by Kurt Winans
Those seated at the table fell silent once again, and their inadequacy in responding to the question at hand was ill timed. Sensing that his input would be welcomed to break the deafening silence, Agent Bishop broke protocol and spoke up. He said, “Excuse me Mr. President, but I may be able to help with that question.”
Turning around, the President said, “Well based on the fact that no one else in this meeting appears to be able to answer my question, then by all means Heath, please do so.”
“Yes sir. Once we had you safely aboard Air Force One, I made phone contact with a local agent still on the ground at Husky Stadium. He made no mention of an attack, nor did my direct supervisor in D.C. when I spoke with her a short time ago. I can’t confirm at this time that the University of Washington was spared, but the evidence would suggest that it has been sir.”
Shifting his gaze toward those at the conference table, President Harwell then added, “Agent Bishop appears to have made a logical conclusion, but we still need confirmation.”
One of the men at the table signaled to his aide, and she ran out of the conference room. Then he said, “We will get confirmation on that for you as quickly as possible sir.”
Agent Bishop then interrupted again and added, “Mr. President. Since the attack on West Point was accomplished with the use of parachute jumpers, and there is a planned jump into Husky Stadium at halftime, may I suggest that we contact whoever can cancel that jump as a precautionary measure?”
Turning once again to face the conference table, the President said, “Agent Bishop has made an excellent suggestion. Can I assume that one of you will follow up on it immediately?”
Another man at the table picked up a phone with a direct link to the communication center up near the flight deck. Then he said, “This comes directly from the President, so the message is priority number one. Make contact with the flight crew of the helicopter heading toward Husky Stadium, and order them to abort the parachute jump. We are very short on time, so you must act quickly.”
After a nod of approval toward the staff member, President Harwell looked at his watch and said, “I hope that we aren’t too late.”
Then agent Bishop spoke up again by adding, “Mr. President. Although aborting the jump is the prudent move with regard to safety for all those within Husky Stadium, as a result of that action, we still won’t know if you were an intended target for some time.”
Turning again to face agent Bishop, he replied, “Expand on that thought please.”
“Yes sir. If the jumpers for Husky Stadium are part of the same terrorist movement, and aborting that jump has foiled their intended plans, then they could attempt to use the helicopter as a weapon by killing the flight crew and crashing it. That is unless they have already killed the flight crew and one of them knows how to fly it. Then the possibilities of damage are magnified.”
“I understand Heath, so what do you suggest?”
“Well sir, they could follow such a course of action and then we would know that you were most probably an intended target. The downside for them by doing so is that it would tip their hand, and that cell, if it is one, could never be used again for anything of significance in the future. On the other hand, if they don’t crash the helicopter, and return to base with nothing more than questions of why they had been aborted, that would imply innocence on their part. With their jump scheduled for some time between ninety minutes and two hours after those who hit West Point and the other academies that would seem logical, as they would have no element of surprise to rely on. As for me sir, I would still caution on the safe side by taking the appropriate measures. Having said that sir, I suggest that we detain the jumpers and the flight crew for questioning even if they return directly to their base. That could help us to determine if they are one aspect of the larger terrorist act that included you as a target, or completely innocent of any wrong doing. Additionally, I would have Dr. Plummer from the University of Washington interviewed by the local FBI. Perhaps it is nothing, but he was eager to have you stay in the stadium suite when we were preparing to evacuate you.”
After nodding in silence toward agent Bishop, President Harwell reversed his pivot to stare directly upon those gathered around the conference table. Then he said, “Agent Bishop has expressed some keen insight into this matter, and we should act upon it accordingly. We shall wait to see what course of action the helicopter bound for Husky Stadium takes in order to help us determine if I was, and perhaps still am, an intended target. In the meantime, place a call to the FBI field office in Seattle so that Dr. Plummer can be spoken to. While all of that is going on, let’s attempt to discover exactly who was a target at the various military academies, and why.”
Shortly after President Harwell and his entourage had been safely greeted by an escort of four fighter jets from The Oregon National Guard unit stationed at the Portland International Airport, Major Bates and Captain Scribner were finally given permission from the tower to land their two helicopters at Albany International Airport. Per the orders of the Governor via the White House Chief of Staff, the commanding officer of the local National Guard unit of New York had a squad of troops in position to detain the two flight crews.
During those several minutes of not understanding why they had been kept at bay in a hovering position facing away from the hangar facility, Major Bates heard a strange statement over the headset from a crew member positioned in the rear portion of the craft. The young man had always been a reliable sort, and had played an integral part in assisting jumpers as they prepared to bail out, but what he was conveying in the present moment made no sense at all. He had just added to the mystery of the unusual delay by exclaiming, “Major Bates sir. There are some soldiers on the ground forming up on our six, and they are all pointing their weapons at us!”
With an inquisitive look on his face, Major Bates replied, “Say again.”
After leaning his body further out from the open door for confirmation, the enlisted man replied, “Yes sir. I can see eight men formed into a semi-circle pattern just behind our position, and their weapons are trained on our undercarriage.”
Turning to his co-pilot, Major Bates then said, “I think that the corporal needs some time off.”
After a smile and an agreeable nod, his co-pilot then purely as a victim of curiosity glanced over his right shoulder toward an area behind the two helicopters. Behind the tinted visor of his helmet, his eyes instantly grew larger as he stared in disbelief. Without returning his gaze toward Major Bates, he clicked on his microphone and said, “Sir, I can’t see behind us to confirm the corporals claim, but I can see a group of eight like he described in a position behind Captain Scribner’s bird.”
Now more baffled than before, and thoroughly concerned, Major Bates increased his tone when he questioned, “So first we were told to hold our position, and now there are ground personnel with weapons trained on us. What the hell is going on down there?”
His question would be answered soon enough, but the answer was less than comforting. After landing, powering down, and then completing the post flight checklist, the crews of the two helicopters heard an unusual request. The lieutenant in command of the ground troops said, “Major Bates and Captain Scribner, please step out of the helicopters and place your hands on top of your heads immediately. When instructed by me both of your co-pilots will do the same, and then we will tend to the crew members stationed in the rear compartments.”
Although amazed by the request, with sixteen National Guard troops training their automatic weapons upon them, Major Bates had little recourse but to comply. As soon as the Major stepped down from the helicopter, Captain Scribner followed suit from the other craft. Then with hands on head Major Bates asked, “What’s the problem lieutenant?”
“Sir, I have been ordered by the governor of New York to escort all of you into the hanger. You are to be detained until federal agents can interrogate you.”
“Detained and interrogated, for what purpose lieutenant?”
&nbs
p; Removing his sidearm from its holster, the man in charge of the moment replied, “I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you sir, but all of you must come with me.”
Once again understanding that he and the two crews under his command were in no position to resist the young lieutenant and his band of potentially trigger happy soldiers, Major Bates attempted to calm the situation. With a non-threatening tone he asked, “Very well lieutenant, we will come with you to the hangar. But must it be done with all of my men under gunpoint?”
“Those are my orders sir, so that is what I will do.”
While Major Bates was attempting to fit the pieces of his own puzzling scenario together in New York, a chase of sorts was underway just to the west of Annapolis Maryland. Glen Avenue had been chosen as a direct route away from Navy Marine Corps Memorial Stadium toward route-450, or West Street as it was also known. From 450, access to highway-50 or the smaller route-2, could then be easily attained. Adhering to the pre-determined plan, the white van headed for highway-50 and their westward movement toward Washington D.C., while the red van, with five men in the back, and the other vehicle with the additional three turned south onto route-2 leading toward Londontown.
As the men in the red van had nearly completed changing into their civilian clothes, one of them kept a close watch on the roadway behind through the rear tinted window. Then he loudly asked the driver, “How much longer until we reach the exchange point?”
Matching his volume she replied, “We’re almost across the South River now, so five minutes tops at this speed.”
Having seen a set of flashing lights in their distant rear which had facilitated the need for his question, he then urged, “Well it looks like we have state troopers on our tail. They are still back there quite a ways, but you better pick up the pace a little.”
Trusting his word without debate, she honked the horn twice to warn their partnering escape vehicle and stood on the accelerator with a little more emphasis. The gap between them closed briefly, and then the other car increased its pace as well. Having substantially less weight and mass to hinder the acceleration, the lead vehicle was soon far ahead of the van and would remain so until they reached the exchange point. A moment later, while speeding past the small local airport, the driver of the van said, “Hang on everyone, we have a right turn coming up onto Southdown in a few seconds.”
The men in the back, who had already gathered their jumpsuits, face shielded helmets, boots, and surgical gloves into several large easily combustible bags, braced themselves. Then after she had completed the hard banked turn one of them reported, “We are all set when you are.”
She replied in kind, “Good. Get ready for a left turn in a few seconds, with a right almost immediately after. Then we will have another left about twenty seconds after that, so we should be at the exchange point in less than a minute.”
When she skidded to a stop shortly after completing the series of turns, she spotted the group of vehicles they would transfer into and the one that had fled from Annapolis just ahead of her van. The driver, and the three members of the attacking force that she had picked up, were already out of that car, while the drivers of the others were seated and ready to go. As the doors to the van were flung open, the men brought their bags of gear over to toss them inside with the others. Then a driver from one of the four getaway vehicles waiting to pick up the group of ten asked, “How long do we have?”
The man who had been peering through the back window of the van replied, “Very little, perhaps only a minute or two if the state troopers get lucky with their choice of corners to turn. Just to be safe, let’s set the Fugas bombs for two minutes and get the hell out of here.”
The two Maryland state trooper units that had been in distant pursuit of the red van and car from Annapolis had separated once they arrived in Londontown, and had thusly begun a systematic search in quest of the assailants. Turning onto Southdown Road, and just like he had done back at the corner of West Street and route-2, one of the troopers stopped and rolled down his window. Then he asked a pedestrian, “Excuse me sir, but have you seen a red van driving by within the past few minutes?”
The man responded while pointing at the intersection roughly two-hundred yards in front of the trooper’s car, “Yes I did officer. A red van going very fast turned left in front of me as I was stepping off the curb, and then it turned right at the next corner.”
With that the officer picked up the microphone for his radio and said, “I have a citizen who has spotted the red van turning off of Southdown Road, I’m moving to investigate.”
When the man asked, “What’s going on officer? Did the woman driving the van rob a bank or something?”
The trooper replied, “A woman? Are you sure about that sir?”
“Yes officer, I’m sure. What has she done?”
“I’m sure that you will hear about it soon enough, but she is part of something much worse than robbery.”
“Well I hope that you catch her officer, for whatever she did.”
“I hope so too, and thanks for your help sir.”
As the trooper drove away to continue his search with newly discovered information, he also kept an eye out for any women that might be walking along the streets. Turning left and then right onto Stewart Drive as his most recent witness had instructed, he soon came to a T-intersection at Locust Street and glanced to his left. He had found it. Parked about one hundred yards away on the grassy right hand shoulder of the road was the red van, but before he could pick up his microphone to call it in, the van suddenly lurched upwards a foot or two with a brilliant flash from within and came back down harshly on its springs. Thick smoke began to billow from various seams of the doorways, and seconds later the process repeated when a car in front of the van began its own similar death throws.
Then after turning left and rolling forward slowly with his window still down, he could feel an increase in the heat. The trooper stopped his unit, and called in, “We need fire and possible ambulance at the corner of Stewart and Locust. There have been two vehicle explosions, and it is unknown at this time if anyone was inside.”
As that call was being placed, the four getaway vehicles, with either two or three new passengers in each, moved south along Pike Ridge Road and spilled out onto route-214 while maintaining a non-alarming pace. At that junction, they all headed west to the intersection of state highway-301 where two of them turned south. The other two remained on route-214 until reaching the capital beltway, and then used the southern portion of that major freeway to cross over the Potomac River and into Virginia. Although the first two also eventually accessed the beltway via route-4, they were not grouped within miles of the other pair.
The white van that had sped from Annapolis along West Street to highway-50 was having issues of its own. Local police and state troopers that were stationed near the stadium at Annapolis were receiving reports from a handful of witnesses stating that they had seen a group of people in flight suits and helmets entering a white van on Farragut Road. Although the reaction time had been slower than those who had pursued the group of assailants toward Londontown, there had still been an alert put out to all law enforcement agencies with regards to a white van. Fortunately for the six men, who all but one had completed changing into their civilian attire, and the two women positioned in the front seats, they had the means to discard the white van. That of course, was contingent upon them reaching the exchange point still a few miles to the west just off of highway-50.
With his own gear now stowed in one of the combustible bags, an attacker asked the man who had been shot in the arm, “How does it feel?”
While grimacing with pain as he attempted to remove his jumpsuit, he replied, “Not good, and I can’t move it very much.”
Then from the front passenger seat, the driver of the sacrificed blue van asked, “How bad is the wound?”
Another of the attackers who was looking at the wound replied, “Well, the bleeding doesn’t seem to be too ba
d at the moment, but I can’t see much with his jumpsuit on.”
Unclipping her seatbelt, she moved toward the back of the van while stating, “Someone take my seat up front. I need to cut his sleeve and jumpsuit open.”
A moment later the collective had the man undressed and his gear was stowed with all the rest in the combustible set of bags. He was ready to change into civilian attire as soon as the bleeding could be stopped. Working efficiently as trained to do so in west Texas, the alternate driver tended to the wound. Then she said while wrapping it with a torn piece of her long t-shirt, “That should take care of the bleeding for the moment, but the bullet must still be in there because I can’t find any exit wound. Does anyone know who shot him?”
The man now in the front seat replied, “It was a state trooper, but he has been neutralized.”
“A state trooper huh? That means he was probably hit with a hollow point round. Based on that, his pain level, and the inability to move his arm freely, I also think that the bullet struck the bone and broke it.”
With a nod of comprehension, the man who had assumed the front seat said, “And what about him?”
Turning her attention to the man who had been beaten by the brave civilians, she asked, “How do you feel?”
While having already changed clothes during extreme discomfort, the man was flat on his back in the cargo area of the van. Looking over he replied, “Not too bad considering, but I do have a lot of pain in my lower back, stomach, and especially in the ribs.”
Then the driver announced, “We’re coming up on our exit. Three or four minutes to the exchange point.”
Pulling into the large parking lot of a shopping center, the van approached the two awaiting sedans and parked directly behind them. As the men began to exit, the driver asked, “How long should I set the timer for?”
“Let’s give ourselves plenty of time to get clear of the area. How do you feel about ten minutes?”