by Mark Terry
Pilcher stood before them and brought up a photograph of an apartment building on the plasma screen at the front of the room. “On October twentieth, a Bureau team in Islamabad, Pakistan, working a joint antiterror task force with the National Police, made a raid at this building. We had intel indicating there was a six-man al-Qaeda cell living there, making plans for some sort of attack on the U.S.”
Pilcher clicked a button on his remote and another photo came up, this one of the interior of an apartment. It was severely damaged, the walls and furniture scorched, at least three people dead.
“The raid was essentially successful. Although it was believed there were six men present in the apartment, only five were found. Four were killed during the entry. One was wounded and taken into custody. Unfortunately, one of our agents picked up a laptop computer that was booby-trapped with a small packet of plastic explosives. It detonated, killing him and wounding another agent.”
Pilcher paused, scanning the crowd. “There were a total of three laptop computers in the apartment. All three were booby-trapped. One was destroyed. One was damaged while being disarmed and only gave us partial evidence. The third laptop’s trigger failed to go off, was disarmed effectively and transferred to bureau labs and the NSA. It took us nearly two weeks to decrypt and translate the contents of the computers.”
Another click of the remote and photographs of two Toshiba laptops appeared. Another click and four faces appeared, three of them obviously dead.
“These are four of the cell. There was nothing recognizable of the fifth, who was shot in the face during entry.”
Pilcher paced over to a lectern and took a sip of water. His gaze scanned the room, lingering on Derek. Their eyes met and Pilcher nodded briefly before continuing.
Pilcher clicked another button and a memo appeared on the screen with the words: TOP SECRET written across the top.
“Each of you will receive a packet detailing the information found on the laptop. This is the front page of the NSA, CIA, FBI, DHS, NCTC, and ODNI report.” Pilcher took a deep breath.
“This al-Qaeda cell had plans to conduct an ambitious terrorist operation in the U.S. on November fourth, which I need not remind you is national election day. The files on the computer indicate they planned to conduct multiple attacks in five major cities using a variety of tactics—suicide bombs, dirty bombs, biological and/or chemical attacks.”
A woman raised her hand. Derek’s heart sank when he recognized her. Cassandra O’Reilly. She was an expert on nuclear weapons. They had worked together in Iraq as members of an UNSCOM inspection team. It had not gone well. She said, “Does this report indicate they have a small nuclear weapon in the U.S.?”
Pilcher shook his head. “It does not. However, the likelihood of a dirty bomb is very high.” He raised his hands in a hold-off gesture as the room began to buzz with conversation. “Please, let me get through the briefing. I’m sure you’ll all have questions.” He gestured to another agent off to the side of the room who began walking among the group with file folders. Each person had to sign for them as they were distributed.
Pilcher continued. “John’s handing out the dossiers now. These are top secret, people. Handle them appropriately.”
Derek received his file and signed for it. He didn’t bother opening it yet. He was waiting for the other shoe—or shoes—to drop.
Pilcher said, “The computer files do not indicate specifics about the attacks, although there is a vague indication it may be polling places, which does not narrow things down.”
Someone called out, “What cities?”
Pilcher sighed and nodded. “Five cities were indicated. Washington, New York, Dallas, L.A., and Chicago.”
More talking. Pilcher raised his hands again. “Nothing in the computer indicates which types of attacks are being planned for which cities. The Bureau, ODNI, and DHS have been alerted to this operation, from this point forward called Operation Daybreak. Local law enforcement has been placed on high alert, but no specifics have been given.”
Derek leaned back and closed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. It was obvious to him what was coming next and if he just opened the folder he’d have more details. But he didn’t want to get that far ahead. Instead he raised his hand.
Pilcher said, “Yes, Derek?”
“Why’d it take so long to get this out? It’s been almost two weeks.”
“It took a day or so to get the computers disarmed and transported to the U.S. Then it took time to get the computers decrypted and translated. The translations took some time. There were files in three different languages: Urdu, Arabic, and Farsi. Then it was analyzed and the various agencies had to settle on a coordinated plan.”
Pilcher scanned the room. “Okay. Here’s the plan, then. We have formed multiagency Special Terrorism Activity Response Teams from the bureau, Homeland Security, and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence. Each team will contain five members. Each member has a particular area of expertise relevant to terrorism activity. A member has been chosen to lead and coordinate that team’s activities. Each team will go to these cities and consult and work with the various bureau and DHS offices in locating and stopping these attacks from happening.”
A man with jet-black hair worn long for a federal agent raised his hand. “What about the sixth man?”
Pilcher nodded and brought up a slide on the screen. It showed the silhouette of a faceless individual. Below it was a single word: Kalakar.
“The sixth man was never described. He is believed to be the leader or recruiter of this particular cell. He is believed to be a Pakistani national. The only other thing we know about him is he goes by the name of Kalakar, which translates as the artist, or perhaps the craftsman. We don’t think it’s his real name and we have no idea why he has chosen the designation. Our people and the Pakistanis are trying to find out more. Although this has not been verified, they believe it’s possible he is now in the U.S.”
Derek raised a hand. “If the apartment was under surveillance, why aren’t there any photographs of Kalakar?”
Frowning, Pilcher said with a shake of his head, “The Pakistani surveillance team took a lot of pictures and video, but either Kalakar isn’t in them, or he’s so obscured that they’re useless.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”
Hesitating, Pilcher finally said, “It concerns me, yes. Please, let’s continue with our action plan.”
Cassandra O’Reilly raised her hand again. “Are these attacks being supported in the U.S. by al-Qaeda sleepers? Do we know anything about al-Qaeda teams already in these five cities?”
Pilcher nodded. “Good question. Yes, the computer files indicate there were al-Qaeda sleepers, or perhaps sympathizers is a better word, here in the U.S. who would be handling at least some of the preparations and support for the attacks. The individual attacks, as best we can tell, were going to be coordinated by Kalakar, and each one led by the remaining five in the cell. Those five were going to be involved with as-yet-unidentified operatives in the five cities.”
There were more questions, but Pilcher finally referred them all to the file they had received. “Good luck, people. And be safe.”
Derek tore open his envelope and pulled the file out. The top sheet said:
START TEAM BLUE
OPERATION: DAYBREAK
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Fredrick Givenchy (Captain, Navy, retired)
Office of the Director of National Intelligence
Counterterrorism
Cassandra O’Reilly, Ph.D.*
Office of the Director of National Intelligence
Nuclear/Radiological
Shelly Pimpuntikar, CPA, MBA
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Financial Intelligence
Derek Stillwater, Ph.D. (Colonel, Army, retired)
Department of Homeland Security
Biological and Chemical
Jonathan Welch
/> Federal Bureau of Investigation
Counterterrorism
*Designated Team Leader
He saw the asterisk and felt a sharp pain in his gut. Derek closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the woman in question stood directly in front of him. Blonde hair to her shoulders, blue eyes the color of gun metal, and an expression somewhere between rage and disgust.
“For the record, Stillwater, I don’t want you on my team. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. If the clock wasn’t ticking I’d protest, but we don’t have time for that. So let’s play nice.”
He stood up and stuffed the sheet back in the folder. Scowling, he said, “It says you’re with the ODNI. That true?”
O’Reilly nodded.
Derek nodded back. “For the record, O’Reilly, I don’t want to be on your team, either.” He walked out of the room.
CHAPTER 3
The chartered jet was well out of Washington, D.C. when Derek looked up from the file he was reading. It was a small Lear and with their gear and the five agents, not as spacious as one might have hoped. Despite the lack of room, they had split into two groups. Cassandra O’Reilly, Jon Welch, and Fred Givenchy clustered toward the pilot’s cabin. He and Shelly Pimpuntikar sat toward the back.
Shelly Pimpuntikar met his gaze. Slim and petite in a crisp gray business suit, the FBI agent was of either Indian or Pakistani descent, Derek didn’t know which. Voice soft, she said, “I don’t think they like us.”
He caught the same vibe. Flashing a smile, he said, “Well, I know why O’Reilly doesn’t like me. Why doesn’t she like you?”
Surprise spread across Shelly’s face. “You don’t know?”
“Uh, no.”
“I am originally from Pakistan. I am a U.S. citizen, though.” Her English had a slight accent, almost a lilt, that Derek found very pleasant.
“Ah,” he said.
“And I am a Muslim.”
“‘Ah’ again. Yes, well—” He wasn’t sure what to say, actually. He settled for silence, which often worked well for him.
“Why doesn’t O’Reilly like you?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. “We worked together in Iraq. We were weapons inspectors. We didn’t get along very well.” Not quite true. In fact, they had gotten along too well—and too often. Unfortunately, it was only later that she had told Derek she was married, a little factoid she had kept to herself during their time together. There were other issues, but that was one of the big ones.
Shelly Pimpuntikar’s large brown eyes were penetrating. “There is, perhaps, more to this story than you suggest?”
Derek nodded. “Perhaps.”
Shelly seemed to consider that. Derek glanced out the window. Cloud banks to the left. To the right he saw a large river, a wide meandering stretch of brown. He wondered if it was the Mississippi.
“And why,” Shelly said, “do the others not like you?”
“You’re rather forward, aren’t you?”
Shelly blinked, expression hurt. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean—”
“Let’s just say that my reputation probably has preceded me. I’m not known for being a team player.”
“You are a Homeland Security troubleshooter?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t think they were meant to be team players.”
Derek nodded again. “Then I’m very well suited for the job.” He gestured to the file. “What do you think?”
“I think it is a very large, complicated, ambitious, and expensive operation this cell had planned. Very expensive.”
Derek hadn’t given a lot of thought to the expense of the operation as he read the file. Shelly’s expertise was financial intelligence, called “finint” in intelligence jargon, so of course she had looked at the op from that point of view.
He was intrigued. “How much money?”
She frowned. “Five cities. It appears they are supporting a sleeper cell for logistics, perhaps aid and comfort, housing, transportation, documentation in each city, as well as operatives. I would say, conservatively, several hundred thousand dollars. Depending on how long the sleepers have been in the U.S., and what they are expected to do, it could run well over a million or two in U.S. dollars—for each city. In fact, I don’t know how this operation could be done without spending more than ten million dollars, U.S. Six members in the cell, they’re traveling to the states, and those figures don’t bring into account the weaponry. I don’t know much about biological or chemical weapons. Are they expensive?”
“Not particularly, but like most things, it depends. How big is the attack going to be? Sarin’s not terribly complicated to produce and if all you plan to do is lob a gallon jug of it into a polling station, then it’s not very expensive at all. The problem with biologicals, like anthrax, is getting and manipulating the actual cultures. But it’s not expensive. On the other hand, if you’re intending to rent several planes and dump several tons of it over a city, the expense goes way up.”
Shelly nodded. “Although Agent Pilcher said there was no evidence of a nuclear device, I find the references to a nuclear/radiological explosion to be rather vague. The nuclear device bothers me.”
“No shit.”
She shook her head. “No, not like that. It bothers me from a financial point of view. How much would a suitcase nuke cost?”
From the other side of the plane Cassandra O’Reilly said, “Millions of dollars.”
Derek looked up, startled that their voices had carried. O’Reilly said, “Let’s assume for a moment that this cell somehow got hold of a single suitcase nuclear device. One report suggested that al-Qaeda bought twenty of these in nineteen ninety-eight for thirty million dollars.”
Givenchy’s Texas accent was thick. “It was bullshit then and bullshit now. That claim was that Osama bin Laden bought them from a former KGB agent. It makes no sense that he’d have that many and not use at least one of them.”
“The point isn’t their possible existence,” O’Reilly snapped. “The point is a single one would cost about one and a half million dollars. At a minimum.”
They all paused to consider that. Derek said, “If I had only one of these to use, I’d probably plan on blowing it up by the White House when the president was home.”
O’Reilly said, “If I had five of them and they were functioning, I would try to blow them up simultaneously in five different cities.”
Givenchy said, “We’ve got, what, four different time zones in five different cities. That’s an interesting logistical problem if you’re trying to make a big statement in each city.”
Derek silently agreed. He was skeptical of the suitcase nuke concept. Too expense and too technical. But he found the psychology of this operation interesting. Election day and multiple attacks on polling stations. If it leaked, people would stay home and not vote, which would be a success for the terrorists.
But to really make the point, you would make it simultaneous, and that was a separate issue. Do it first thing in the morning so the polls shut down and the U.S. election was screwed up? Or do it at peak times? But there was a three-hour time difference between Washington, D.C. and Los Angeles. Peak times in D.C. might be first thing in the morning, but the L.A. polls wouldn’t even have opened yet.
Shelly apparently was thinking along different lines. She said, “The one and a half million isn’t a domestic transaction, correct?”
O’Reilly squinted. “Meaning someone in the U.S. paid for it from the U.S.?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“I wouldn’t think so. There are probably only two countries sophisticated enough to produce suitcase nukes, or nuclear mines—in the U.S. they’re called small atomic demolition munitions, or SADMs, and they were designed for use by Special Forces.” She looked pointedly at Derek. “Are you familiar with them?”
He nodded. “Not my area of expertise, though. Are they all accounted for in the U.S.?”
O’Reilly nodded her head, a
lthough the set of her jaw suggested she wasn’t 100 percent certain of that statement.
Shelly said, “So if we exclude the largest U.S. transaction—for the suitcase nuke—and I assume we have been trying for years to track the Russian nukes, then I will need to focus on finint related to the sleeper cells here in the U.S.”
Jon Welch spoke up for the first time, pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses. Round-faced and balding, he looked like everybody’s favorite uncle. “If OBL or AQ had a suitcase nuke, they would’ve used it a long time ago. I suggest we focus on the sixth man. The sixth man’s the one who pulls the trigger. That’s where I’m focusing my efforts.”
Everybody nodded in agreement.
CHAPTER 4