by Klaus Marre
The reporter arrived along with the food and Alan tapped his fork against the bottle in front of them. The chatter seized.
“Guys, I'm pleased to introduce Art Kempner. He’s just some guy who works with me at the Post,” Alan said, as though the Pulitzer Prize winner needed an introduction in this circle of political nerds. “He is the main reason why I'll be able to pick up the check for all of you tonight, so I invited him to our weekly conspiratorial gathering. Please take it easy on him.”
“Hear, hear,” the eight other men said and toasted to both Alan and Art.
“So, by 'Take it easy on him,' do you mean we shouldn't ask him about why he has never written about the black helicopter program?” a guy who looked like he was still in college and wore a George Washington University t-shirt, said. Everybody laughed.
“Something like that,” Alan smiled. He pointed to the aluminum foil wrapped around the man's burrito. “At least wait to ask until you can use that to make a hat so the government can't read your thoughts. We'd hate to lose you to some secret prison in Utah.”
Art, who knew from the moment he walked in that he would enjoy the evening with these guys, chimed in.
“You conspiracy theorists baffle me. Nothing you guys say ever makes any sense,” the reporter said with a straight face as the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Art extended the pause for as long as he could by letting his eyes sweep across the room before continuing with a grin.
“Everybody knows that you make the anti-brain reading hats from saran wrap, not aluminum foil, and that the secret prison is in Idaho and not in Utah. Duh!”
They all erupted into laughter that wiped out the tension from a moment before. The joke also let them know that they didn't have to be in awe of the great journalist.
“You guys just ask away,” Art added with a smirk. “Reporters are notoriously cheap. Normally, I have to write a fluff piece for a good meal like this, so the least I can do is answer some questions in return for fajitas.”
Alan gave his colleague a sad look.
“Famous last words,” he said, and then everybody started talking at once, asking the Pulitzer Prize winner about warrantless wiretapping, Guantanamo, extraordinary rendition, secret prisons and government cover-ups.
“For the record, even though this is off the record,” Art said, using a good reporter's customary caution, “I do not believe that the moon landing was staged, that the CIA killed Kennedy or that we blew up the World Trade Center.
“I do think,” he added, “that for every major story that we uncover, there are many cover ups that never get detected, regardless of whether it is a Democrat or a Republican in the White House. Just look at Clinton and Lewinsky or even Nixon and Watergate. Those things were more or less discovered by accident and there is a good chance neither of those scandals would ever have been reported had it not been for some fortunate breaks. I think that is a good illustration that every government at any time is engaged in some stuff that they don't want the public to find out about. And I believe that they are successful in keeping those things hidden in many cases.”
“Ha, you're totally one of us,” said the oldest man in the group, a guy with a full beard who looked like a more disheveled version of Karl Marx.
“Who knows?” Art replied with a wink. “I'll tell you guys another thing, though. I do believe that the public shouldn’t know everything and sometimes it’s good that our government keeps things secret. So I'm all for protecting the country by not revealing everything we do. But stuff like Watergate and the Lewinsky affair should come out.”
“So, has anybody ever asked you not to print something in the name of national security?” It was the kid in the GW t-shirt who asked the question.
“Twice, and both times we tweaked a story a bit, but we have never just canned a story. We try to make some of these determinations beforehand,” the reporter said.
The group began debating that point as another round of drinks arrived, with some of the men taking the position that elected officials are fully accountable to the public that put them in office and the others conceding that there may be instances where it could be harmful to allow the public to know all.
Then the reporter had a question.
“I'm really interested in conspiracy theories and I would like for each of you to name one thing that you think the government is covering up,” Art said.
The answers came pouring in, with many of the men expressing their beliefs that various aspects of the 9-11 attacks were not what they appeared, including that a missile had struck the Pentagon and that United Flight 93 had been shot down. Other conspiracy theories included that the government had helped flood New Orleans, that voting machines were fixed to rig elections and that the government added substances to the drinking water to make its citizens sick.
“Well, at least we can all agree that this week's attack happened,” Art said. He raised his glass. “I mean, our gracious host saw it happen.”
“Just because Alan sees something happen doesn't mean it really did,” said the GW student, mimicking somebody drinking from a bottle. “Saturday night, he was convinced that this hot brunette was into him. Turns out 'she' was a heavy metal fan named 'Chuck.' If I hadn't seen the crater myself, I would have said he was still drunk from the night before.”
They all laughed again.
“I actually don't think everything about that attack adds up,” the bearded man said. “I can't put my finger on it, but something doesn't seem right.”
“Come on, Rick, you say that about everything,” Alan interrupted the older man with a chuckle in his voice. “Last week alone, something didn't feel right to you during the episode of 'The Apprentice,' when you got a ticket for running a red light and when you thought your AT&T bill had been opened.”
That remark caused another wave of laughter. The bearded man raised his arms and added to the humor by maintaining that “the envelope was glued differently than normally.”
“Thanks for making my point, Steve,” Alan chuckled.
Art raised his arms, pleading for silence.
“I tell you what,” he said. “I think that people can find inconsistencies in most things that happen. Even with 'The Apprentice,' Steve.
“Something always seems odd or a little bit off, whether it's ahead of elections or when it comes to major events like assassinations or moon landings. So how about this: Since we all know that this attack is real because Alan was right there and witnessed it, let's all look for some things that don't appear to make sense. I don't want to discourage you from looking for conspiracies, but I do want to show you that there are oddities about everything, even events we are absolutely sure of.”
“We're gonna blow your mind, Mr. Skeptical. Just wait until we show you that the attack was actually a commercial for Coca Cola,” Steve said, and everybody laughed again.
“How about this, then,” Art offered. “We'll all spend some time trying to find something truly inexplicable or admittedly weird about this attack. Then we'll reconvene here in a few days and that time I'll pick up the tab. I think meeting you guys has given me a story idea, but I'll have to sleep on it. Of course it means you must keep your findings to yourself at first and not immediately post them on your blogs or twitters or whatever you have. And, of course, keep those saran wrap hats on so that the government doesn't find out that you're onto something.”
They all agreed that it sounded like a good deal and, after checking their schedules, decided to meet for another dinner the upcoming Sunday.
***
Shareef Wahed sat in his East Lansing apartment and once again went over the planned assault of the Braidwood nuclear power plant. He never used a computer for this, relying instead on handwritten notes that he kept hidden in his residence. The chance of anybody discovering the documents and making sense of them was practically zero. Somebody would have to tear apart his place to find them. If that happened, Shareef Wahed figured that he was under ar
rest or dead already.
The Government Accountability Office, back when it was still called the General Accounting Office, had put together a report for Congress on nuclear power plant security. The study had found that the reactors were generally extremely poorly guarded. While the U.S. government and power companies running the plants had done very little with that information, as-Sirat used it to build its grandest plan. Among other things, GAO had found that there were often only a dozen or fewer security staff on duty at these plants.
Seeing how many of these people were often poorly trained, the as-Sirat planners had felt that overrunning the defenses of such a plant would be the easy part of such a mission. The difficulty was in picking the right target and maximizing the damage.
While it was relatively simple to scout many buildings in the United States because they were so easily accessible to the public, getting information about nuclear power plants was more difficult. It had taken the group a year to pick the plant in the Chicago area as a good target. While most of the foot soldiers taking part in the mission would enter the United States from Mexico, the location would allow additional troops to quickly get to Chicago from Canada if necessary.
After picking a primary target, Wahed had moved into position by enrolling in Michigan State University, not too far from Chicago. He was not allowed to be part of the operation that did the surveillance of the Braidwood plant. Wahed was too valuable to arouse suspicion. His only job was to learn as much about these plants as possible to figure out how he could force a meltdown once as-Sirat had taken over the reactor. He was tasked to do this without ever coming to the attention of U.S. authorities. Wahed had followed his orders with great diligence, which was one of the reasons why the attack was just now ready to be carried out even though it had first been drawn up several years ago.
In order to find out as much about Braidwood as possible, some as-Sirat's sympathizers with citizenship in countries that allowed them to enter the United States without a visa had been tasked with firsthand surveillance of the plant. Over the past few years they had visited the Chicago area disguised as tourists, trying to gather as much information about Braidwood as possible.
In addition to those efforts, as-Sirat supporters in western countries had been asked to use the Internet to put together extensive files on hundreds of potential targets. Most of these sites were actually not being considered as targets because as-Sirat leaders felt it was important to lay as many false trails as possible in case the electronic surveillance efforts of the Americans became aware of these searches.
The files had been collected by couriers and brought to Andan on flash drives. As-Sirat did not trust e-mail and rarely used the tool to communicate. At a computer in the caves below the town, Omar Bashir and his planners had a cache of hundreds of pages of documents on Braidwood that they used to plan the assault. These included maps of the area, satellite images readily available online and highly useful for putting together an attack. The power company operating the plant had even put a document with emergency measures on the Internet, likely hoping to ease the concerns of those frightened of having a nuclear reactor in their backyard. It was just another piece that would help make the planned attack more lethal. Other documents that had been useful included the personal reports of the as-Sirat spies, promotional materials from the plant itself and many more.
Of the people who were already beginning to make their way to Mexico, three would have the information of how to carry out the assault, just in case the U.S. Border Patrol managed to arrest some of the fighters. If all three of the strike team leaders would be caught, two more stood ready to fly to Canada and cross the border to the U.S. from there. All in all, 50 men would try to enter the United States. Omar Bashir felt that half that number would be sufficient to easily take over Braidwood and defend the plant long enough to complete the task, but he anticipated that not all of the men would make it to Chicago.
If everything went wrong, even ten as-Sirat fighters might get the job done, but it was better to be on the safe side regarding the number of men needed. The as-Sirat fighters would have superior training and firepower. In addition, they would have the element of surprise on their side.
Omar Bashir had initially wanted to carry out the attack on America's Independence Day but the group was simply not ready and it had been agreed to push back the assault until the end of September.
Now, it looked as though the big day would have to be delayed even further because the United States would be on guard.
In Michigan, Wahed studied his notes. He was ready and would remain so until the mission received the green light. A feeling of nervous excitement had been building within him. Everything was coming together just right. Wahed believed there was an 80 percent chance that the mission would turn out to become a complete success. In addition, even if he didn't manage to melt down the reactor core, he should be able to bypass all security systems and release enough radioactive material into the air and the water to make the area around the plant uninhabitable for years to come. If the initial assault was successful, Wahed believed that as-Sirat would manage to kill tens of thousands of people, whether directly or slowly over years to come. Maybe they should carry out the attack on Thanksgiving, when Americans celebrated the beginning of the slaughter of an entire race and stuffed their faces. Surely, security would be at a minimum on that day as everybody would want to stay home and eat all day.
Wahed beamed. He would make Allah and Omar Bashir proud.
***
In the last of their daily calls, DNI McClintock briefed FBI Director Stevenson on the latest information. As reported by Art Kempner, the intelligence services had indeed unearthed evidence placing Hassan al-Zaid in Colombia not long after the attack.
He had apparently used yet another passport to leave the Bahamas to fly to Bogotá. McClintock had sent over a couple of pictures, one seemingly taken from an airport security camera and another by the camera in a hotel lobby.
It was beyond Stevenson to figure out how the intelligence services were able to get their hands on the images. He figured that there was not much point in asking McClintock because he would likely not get an answer other than “that's above your pay grade,” or “you don't have the security clearance for that.” It was part of the constant struggle between government agencies that were trying to protect their turf, their influence and their funding instead of being completely open with each other. Of course, Stevenson also felt a bit guilty for holding back information on establishing the task force that was supposed to look into the possibility of the terrorist having had accomplices. He justified that decision with wanting to get some preliminary results first before discussing the matter with anybody else.
Friday, 1:17 am ET
Bagram Air Base, Parvan Province, Afghanistan – The squadron of U.S. terrorist hunters from Fort Bragg returned to base from another mission. This time, the special operations forces unit had engaged some Taliban fighters on the Afghan side of the border near the Khyber Pass. It was a successful quick strike mission against a small number of fighters. Their superior fire power and tactics had prevailed and four Taliban fighters were killed in the assault. The others had scattered but would certainly be back. While it was important to keep the Taliban on their toes, the special ops soldiers were beginning to get restless. It had been a long time since they had carried out a meaningful strike against as-Sirat. With a new government in place in Pakistan that appeared to prefer alienating the U.S. rather than the radical elements within its own population, there had not been a cross border excursion in over a month, and common wisdom said that all of as-Sirat's leaders were safely somewhere in Pakistan. All the U.S. was allowed to do was to fly unmanned and unarmed drones into Pakistan, but there was no way they could distinguish terrorists from regular Pakistanis. All that could be done with the drones was to take pictures of different areas in which as-Sirat leaders could be hiding and check for irregularities. Without any clues and wit
h little help from the Pakistani government, it was like asking Mr. Magoo to pick a single person out of a crowd at a football stadium without being given a description of whom he was looking for.
Captain Ken Gorsula, who had led the mission, told his men to return to the barracks and rest while he went to the command center to report back. He also wanted to make a point to express that the men were growing increasingly frustrated with their mission assignments. They were the best of the best and had been sent to Afghanistan specifically to find and fight terrorists. Now, they were largely grounded or participated in small skirmishes with the often poorly equipped Taliban, a task that others could complete. Sadly, political realities had, in effect, clipped the wings of the 300 special operations forces soldiers at Bagram.
For Gorsula, the fight against as-Sirat had become a personal affair with the Washington attack. His mother had e-mailed to let him know that his godfather and uncle, a former Special Forces soldier and his inspiration for joining the military, was one of the victims. Gorsula had immediately requested leave, hoping to make it home in time for the funeral. With operations restricted to the Afghan side of the border, where things had been relatively quiet since many enemies had withdrawn to Pakistan, it was not like he was much use at Bagram anyways. He never anticipated that his request to go to the U.S. for a family function would be denied, but that is what happened.
Much to his dismay, Gorsula had been told nobody from special ops was allowed to leave Afghanistan at this point – undoubtedly the bone-headed idea of some suit in Washington. As though their lives didn't already suck enough. They had signed up for the special operations to do some good for their country, not to sit on their hands in Afghanistan while the terrorists were laughing their asses off in Pakistan. The guys were itching for action, Gorsula thought, and it was tough to keep them sharp in this state of limbo. Canceling all vacation requests had lowered morale even further, especially because there was no point to it. If they could not do what they were trained to do, why not let them go home and blow off some steam there.