9:00 P.M.: After an hour and a half of contention and no progress being made, Prime Minister Itamar Harkavy left the meeting in disgust. The prime minister had been given messages that the President of the United States wanted to talk to him and he couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer.
Prime Minister Harkavy arrived back in his office and had the phone call put through. “Mr. President, I’m sorry for not returning your phone calls sooner, but this action by the terrorists has our Parliament in turmoil. As you know, we’ve a no-negotiation policy with terrorists.”
President Conklin was in no mood. “Itamar cut the political grandstanding. My country is in grave danger. We have anywhere from six to ten million people who could be exposed to radiation. The property values in the area are almost one trillion dollars. It would become worthless overnight. We’ve an economy barely making it out of a major recession, could now tailspin into a depression overnight. We’re not the only ones venerable. Every nation will be affected if the United States has an economic disaster. I‘ve already placed our military on the highest alert and have declared a State of Emergency.”
“You’ve invoked Martial law?”
“Yes, and if the Israeli government does not cooperate I can guarantee you that the backlash from the American people will be quick and harsh. Your country has enjoyed support from the majority of Americans for over six decades, but all that could be lost in a second. I want concrete proposals from you by six o’clock tonight or all hell will break out.”
“Mr. President…” Prime Minister Harkavy was about to protest but all he heard was a dial tone. It’s times like this that I wonder why I wanted this job. It’s going to be a long night.
Washington, D.C.
2:30 P.M.: At the Branson household, Patricia was bringing food to the table for the Christmas dinner. Michelle Lieberman and Traci Schonfeld had joined Michelle’s parents for what was to be a quiet day. Michelle was on the phone with Adam Woljeski as soon as the terrorist attack was announced, making sure that all the MetroMax Security guards were on alert for any terrorist activity in Washington, D.C.
Traci was riveted by the television since the location of the attack in Boca Raton was aired. She turned to Michelle, very apologetic. “I can’t possibly eat any food now. I’m so worried about Daniel. I know he was planning to spend the holidays at the house.”
Michelle tried to comfort her by bringing a glass of wine when the announcer stated they were going to air the pictures of the three terrorists believed to be the ringleaders.
Michelle was walking across the room when she stopped, dropping the glass of wine. On the screen were the faces of Howard Lieberman, her exhusband, Jonah Meyerson and Daniel Schonfeld, now being called by their Muslim names, Abdul-Aziz al Hummos, Nasih Mahmoud Rahman and Rashad Ali Obeid. Dazed and bewildered, the women stood in complete silence.
Traci ran to the downstairs bathroom and vomited.
Ralph Branson kept muttering over and over, “It’s not possible, it’s not possible.”
Traci emerged from the bathroom shaking and Michelle was helping her to sit when the front door was breached with a battering ram followed by several members of the Washington, D.C. SWAT team, who rushed into the house brandishing submachine guns. The two women in the living room let out a scream as they were tackled and wrestled to the floor with their arms held behind their backs, handcuffed.
Patricia Branson fainted in the kitchen; her husband Ralph suffered a heart attack.
The two women were dragged from the house kicking and screaming. Michelle bit one of the SWAT team members as they were unceremoniously thrown into the back of a waiting armored vehicle and driven off to CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
In the Washington, D.C. area, MetroMax guards were being relieved of their posts by either police or military personnel and then arrested and brought in for interrogation. It didn’t matter if these men had stellar military or civilian careers before joining MetroMax. They were rounded up like cattle and whisked off to various CIA and FBI locations in the D.C. area to be interrogated.
Adam Woljeski was making rounds to various posts MetroMax was manning. He walked into a lobby of the National Museum and was promptly arrested after he punched out two of the DC policeman assigned to the building, thinking they were terrorists dressed as cops.
Bogotá
It was a typical Christmas Day in Colombia, with the celebration being held on Christmas Eve and lasting late into the night, finally breaking up in the early morning hours. They had spent most of the morning in bed, going to church late and arriving at Ronaldo’s home in the early afternoon. Maria’s children were watching television at Uncle Ronaldo’s. The broadcast had been interrupted with news of the terrorists’ photos being released in the United States.
Both children cried out, “Momita, Momita, venga a ver mi Papa esto en la television.”
Both Ronaldo and Maria walked into the room and stood captivated by the images on the screen.
Damascus
Johara Araff, Nasih’s aunt, after spending thirty years in London working for the Syrian embassy, had retired and moved back to Damascus. Her pension, based upon the salary she made in London, allowed her to live in luxury compared to other government workers.
Johara sat sobbing as she watched the television screen showing her nephew’s face. I grieved over his death in 1983. All this time I never forgave myself for giving Nasih the car. I was just a rook in an international chess game to be sacrificed for a cause. I’m relieved that he’s alive, but angry and hurt over his deceit.
Beekman Estates
3:30 P.M.: Jeff Grossman was supposed to take the WAVW broadcast vehicle into Beekman Estates for his interview with the terrorists. But ten minutes before he was to enter the community, several U.S. Army vehicles pulled up near the front entrance.
“Pan the area where the vehicles stopped,” Jeff told his cameraman.
“Turn off that camera. That’s an order.”
Jeff ignored the army commander exiting the jeep along with a group of soldiers. “Keep filming.”
The camera was knocked to the ground by surrounding soldiers.
“Who the hell are you?” Jeff protested.
Four of the soldiers raised their rifles, aiming at his head.
The army commander spoke to the group, which included Jeff, Captain Brenner and Sheriff Patterson. “I’m Colonel Oscar Westall from the United States Southern Command and I’m now in charge.”
Sheriff Patterson curtly asked, “What authority do you have to supersede our jurisdiction?”
“Authority given to me by the President of the United States who has declared a State of Emergency. The U.S. military is now in charge of all law enforcement activities regarding terrorists.”
Captain Brenner and Sheriff Patterson reluctantly turned over their command to Colonel Westall. Westall was a veteran of two tours of duty in Iraq and one tour in Afghanistan. He was a no-nonsense but headstrong commander who gave one hundred fifty percent of himself and demanded the same from his troops.
Captain Brenner told the Colonel, “We’ve received almost a thousand hostages from the community, mostly the very young with their mothers and the elderly. They’ve been sent to a local school and are being attended to. We’re ready to send in a television crew asked for by the terrorists and we hope to film the interior of the building to assess the terrorists’ abilities. We know they have sharpshooters placed strategically around the community, but we haven’t been able to spot them.”
Colonel Westall paused for a moment then announced, “I’ll allow the television crew to go in. Maybe the interview will divulge something about the leadership that we can exploit. We’re equipped with infrared scanners, which will allow us to identify the location of the sharpshooters. I want to determine if an assault on the terrorists is possible. Let’s get moving.”
Washington, D.C.
4:50 P.M.: The meeting was still going on in the Situation Room. President Sta
n Conklin addressed the attendees. “My Chief of Staff, Donald Kowal, will be giving an update on the evacuation.”
Donald rose to his feet to address the meeting. “We were hoping for an orderly evacuation from Central and South Florida using the Army reserves and National Guard, but due to the holiday, it is very difficult to mobilize these units quickly. When word got out that the two nuclear reactor sites were under terrorist control, people panicked and started leaving the area. Unfortunately, many couldn’t find gas stations open because of the holidays and have tied up the stations that are open with long lines. There have been reports of gunfire and shootings and the limited law enforcement personnel on duty have their hands full. The gas stations along the Florida Turnpike are open and the lines stretch some two miles south, tying up one lane of the turnpike. At least these gas stations are manned by the Florida Highway Patrol and they are controlling the crowds.”
On the screens, scenes of chaos were being projected from various television stations, as Donald spoke, “The airports, Miami, Fort Lauderdale and Palm Beach have been overrun by people trying to get out. Being Christmas, they don’t have many flights scheduled. We’re working with all the major airlines to have planes brought in from other areas to move as many people as possible. We’ve a huge demand for flights to South America. We’re trying to spread the U.S. passengers amongst the East Coast airports and of course Atlanta, Georgia. The airlines have been contacted and told they can’t charge any more than ninety-nine dollars a person for the one-way ticket in the United States. But we can’t expect to move millions of people by air; it’s a physical impossibility.”
Donald looked at the faces in the room as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. It’s apparent that the enormity of the problem is just hitting home. “Hospitals and nursing homes are another problem. They have special needs and the staff that’s on duty is finding very few of their co-workers coming in to replace them. Locating the buses to help evacuate these facilities has proven to be a problem. The majority of companies are closed and we can’t contact the owners. We’re making appeals over television and the emergency broadcast system for those owners to contact us by a special FEMA 800 number and to have their equipment available. Unfortunately, those who have offered are having a hard time getting drivers, since many are leaving the area. The infrastructure of Central and South Florida is in a meltdown.”
“Poor choice of words,” muttered the president.
Beekman Estates
5:30 P.M.: Jeff Grossman was tense as the WAVW broadcast vehicle drove up to the main gatehouse of Beekman Estates. The terrorists inspected the vehicle three separate times before allowing it to proceed to the clubhouse. Arriving at the clubhouse, two more terrorists inspected the vehicle and strip-searched the three men for weapons, even checking the inside of their camera equipment. Satisfied, they were led inside to meet Nasih Mahmoud Rahman. Abdul-Aziz and Rashad left, deliberately avoiding being televised.
Nasih was clean-shaven, well tanned and dressed impeccably in a navy blue pinstriped suit, white shirt and dark red tie. He opened the interview by listing again the demands for his people that were presented earlier in the day. Next he brought the television crew into the auditorium where over eight hundred men were now sitting naked on the floor.
With a wave of his hand encompassing the room Nasih said, “As you can see, we’ve taken the clothing from these men to make it harder for them to escape and of course to humiliate them, just as their Zionist brothers in Israel have humiliated the Palestinian people for the past sixty years.”
Nasih pointed to the walls and told the cameraman, “Make sure you film all the explosives we’ve placed. Similar rigging has been done in the dining room where the women and teenage girls are being kept and the fitness center where the teenage boys are now being held.”
Nasih looked directly into the camera as his hands tightened into fists. “We’re humane enough to feed our captives one meal a day along with sixteen ounces of water. When the Zionist’s purged our parents and grandparents from their homes and land they were fed nothing!”
Jeff Grossman jumped when Nasih shouted “nothing.”
Nasih, controlling his emotions continued. “My demands must be met or the people you see here and in the other areas under our control will be sacrificed. I want answers to my demands by eight o’clock tomorrow morning or I’ll start executing my hostages. That’s when my benevolence will end.”
Nasih motioned to stop recording. “Go broadcast the tape. I’ll be watching to see the world’s reaction. You’ll stay as my guest tonight and join the other men in the auditorium.”
Jeff Grossman and his crew were ushered out to the broadcast vehicle where they aired the tape. Afterwards Jeff said, “The crew and myself are also hostages and I can only hope and pray that an agreement be reached to prevent a catastrophe. I love you, Jane. Please give the girls a hug for me.”
6:00 P.M.: Darkness fell on Boca Raton as the terrorist snipers viewed the activity of Colonel Westall’s men with their night vision goggles.
The colonel barked commands to his Sergeant Major Barry Paxton. “Take four men with the mini thermal imaging detectors and position them on the roofs of the communities across from Beekman Estates as spotters. I want a complete report of terrorist positions within thirty minutes.”
As the soldiers were getting into position, the terrorists at Beekman Estates were lighting gas lanterns under wire frames. They placed a large burlap bag with a small hole at the top on a wire frame. This appeared to the infrared imaging devices as a large thermal signature and would interfere with detection. Spotting the terrorist snipers was made harder by their use of a specially designed survival bag that didn’t transmit a heat signature.
After making the rounds to several of the army snipers, Sergeant Major Paxton came back and reported. “Colonel, they’ve placed large heat sources around the community, making it impossible to detect the terrorist’s positions.”
The colonel was fuming. “How the hell did they know how to defeat our infrared sensing equipment? I want two snipers to open fire on any heat signature they see.”
“Don’t you think that’s a dangerous tactic?” asked the sheriff. “What if they decide to kill the hostages in retaliation?”
The colonel was insistent. “Don’t you two realize these hostages won’t be coming out alive? Were you watching the bloodshed in the Iraq war when hundreds were killed without care if they were women or children? They even set off bombs with their own children inside the vehicles as decoys. You’d better face reality; these hostages are as good as dead inside those buildings and our only hope is to rush in and try to save as many as possible.”
Captain Brenner and Sheriff Patterson could only shake their heads as they walked away from the colonel.
The first army sniper took aim and fired upon an infrared image as ordered.
The terrorist sharpshooter sighted the army shooter with his night goggles. He squeezed off one round of a 50-caliper hollow point bullet, hitting the army sniper in the head and literally blowing him off his perch. The same fate befell the second army sniper who fired upon an infrared image.
Sergeant Major Paxton ran into the command center. “Sir, they just shot two of my best men. Goddammit, I don’t know how they spotted them or what kind of ammo they’re using, but one of my men had half of his head blown off. I’ve ordered the rest of the men to stand down for their own safety.”
The colonel’s face went beet red. He paced the floor back and forth several times contemplating his next move. “Prepare four platoons to make an assault from each side of the community. We’ll make a move against them in the early hours of the morning.”
“Sir,” the sergeant major replied, “that’s one hundred sixty men. We only have two hundred men.”
“I don’t give a damn if we use all two hundred. We have to hit them now. The longer we wait, the weaker we appear, and the hostages will be in greater danger.”
CIA He
adquarters
7:30 P.M.: Michelle and Traci had been under intense interrogation for several hours at the Langley, Virginia site. Both proclaimed their innocence and blatantly denied any connection or knowledge of the terrorist activity by their spouses.
Jack Shelby arrived at Langley as the two women were taking their polygraph tests. He was working with several agents to put together a timeline of the three terrorist leaders: when they arrived in the United States, their activities and the business they were involved in. The ability to deceive every U. S. agency whose responsibility it was to prevent illegal activity was astounding. They hadn’t only beaten the system they became part of it. Even in the Cold War with Russia, no one had infiltrated the United States so completely and gone undetected for over twenty plus years.
Jack was the last to interview the two women and after half an hour of interrogation each, he was convinced they had been duped along with everyone else. He still held them in custody and would use them as pawns if he could.
Michelle and Traci spent the night in separate and isolated jail cells, trying to sleep on a plastic-covered mattress placed on a cold stainless steel bed with only a thin blanket for cover. The lights were never shut off. They shivered through the night not only from the cold, but also from apprehension.
The Third Cell Page 40