by Dirk Patton
This took us a couple of hours, then we suited up and ran several different scenarios in the kill house. All of the walls, doors and even sections of the floor were motorized and computer controlled. This meant he could reconfigure it in less than five minutes, and every time I went through it was different. Windows could be added or removed with the click of a mouse. Life sized targets representing good and bad guys could be set to pop out at random times in unexpected locations.
I spent a couple of hours running through a variety of different scenarios. When we were done for the day, I felt like I’d learned a lot. And I only had three additional bruises from rubber bullets. That was a new low, and I was proud to have improved.
“You’re showing a lot of promise,” Ray said as we were cleaning up.
That was high praise from him. In fact, it was the first actual compliment he’d ever given me. I smiled like a kid who’s finally gotten something right.
“But don’t let it go to your head. As soon as you think you’re good, you’ll make a mistake that could get you killed,” he said, popping my bubble.
“Gee, thanks,” I grumbled.
“Look,” he said, glaring into my eyes. “I know I’m a prick. I don’t give a shit. My job is to make sure you can do yours. I’m not trying to run you down. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of guys get put in the ground because they got complacent or overconfident.
“The truly good ones, the warriors that can walk through hell and make it out the other side, are the guys that never stop training and trying to get better. They take nothing for granted. Ever. There are people out there that are smarter than you. Faster. A better shot.
“You want to know what will set you apart? Keep you alive? Training. Doing it over and over. Reviewing what you did and not letting your ego get in the way. Admitting when you could have done something better or different, even though what you did worked. This is a great start to that.
“I was going to come find you and go through an after action debrief, but you beat me to it. And you listened to what I told you without trying to argue that it had worked. That’s why I said you’re showing promise. But you’ve still got a long way to go.”
This was the most he’d ever said to me at one time in all the months we’d been working together. And I appreciated what he said, because he was right. I’d been feeling pretty badass and cocky after successfully putting down eight terrorists, single handed. Now, I saw how many opportunities there had been for things to go wrong.
“Thanks,” I said, nodding my head. “I get it.”
He grinned, nodded and slapped me on the back hard enough to hurt. I was turning to continue cleaning when the steel door clanged and Agent Johnson walked in.
“Briefing,” he said, waving at me.
“Got an event point?” I asked.
“Not yet.” He shook his head. “Come on. Let’s go hear what Mr. Carpenter has to say.”
“I got it,” Ray said, taking my weapons.
“Thanks.”
I appreciated that he would finish cleaning up. And maybe, if he was in a generous frame of mind, he’d even clean my rifle and pistol for me. Probably not, but I could hope.
I followed Johnson out of the firearms training room, which was actually a space the size of a large aircraft hangar. We climbed two flights of stairs and walked down a long hallway to the conference room. Patterson and Carpenter were already seated at the table, waiting for us.
“Gentlemen,” Carpenter greeted us as we came in and sat down.
“No event point, yet?” I asked.
“No,” Carpenter shook his head. “We’re still working, but it is not looking promising.”
“Let’s start with what we know,” Patterson interrupted before the analyst could continue.
“Yes, sir.”
He shuffled some notes and took a deep breath before continuing.
“We have confirmation that President Scarsdale is dead. The bodies in the restaurant were destroyed beyond recognition by the blast. However, a special FBI forensics team was able to recover DNA and positively match it to POTUS. Also, we have a positive ID on the Speaker of the House and the eight Secret Service agents that were inside the building.
“Moving on to the weapon. Chemical signatures left behind in the form of residue have positively confirmed the explosive device was a Hellfire II missile. And it was from an American inventory.”
“How can you be sure of that?” I asked.
“All explosives have a specific chemical signature added to them during the manufacturing process. This signature tells us three important things about the warhead.
“First: It was manufactured in the United States for use by the US military. If it had been a missile that was sold to an ally, it would have a different signature.
“Second: It was manufactured less than two years ago, and we have been able to trace the explosive compound from when it was created and follow it to the final missile assembly point.
“And Third: Each manufacturing run of explosive has a unique signature added. This tells us that three hundred warheads were built from this batch.
“A team has already been to the contractors that build the warhead and the missile, reviewing their manufacturing and inventory records. The explosive contractor produced the correct number of warheads based on the size of the manufacturing run. Point three pounds was excess, and it was properly stored and accounted for at the contractor’s facility.
“The missile contractor received the correct number of warheads. The same quantity produced by the first contractor. They assembled the correct number of missiles, delivering two hundred to the Army and one hundred to the Air Force. This is supported by documentation provided to the contractor at the time of delivery. We are still trying to gain access to the military’s records to trace each missile, but are currently stalled as we wait for the Pentagon to release the information.”
“We can’t just hack in?” I asked, not at all happy about what I was hearing.
“That will be our Hail Mary if they don’t cooperate very soon,” Patterson interjected. “They’ll know we broke in, and it will create an absolute shit-storm. I’m hoping some of the calls I’ve made will cut through the bureaucracy, but without a Presidential order, the Pentagon can refuse our request.”
Patterson nodded to Carpenter to continue. The analyst cleared his throat before resuming the briefing.
“We are also confident that this was a well planned operation by experienced people. In an urban environment, the best way to ensure accurate placement of a missile is to have a ground team painting the target with a laser. The missile will lock on to the reflected energy and home in. This one struck precisely in the center of the front wall of the structure.
“A review of Secret Service records has revealed the following. This was a planned, public appearance by the President and the Speaker. A mending of fences, if you will. Many members of the White House press corps were also present in the restaurant.”
“Wait,” I said when a thought struck me. “Many? Not all? For something like this? Anyone looking at the ones that weren’t there?”
The expression on Carpenter’s face told me he hadn’t thought about that. He glanced over at Patterson who had a similar expression on his face.
“Very good observation, Mr. Whitman,” Carpenter said. “Bear with me a moment.”
He picked up his iPad and quickly tapped out a note. I assumed he was sending instructions to his team to begin accounting for the reporters that had passed on the dinner.
“OK, where was I,” Carpenter said to himself in a distracted voice.
“Secret Service,” I prompted.
“Right! OK, like I said, we verified that this was planned. Which means an advance team from the Secret Service visited and locked down the whole area. Just like any other time POTUS goes into public. Immediately adjacent buildings each had an agent inside, keeping an eye on employees and customers. Parke
d vehicles, mailboxes, anything that could conceal a bomb were removed several hours before the President’s arrival. Bomb sniffing dogs. Counter-electronic sweeps of the entire area.
“And several hours before the dinner, counter-sniper teams were put in place on three separate rooftops. They each had a commanding view of the area. Here’s where we’re hitting a bump. How did someone successfully paint the front wall of the restaurant with a laser and go unnoticed by the sniper teams?”
He held his hand up to stop me when I started to speak.
“This one we did think of. Each of the sniper teams are being interrogated and investigated, as well as all of the agents that were in the area. So far, we haven’t found any indication that any of them were involved, but our efforts continue. At this time, the only viable explanation is that one of the teams allowed an individual to come into the area with a laser. Or painted the target themselves. But if that’s the case, we haven’t been able to locate the equipment they would have had to use.”
“What about one of the agents that was inside with the President?” I asked, thinking about a new variation on a suicide bomber.
“Them, too,” Carpenter nodded.
“Continuing, the other area of investigation has been into radar records from the FAA and Andrews Air Force Base. FAA records from Reagan and Dulles airports do not show anything amiss. Neither do the files provided by the Air Force.”
“How is that possible?” I asked. “This had to be launched by an aircraft. How could they have nothing?”
“One working theory is a UAV,” Carpenter replied. “A Reaper drone is very stealthy and has an operational ceiling of 50,000 feet. At that altitude, it would be well above any flight corridors around DC and would be impossible to see from the ground. It could be controlled from anywhere, and would exit the area as soon as the missile was released.”
“We are trying to obtain records that would tell us what was in operation at the time of the attacks. The Pentagon is flatly refusing to turn them over, citing national security.”
I sat back and took a deep breath, slowly exhaling though my mouth. My head was spinning with the implications of everything I was learning.
“A moment, if you please,” Patterson spoke up. “Reapers have onboard lasers and targeting software. The operator visually identifies the target, locks on and fires. There’s no need for a ground based laser.”
“Correct, sir. However, in this instance, we believe there must have been someone on the ground. The airspace over Washington DC is some of the most carefully watched and defended in the world. My team’s opinion is that the conspirators would not risk detection by flying directly over the area.
“We believe there is a high probability that the missile was fired from a helicopter over an unpopulated area, and was guided in by a ground based designator. Hellfire missiles have a maximum range of five miles, and expanding out from the target location on Capitol Hill, our best guess is it was fired from somewhere over Anacostia Park, northeast of the restaurant.
“The park closes at sunset, and is nearly two square miles of mostly undisturbed forest. It is 1.8 miles from the center of the park to the target, and it would be a simple matter for a drone or helicopter to be in position and launch the missile. With a ground based designator, the aircraft could depart the area immediately upon firing.”
“What kind of helicopter?” I asked.
“Technically, any,” Carpenter said. “It would be easier to use a military aircraft as they are already configured to carry and launch the weapon, but for a knowledgeable and experienced team it wouldn’t be difficult to retrofit the launch platform to a civilian helicopter. Regardless, there’s constantly helicopters in the sky over DC. Neither a military nor civilian bird over the park would draw the slightest bit of attention, as long as it was in a designated flight corridor.”
“A military coup? Have we seen anything to indicate any attempts to seize power?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Patterson answered. “The military has gone on high alert, a war footing if you will, but that’s a standard response whenever there’s an attack on the civilian leadership. Other than that, there’s been no troop movements nor anything else that would indicate this was the opening shot of a takeover of the government.”
“Alright,” I said slowly. “There’s no doubt this was an American owned missile. Am I right?”
“Correct,” Carpenter said.
“And the military would have to know all about these chemicals in the warheads you were talking about. Right?”
Carpenter nodded.
“So why the hell would they take the chance? I can’t believe it would be difficult for whoever did this to get their hands on a foreign owned missile and deflect suspicion.”
“And start a war,” Patterson said. “The Vice President has already been sworn into office. If there was a hint that another country was behind this, we’d be gearing up to wipe them off the face of the Earth. Instead, we’re all knotted up, investigating our own.”
“What you just said,” I spoke slowly as the wheels were turning in my head. “We’re not turning the military loose because it looks like our military did this. How hard would it be for another country to get their hands on one of our missiles? There’s a hell of a lot of them out there, especially in the middle east. Is it a stretch to think that a determined adversary couldn’t manage to acquire one?
“We have armed aircraft go down from time to time in Iraq and Afghanistan. Could one be recovered from a crash, before we got a clean up team on site, and still be operational? For that matter, what would one of these be worth? A few hundred thousand dollars in an off shore account might convince an Air Force or Army Sergeant to find a way to hand one over. Hell, we’ve had traitors before.”
“One of my analysts has proposed the same theory,” Carpenter said. “We are investigating, but again, without cooperation from the Pentagon there’s not much we can do. Unfortunately, with many missiles stored and moved around war zones, it could take months to positively identify that one is unaccounted for. And that depends on the accuracy of the record keeping of the Air Force and the Army.”
“This is an interesting discussion,” Patterson spoke up. “However, we do not have months.”
He pointed at a large, digital clock mounted above the room’s door. It was counting down the time remaining until we could no longer change the event.
-30:36:41.
“I have made a decision. Mr. Whitman, if we do not have a viable event point by the time the countdown reaches twenty-four hours, you will be sent back with a warning. The President is aware of the Athena Project and will take it seriously.
“This will thwart the assassination. The record from your data chip will provide us with a starting point. That missile will still be unaccounted for, and maybe this will buy us enough time to locate it, and the perpetrators, before it can be used.
“Mr. Carpenter, your team should continue trying to develop an event point. I don’t like sending a warning back through time. We’ve never done it before, and I don’t like the precedent, but I don’t see another viable option unless you can provide us with a target.”
“Mr. Director, I believe going back without more time to develop an event point is a mistake.” Carpenter replied. “My analysts have only had a few hours, and there’s much more we can learn. Time is still on our side.”
“My decision is made,” Patterson said.
“Understood, sir,” Carpenter said, clearly unhappy with the response.
I nodded, mind still whirling as I tried to come up with a way to figure this out in the next six hours.
32
After the decision by Patterson, the meeting ended. There was no point in continuing to discuss and theorize. Carpenter and his team had a very few hours to come up with a perpetrator or perpetrators, or I was going to take a trip with nothing more than a data file for the Director’s review.
He’d concluded the meeting by giving Carp
enter directions to have one of his team put together a succinct briefing for his past self to deliver to the President. I guess it made sense. Deliver a warning and save the President. The threat wasn’t eliminated, but POTUS wouldn’t die.
My initial reaction had been to argue against the plan. I was remembering his response when I asked about warning the authorities of the terrorist plot against the school. He’d explained why that was a bad idea. At first I’d thought the same of this, but quickly realized the situations were very different.
If the President was saved, the information that did so would be tightly held. As secret as the whole Athena Project itself. No mention on the news cycle and no politicians or pundits making hay out of an assassination that never occurred. But the very idea of a Hellfire missile out there in the hands of unknown conspirators worried me.
What if they had more than one? Or something even more destructive? If this really was coming from the military, there wasn’t anything they didn’t have access to. That was a sobering thought.
So I go back and deliver the warning to the Director. He, in turn, contacts the President who changes his schedule. The plan to assassinate him doesn’t go into motion. But was it reasonable to believe that the people behind the plot would just say “oh well”, and forget the whole thing? Not very likely.
This was obviously a well thought out, meticulously orchestrated decapitation of the US Government. These were serious people with extensive power and resources at their disposal. Those type of individuals did not just roll over and give up because of a setback.
Sure, they’d be nervous when they found out POTUS changed his plans at the last minute. But they wouldn’t know why. The White House would have to come up with an explanation as there were so many members of the press involved. But if there’s one thing an administration’s press secretary can do, it’s shovel bullshit until it’s over your head. Some semi-plausible excuse would be given, and there wouldn’t be any reason for the reporters to look further.