by Bob Hamer
"I'll have to tell the Queen Mother."
"Do what you have to do."
"Do you want us to come there? Isn't that a little dangerous?"
"No, you need to come here. I'm not sure you will believe this. You need to see the truck. Call me when you're a minute out, and I'll open up the back. And Dwayne . . ."
"Yeah."
"I'm not sure how much time we have."
DR. U WAS WAITING in the parking lot behind the Russian Veil when Boris pulled up. The doctor jumped out of his Range Rover. "Are you ready?"
"Not here," said Boris exiting the Escalade. "Wait until we get inside."
Once they entered Boris's office, the Russian grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and offered one to Dr. U who shook his head. "You guys amaze me. You don't drink, but you'll blow up innocent women and children."
"No unbeliever is innocent. Is the truck ready?"
"It is ready. Are you?"
"Our man will be here soon."
"So now do you want to tell me the target?"
Dr. U offered an evil smile.
"I don't believe you plan on blowing up a truck in the middle of a K-Mart parking lot. What's the mission? We have no secrets."
Dr. U. continued his smile, "The Zionists are having a fundraiser. We plan on raising our own fun." The Syrian doctor laughed at what he believed to be a play on words.
"I thought the Germans told bad jokes. I'm not exactly sure you Islamic radicals have a future as stand-up comedians."
Dr. U frowned.
"Oh yeah, I forgot. You aren't a religious fanatic."
"Even American political correctness no longer insults our beliefs. Why must you persist?"
"I like to watch you pout. So what's the target?"
"Have you heard of the Maccabi Electra Tel Aviv?"
"No."
"They are from Israel."
"I'm not stupid. I didn't think they were from Sweden. The Tel Aviv kind of gave it away."
"It is a basketball team. They are coming Friday night to play a charity basketball game against the Los Angeles Lakers. All of the money will go to support the Migdal Ohr."
"And that is what?"
"The world's largest orphanage."
"Where?"
"In Israel."
"No, where are they playing?"
"The Staples Center. The arena seats twenty thousand. The event is almost sold out, and the sponsors are donating a thousand seats to the American military. Every Zionist supporter in Southern California will be there. Americans will long for the days of 9/11 when only three thousand infidels died. Fort Hood will merely be a hiccup. We will bring even greater devastation to the Big and Little Satan all in one massive explosion. We shall rain fire and death on the infidels."
"I bet right!" said a laughing Boris with a perverted joy in his voice. "How will you get the truck close enough to detonate?"
"We have carefully studied the building. We know where we must go. There is an underground entrance off Georgia Street. It will provide access to the belly of the structure. Inside, our people will secure the exits blocking anyone from escaping. We will succeed."
"Perfect. The C-4 will work better in an enclosed environment. The flames from the exploding fuel will melt the steel underbelly of the arena. Wow! Unbelievable, if you can pull it off."
"If Allah wills, we will succeed."
Boris smiled, "If Allah wills, I'll succeed."
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Matt tugged on the chains of the overhead garage door as it opened. He was getting pretty good at rapidly pulling the steel links and opening the door in seconds. Dwayne pulled in, and the Queen Mother followed with the ADIC in her passenger seat. Matt just as quickly lowered the door, allowing it to slam to the ground.
They sprang from their cars and hustled over to the military vehicle where Matt was now standing.
"What is this?" said Pamela Clinton.
"A truck," said Matt with a condescending tone evident to all but the Queen.
"So Matt, what's going on?" asked Jason Barnes.
"I'm not sure. That's why I wanted you and Dwayne to see this. According to Boris this thing is loaded with fuel. At first I assumed he was selling untaxed gasoline or smuggling in fuel without the state required additives."
"If that's true, I think it goes beyond the scope of the undercover operation. We need to get that corrected immediately," said Clinton, interrupting and continuing to look at the vehicle as if she were a patron at the children's museum.
Matt ignored her. "I overheard him mention on his cell phone a financial Armageddon, and he was getting out of the stock market at least for the short term."
"Sounds like he's expecting a major impact on the economy," said Barnes.
"We need to modify the scope of the operation," said Clinton ignoring the real issue.
Barnes looked at her and in almost a whisper said, "Give it a rest."
Pamela Clinton was stunned. Her face said it all. She was the special sgent in charge of the terrorism section of the Los Angeles Field Office of the FBI not merely some street agent. No one dare tell her to "give it a rest." Matt thought he saw her upper lip quivering and a tear forming. Oh for crying out loud, man up!
Jason Barnes made no effort to assuage the wounded pride of his SAC. More important matters demanded his immediate attention.
Matt said, "The truck is involved." He then bent over and signaled for the three to do the same. "Take a look at this." Matt pointed to what appeared to be a green rope running from beneath the truck bed to the cab. The rope was pulled taut and attached to the belly of the truck by several eye hooks. "That's det cord."
Matt straightened up and led Dwayne and Jason Barnes around the back of the seven-ton. The Queen Mother was still squatting, trying to look under the truck without getting on her knees. From her position she couldn't see what the others observed, "I'm still not seeing it."
All three ignored her.
The men stepped up on some improvised scaffolding Matt made on the side of the truck. He pointed to the base of both SIXCONS. Attached to each was a plastic box about the size of a Tom Clancy hardback novel. The boxes were somewhat concealed from overhead but visible if you craned your neck. The det cord observed from the belly of the truck fed into the plastic boxes. The men looked at one another without saying a word, gripped by the knowledge they were staring into the face of potential mass destruction.
Matt directed the two to the cab and pointed to the twelve-volt power receptacle on the dashboard. "A military seven-ton isn't going to have a cigarette lighter."
The Queen Mother finally caught up, still not finding the det cord or seeing the plastic boxes attached to the SIXCONS. "Why wouldn't a military truck have a cigarette lighter? Soldiers smoke."
All three ignored her.
"Do we need to get someone over here to dismantle this?" asked Dwayne.
"What?" said Pamela Clinton now circling the truck.
"I could get Warren and Holdanak over here," offered Dwayne.
"Are they back?" asked Jason Barnes.
Special Agent Tim Warren graduated from the Naval Academy, spent eight years as a Navy SEAL, specializing in explosives, and was a top expert on anything that went boom. He and his FBI partner Bill Holdanak, a former Marine Corps combat engineer, returned from a four-month deployment to Afghanistan where they helped train the Afghan National Army to disarm improvised explosive devices, commonly known as IEDs. The once crudely made bombs now gave way to highly sophisticated devices manufactured in Iran and Syria. Their expertise was welcomed by the American and Afghan military but needed once again by their employer, the FBI.
"They got home this past weekend," said Dwayne.
"Then get them over here. I susp
ect this is equipped to detonate upon command not impact," said Barnes. "It wouldn't take much to throw the economy into chaos even if this exploded in the middle of the Disneyland parking lot, but is anyone aware of some type of event scheduled this weekend?"
Dwayne shook his head as Clinton was still trying to come to grips with the issue at hand; the confusion on her face was hard to mask.
Matt thought for a moment without responding, then said, "The Staples Center."
"What about it?" asked Jason Barnes.
"An Israeli All-Star team is playing the Lakers in a preseason fund-raiser Friday night. I read this morning in the Times the game is sold out with a thousand tickets going to the military. What better way to strike a blow to the Crusaders and Zionists!"
"That makes a lot of sense, but how or why would Boris be tied to terrorists?" asked Barnes.
"Boris is a gangster capitalist," said Matt. "He'd whack his grandmother if the price was right. He's a fan of no one but himself."
"Get Tim and Bill over here, and let's get whatever this is identified," said Barnes.
Dwayne walked toward the hallway to place the call, fearful a cell phone might somehow detonate the device.
As Dwayne was walking, Matt hollered to him, "Remind them not to drive that four-door cop mobile over here."
Dwayne nodded.
When he returned, he said, "They'll bring the Expedition and be here in thirty."
Matt continued to eye the truck. "We can sit in my office until he comes. There's not much we can do here."
"Have you run a 10-28 and 29?" asked Barnes, referring to motor vehicle records for registration and warrants.
"I haven't called it in yet. I don't have access to a computer out here. He claims he bought it at auction," said Matt.
"He may have, but you know the Marine Corps. They don't survey anything unless it's on its last leg. I seriously doubt you can drive a seven-ton off the auction lot. You buy two or three and hope between the multiple vehicles you've got enough working parts to make one serviceable truck for the annual July 4 parade. Dwayne, get the 28 and 29 run. Let's try to figure out who this rig belongs to and if it's stolen. It might give us a lead or two," said Barnes.
"We really should get working on the paperwork to expand the scope of the operation," said Pamela.
"Good idea," said Matt almost imperceptibly shaking his head. "Let me put you up in the other office, and you can start the process." Pamela was shocked Matt agreed with her assessment of the problem and was willing to assist her. He ushered the SAC to the other side of the warehouse where a cramped room housed a small desk and telephone. Dwayne and the ADIC looked at each other and could barely conceal grins. The Queen Mother had no clue she was being shuffled off to Buffalo, a place many in L.A. wished she would land.
Matt unlocked the door and allowed the SAC entrance. Maybe a month of dust and cobwebs covered the desk and telephone. Matt grabbed a towel and began wiping, stirring up more mess than existed before his efforts. "Sorry about the mess. We never use this room, but it will be quiet so you can call D.C. and get the process started."
"Thanks Matt. You've really been helpful."
Matt closed the door on his way out and returned to Dwayne and the ADIC.
The three retreated to Matt's office and reviewed the surveillance tapes detailing Boris's activities as he modified the seven-ton.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Tim Warren and Bill Holdanak arrived before the top of the hour and pulled the Expedition into the warehouse. A chill wind blew through the open door portending the danger before them. Everyone exchanged pleasantries, but this wasn't the time for grips and grins. Matt filled the two in on Boris's latest actions and the review of the surveillance tapes.
"Where'd this guy get a seven-ton?" asked Tim.
"It was stolen from the Marine Corps Reserve Center in Encino yesterday," said Dwayne, who learned of the theft from the computer records check.
Tim walked around the vehicle, examining the exterior and crawling underneath. He touched nothing as he made his assessment.
"That's det cord running the belly of the truck and leading into the attached boxes. I don't see any obvious traps. Based on everything you've said, I think it's safe to take a closer look. If you guys want to go for coffee, we'll understand, but I'm not too worried about this thing going boom."
"But you never know," added Bill with a coy grin.
Pamela Clinton emerged from the dusty closet where Matt secreted her. He wasn't the only one who forgot she was still at the warehouse. A huge smile covered her face. "We got the expansions on the undercover project. We can continue."
All but the ADIC ignored her and said, "Thanks, Pamela, it's great to know we're on the right track administratively."
Matt faked sincerity, "Pamela, Tim was just saying he thinks the truck is safe, but there is always a chance for an explosion. We decided to stick around. We'll leave it up to you if you want to head back to the office."
He could see her swallow hard trying to come up with a way to extricate herself from a potential career-ending firebomb. She was at a loss for words, a situation which seldom arose. Several seconds of an uncomfortable silence filled the warehouse as she slowly pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Let me get back to Westwood. I'll get all the approvals and modifications in place. We don't want to give OPR any chance to second-guess us."
"I think that's a great idea," said Matt, rushing to open the warehouse door.
"I'll make sure the ADIC gets back to the office," said Dwayne.
The Queen Mother was out of there in a New York minute as the real work of the Bureau continued.
"At this point I'm more concerned with determining what we have than preserving a potential crime scene. Are we agreed?" asked Tim.
Everyone nodded as Bill stepped on the oversized rear tire and climbed into the bed of the truck. Tim followed. They both carefully examined the handle on the twelve-inch-cap on top of the SIXCON. There were no wires or attachments. Bill popped the handle and lifted the lid. The distinct smell of jet fuel permeated the warehouse. He dipped a foot-long wooden blade inside and pulled it out. The liquid had the oily consistency of kerosene-based jet fuel.
"This is JP8. The military uses it in the diesel engines of most tactical ground vehicles."
Bill then examined the contents of the second SIXCON. It was also JP8. The two containers held eighteen hundred gallons of a fuel which burns hotter than gasoline.
Tim squatted between the two containers and carefully snapped the top to the plastic box attached to the forward portion of each SIXCON—the contents, an off-white pliable substance resembling modeling clay.
"With both boxes I'm guessing we have at least a pound and a half of C-4. This will cause quite a bonfire for the homecoming rally," said Tim as he jumped down from the truck, "Any idea of the target?" asked Tim now crawling under the vehicle.
Matt said, "We think the Staples Center, Friday night."
With his right hand Bill rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking. "I'm not sure how they plan on getting it to center court, but C-4 works better than TNT in an enclosed area. Your guy knows what he's doing. When Ramzi Yousef put together the first World Trade Center bombing in '93 he used a Ford Econoline packed with ammonium nitrate soaked in fuel oil. In the Oklahoma City bombing McVeigh used over a hundred bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer, fifty pounds each. This is much more efficient assuming you can get close to the structure."
Tim emerged from beneath the truck. "It looks as though the det cord is linked to the power receptacle on the dash." He then opened the driver's side door and entered the cab. Peering underneath the dashboard, he assessed the situation, emerged, and carefully removed the cigarette lighter. Holding it up, he said, "This is the detonator. It's be
en modified for the twelve-volt auxiliary power plug. Push it in, and when it heats up and pops, the det cord is primed. Within seconds all this goes boom."
The five returned to Matt's office to discuss a strategy. Matt pulled a six-pack of Pepsi from the refrigerator and each took one.
"He's picking it up on Friday afternoon. We can assume they plan to detonate it Friday night, which makes the Staples Center a logical target. It doesn't make much sense to leave it parked in front of his house all weekend for an early Monday morning explosion. He's going to leave it here as long as he can until he needs it. I figure we have two days, but we need a plan, and we need to implement it soon," said Matt.
"This isn't the same as Dawn Platt's Nissan. We can't very well substitute another seven-ton," said Dwayne.
"I don't think we have to," said the ADIC. "First we need to install a tracker and a kill switch just to be safe. First thing Friday morning we have SOG sitting on this, and when the driver picks it up, we take it away."
"But you still have a moving bomb bouncing on the freeways," said Dwayne.
"Not if we substitute the explosives," said the ADIC. He looked at Tim, "Can you do that?"
"Sure, I can switch Play-Doh for the C-4. I use it all the time at the bomb tech seminars, and I've got training det cord in the Expedition."
"We can disable the detonator," said Bill.
"That still leaves eighteen hundred gallons of jet fuel in the SIXCONS," said Matt.
"We could switch them out and replace them with water," suggested Dwayne.
"That might take some slick maneuvering," said the ADIC. "I can call over to the reserve unit and see if they can accommodate us."
Matt balked at that idea. "We have to minimize the activity here. Boris may be back and forth protecting his bankroll. And I'm concerned how he got a seven-ton and two SIXCONS in the first place. I'm not sure you just drive off the lot at a Reserve Center. He might be in bed with the Marine equivalent of Fort Hood's Major Hasan; somebody over there may be playing both sides of the ball."