A Deeper Blue (ARC)

by John Ringo

  "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 the 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."

  "So you're saying you want sixty thousand people to act as bait?" Fisher asked. "Jesus Christ. That's cold."

  "I keep repeating myself and nobody listens," Mike replied. "I am not a nice guy. Want a suggestion?"

  "Right now my brain's sort of shut down," Fisher admitted. "So, sure."

  "Ask them," Mike said.

  * * *

  "Thank you for your cooperation," Fisher said over the announcement system. "I'll explain what just happened. Disney was informed that there might be an attack using disguised poison gas. But we weren't sure that would occur until just a moment ago, when the first can was discovered. When that happened, terrorists in the crowd attempted to use their cans to attack, well, you people."

  He paused as the crowd, which was back on its feet, sorted through that.

  "By checking the contents of their bags, we can now definitely state that all the men just shot by snipers were terrorists. And that should be most of them. But I cannot, and Disney cannot, guarantee that another attack will not take place. I have spoken to the head of park operations and we are trying to decide whether or not to shut down. If we do, all of you will be given a voucher for another day at the park. But I also know that some of you are here on tight schedules and this may be the only day you have this trip. So I have been authorized to ask you what you think Disney should do. I'd like a show of hands of everyone who is still willing to risk going to Disney
today."

  At first none of the multicolored throng reacted then a little girl down front raised her hand. After a brief discussion, her brother, sister and then parents raised theirs.

  Before long just about everyone in the slightly diminished crowd had their hands up. The few that didn't were headed for the exits anyway.

  "Okay, folks, we're still running the security check, but. . . Welcome to Disney World."

  * * *

  When Will and his family reached the security station, the checker waved them through.

  "You're not going to check our bags?" Will asked, holding out his backpack.

  "If you're terrorists, I'm a Nazi," the old woman who looked vaguely Jewish said, holding out a sheaf of tickets. "Everybody gets a three day pass, by the way. They're useable any time in the future. Please stay alert, though. We really are expecting another attack. The terrorists had the gas in those orange OFF cans. So if you have one, I'd suggest getting rid of it to prevent getting mistaken for terrorists by the men with guns. Other than that, have a good time."

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mike was not having a good time. Honestly, picking out people who were of "Middle Eastern" extraction was more art than science. For various historical reasons, many Hispanics had similar facial features. And there were a huge number of groups in the Middle East that didn't support Islamic terrorism, Lebanese Christians being the first that came to mind and descending through a list that included Druze and actual "moderate" Islamics. The guy at Wet and Wild had been one of those, pretty obviously. Mike made a mental note to ensure he wasn't thrown in jail; he'd acted damned decently, all things considered.

  But there were various cultural clues. Mostly they were the way that a person walked and body language. Most terrorists had not been in Western societies enough to have those clues completely erased. The 9/11 attackers had been smart in that they had worked, very hard, to eliminate all trace of such cultural clues. Mohammed Atta had been one smart SOB.

  So far, however, every one of the tangos they'd taken down had been pretty clearly right off the boat. They still had the Islamic Shuffle that came from always using slippers or pushing down the backs of their shoes. It just made sense when you were taking them off five times a day to pray. It was one of the things that Mike was looking for, pushed down shoes. Such a person was not, definitively, a terrorist. It just meant they were ardent Islamics and the second did not equal the first. But it was more than worthwhile to watch any such person.

  He was looking for other things, though. He was certain the third attack was going to be airborne. It was the best way to kill the most people with VX. So while he wasn't watching the sky, he was looking for people who were. People in Disney didn't spend a lot of time looking up; they were looking at the rides, at the shops, at maps. Anybody who was occasionally glancing at the sky was a potential terrorist. And if he found a guy with a canister in his backpack who had been looking at the sky, well. . .

  So far, though, no joy. He'd walked down Main Street, turned through Future Land and headed back on the loop through Fantasyland and up through Adventureland. In all that walking he hadn't seen anyone who really twigged his jitter meter. There were a fair number of Muslim looking people, including women in dhimmie scarves and men with the shuffle. But all of them were accompanied by kids. While it was conceivable that a terrorist would use kids for cover, so far none of the ones they'd taken down had been so accompanied.

  Pity that Orange County had collected the one terrorist they'd found. He could have gotten everything they needed out of the guy. So far, Orange County was getting nada. But he was pretty sure there was at least one that had gotten through. And he was going to find him.

  * * *

  Jamal sipped a cup of Coke in the Main Street Café, trying to look inconspicuous. He'd picked up enough of the conversation around him to know that most of the rest of the team had been taken down at security.

  He glanced at his watch, knowing that it made him slightly conspicuous, and wished the time would go faster. Another forty minutes.

  * * *

  Farzad checked the connections again then nodded at the two fedayeen at the pumps. They turned on the pumps and started filling the converted Piper Cub.

  Farzad had chosen the plane because it was ground transportable. It had been purchased in north Florida and driven to the industrial building near Eva where it had been parked for the last week. The doors of the building were large enough that the wings would clear when they were rolled up and there was a straight stretch of little used road in the industrial park. As soon as the plane was filled he could take off. But he was going to wait just a little longer. Everything wasn't in place, yet.

  * * *

  Joe Pallozzi had been a security guard at the Clearwater Air Park for about three months.

  A former deputy sheriff from New York he had come down to Florida hoping to get a job with either the State Patrol or one of the local departments. But a lot of cops got tired of the winters up north and the waiting list for slots was pretty long. While waiting for something to open up, he pulled down various security gigs working an average of sixty hours a week to keep ahead of the bills. He'd thought that upstate New York had a pretty bad cost of living until he'd moved to Florida. All sorts of people drifted to the Sunshine State expecting every day to be the beach. And a lot of them were young people willing to work for peanuts if they didn't have to go back to Bumfuck, Missouri. So wages were low unless you had a serious degree, while the cost of living was awful.

  So Joe hung out, hoping to get a sheriff's slot or something, and humping his tail off in security in the meantime.

  Despite only being at the airport gig for a few months, he'd come to know the regulars, and their planes, pretty well. He occasionally scagged rides and was half thinking about getting a pilot's license. A couple of the regulars had even let him take the controls for small bits.

  One of them was a judge, a former corporate lawyer, who lived up in Dunnellon. So when Joe saw a crew working around Mr. Morris' plane he got a little suspicious. He knew it wasn't up for maintenance any time soon. And sure as hell it wasn't supposed to be going anywhere. So when the guys pulled the chocks he started trotting towards it.

  One of the guys, both of whom were wearing blue coveralls, pulled out a device and opened the door. But it wasn't keys to the plane, it was a pick gun, a device used by locksmiths and car thieves. The fuckers were stealing Bob's plane!

  "Hey," he shouted, drawing the lousy .38 he was forced to carry. "Stop!"

  The guy still on the ground reached down to the big toolbox they'd carried over and pulled out a Czech Skorpion sub-machinegun.

  Joe realized he was totally fucked as he dropped to one knee. There wasn't a bit of fucking cover anywhere. He triggered two rounds from the crappy little revolver and was glad to see them hit.

  On the other hand, the fucker with the Skorpion had fired at the same time. The last thing Joe Pallozzi saw was the flash from the suppressor.

  * * *

  "Kildar."

  "Go," Mike said, looking around Adventureland. Families with kids. Teenage girls. Teenage boys watching the teenage girls. Fucking nada. Disney security was starting to clear the road for the afternoon parade and moving through the crowd was getting harder.

  "A plane has just been stolen from the Clearwater Air Park in Clearwater, Florida. That is just across the bay from MacDill Air Force Base. The plane is being tracked on radar and is heading for MacDill. SOCOM believes that this is the next attack."

  "Fuck," Mike snarled, drawing a look from a passing tourist. "What about the CAP?"

  "The current combat air patrol is four F-16s, operating out of MacDill. Two were over the Tampa Bay area but are east of the contact and are turning west. The other two were south of Orlando, covering the Orlando area. They are actually closer to the contact, so they have been vectored to intercept."

  Mike had heard the sonic booms in the distance a min
ute or so ago and filtered them out. Now he wanted to curse again.

  "It's a feint," Mike said. "Call SOCOM and get the damned CAP turned around. You can't rig a regular plane in a few minutes to drop this shit. It's a damned deception plan. Is there an AWACS up?"

  "Yes," Greznya said. "And we're getting the take from their local screens."

  "Keep an eye out for a liftoff soon," Mike said. "And make sure that Dragon is aware of the situation. Put all the teams on high alert; we're going to get hit soon."

  He looked around and blanched. The rides were emptying out as people gathered to pack along the street in anticipation of the parade.

  "Oh. My. God."

  "Kildar, what?" Greznya said.

  "The parade," Mike said, stepping under one of the barriers and starting to trot down the road towards Fantasyland. "Call Fisher. Tell him the target is the Parade."

  * * *

  Farzad started the engine of the Piper as soon as the three man ground crew pushed him clear of the big doors and turned onto the empty stretch of pavement. He had gotten the word that Gibron had gotten into the air. He would soon be a martyr. But they were all martyrs, now. He did not expect to survive the flight.

  The Piper nearly didn't make it into the air but it managed to claw upwards at the end of the road and over the low pines surrounding the industrial park.

  The flight time to the Magic Kingdom was only four minutes. It was a good time to pray.

  * * *

  "Kildar," Greznya said. "A contact has just appeared that is not a cleared aircraft. It took off from just off Florida Highway 33 and is headed for Disney."

  "Dragon?" Mike asked. He was at the square behind Cinderella's Castle and now sped up.

  "Already lifting off," Greznya said. "But she is out of position to intercept. She estimates she will reach the Magic Kingdom about the same time as the aircraft, but from the east instead of west. We anticipated that the attack would come from the Kissimmee area."