neighborhoods. Driving up it, I saw a large field of knee-high grass in front of the substation, along with the Pepco truck.
We stopped short, huddling around my Suburban. Decoy and Retro began checking their kit, getting ready for the fight. Seeing the armament being loaded, Jennifer began doing the same.
I said, “Okay, they’re here and setting up for a strike. Decoy and Retro go left. Jennifer and I will go right. Follow the fence line until we meet up. No doubt they’ll be setting up somewhere on the perimeter.”
Decoy said, “Rules of engagement?”
“Smoke them. No questions. Shoot first.”
I felt Jennifer’s eyes on me, and when I glanced her way, she stared at me for a long pause, then flicked her eyes at Retro and Decoy. I got the hint. I told the men, “Get your shit together. We leave in one minute.”
After they’d returned to their Suburban and out of earshot, strapping on magazines and checking weapons, Jennifer said, “Why are we shooting first? We’re not in a car. We can surprise them. Maybe they have information we can use.”
I should have realized that when she’d said she was part of the solution, she didn’t understand what that meant. I should scratch her right here. Even after her experiences in Europe, she was living in the land of the civilized.
“Jennifer, we aren’t cops, and this isn’t an arrest. It’s combat. Look, I get we’re in the United States and it doesn’t feel right, but that’s what it is. We kill whoever we find. Just like Normandy. Pretend they’re Nazis or something, but don’t let me down. Shoot first. Can you do that?”
She gazed off into the tree line for a few seconds, making me wonder again about taking her along. She turned back and checked her weapon, saying, “Yeah. I can do that. If they’re bad, they’re dead. But this had better be worth it. We kill a crew of innocent power company guys…”
With a little embarrassment and a lot of relief, I realized I had completely missed the reason for her reticence. She had no qualms about killing the terrorists. Well, maybe some, but she was more worried about killing innocents. Something I completely understood.
After she trailed off, I said, “That won’t happen. This is their vehicle. Look, I see where you’re going, but Retro and Decoy will automatically discriminate and it’ll be pretty damn clear if they’re bad. Don’t worry. We aren’t going to kill anyone that’s not a threat, but we’re also not going to give them a fair chance. If they’re bad, they’re dead.”
I signaled Decoy and Retro, then began running down the right-side fence line, Jennifer behind me. We circled the perimeter, scanning for a target. We got about halfway around before an explosion cracked through the site, on Retro’s side of the perimeter.
Shit. The EFP.
I continued on, making sure Jennifer was keeping up. She doggedly followed, running with the Glock in a two-handed grip, the sights bobbing and weaving with her stride, exactly like she’d been taught.
I heard the crack of gunfire, a quick snapping, then nothing. I rounded the corner of the fence line and saw Retro standing over the body of a man, with Decoy searching him.
Then Retro’s chest exploded, followed by the rapid fire of someone emptying a magazine. Decoy turned to the threat and was hit in the shoulder, spinning down next to the dead terrorist. The bullets began to come my way. I dove to the ground and rolled behind a log as rounds cracked into the earth around me. I popped my head up, trying to locate the shooter. I saw him fifty meters away in the wood line, spraying his pistol all over the place. The weapon locked open on an empty magazine, and he took off running deeper into the trees.
I rose on a knee for a shot, knowing the odds of me hitting him were very small. He pulled out a cell phone and began hitting keys, then his head exploded in a fine red mist. He snapped to the left like he was hooked to a bungee cord as two more rounds slapped him in the chest.
I trained my weapon on the source of the fire, seeing Jennifer break out of the wood line. She reached the body and kicked his gun away. She caught my eye, then bent down and began searching him.
I sprinted to Retro and Decoy, starting to triage the damage. Jennifer arrived as I was peeling back Retro’s shirt.
She saw the wound and said, “Oh, God… Pike…”
75
R
afik wa
s unloading the trunk when his cell phone went off again. He hoped he’d see success, but dreaded what he would find. It was Keshawn, sending that he’d accomplished another attack. The news brought a sense of calm. We’re close. Very close.
He packed the large rucksack with the two remaining EFP trays and pulled out the tripods necessary to aim them. He leaned them against the car, wondering how he was going to take them into the trail network without someone questioning him. He glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention. All he needed to do was get into the wood line fifty meters away, but there were many, many people coming and going in the parking lot, and he would most likely be walking with other strangers, just like before.
He saw a man walking with a tripod and a camera. Going the other way, toward the shore and the cliffs. The sight gave him courage to dive right in. He shouldered the rucksack, then picked up the tripods, heading rapidly toward the trailhead leading back to the nuclear plant.
He made it into the woods without any undue scrutiny and began rapidly climbing back the way he had come, wanting to get the EFPs established as soon as possible.
Forty minutes into the trek, he reached the waypoint to leave the trail. He walked north for thirty meters when his phone vibrated again. He took a pause on the side of the trail, breathing hard, praying for good news. It was a simple text from Farouk, saying “done.” It was the prearranged code word for a catastrophic event. The loss of the team. It was the third time he’d received it today. The text made him weak, wanting to sit down.
Farouk is dead. I’ve lost my last trusted man. Allah the Merciful, help me on this path.
He gained control of his emotions, clinically analyzing what had transpired.
Someone knows the makeup of the teams.