by David Spell
If he kept to his schedule, the team would attempt to implement Scenario A in the next few days. Clark had asked McCain to try and capture the terror mastermind ASAP. After the deadly incident in D.C., time was of the essence. The first order of business, though, was to make sure that the Palestinian was keeping to the same schedule. They would monitor him for a couple of days to make sure he was still on his routine.
As the four men and two women discussed their plan for tailing the diplomat when he left the UN compound later in the day, Chuck’s phone vibrated with an incoming call from Kevin.
“Hey, bud,” McCain answered. “We’re sitting here in this nice apartment you’re letting us use to finalize our plans for the day.”
“Turn on the TV! There’s been another attack.”
TRENTON, NEW JERSEY, MONDAY, 0820 HOURS
“This is going to be a busy week!” Josh Matthews commented, pulling the rental SUV into the courthouse’s underground parking deck. The training director for the Mercer County Sherriff’s Office, Major Tom Wilson, had given them the code to allow them access.
Matthews and Estrada had flown in the night before to be prepared for the early start. They were wearing their regular instructor’s gear: black BDU pants, a gray polo with the Century Tactical logo over the left breast, and black boots. They were also wearing their tactical leg holsters and Glock pistols. As SWAT instructors, they always demonstrated every tactic and technique that they taught.
“I think you’re right,” Rafael “Hollywood” Estrada nodded from the passenger seat. “They’re going to be getting their money’s worth out of you and me, amigo!”
A tall heavy-set man with white hair and a white goatee was waiting for them, puffing on a cigarette. He was in the uniform of the day, brown pants with a gold stripe and a gray polyester shirt. His gun belt was polished to a shine. The oak clusters for the rank of major were on his epaulets. A SWAT pin was also visible on his right shirt pocket.
“Major Wilson?” Matthews asked, exiting the vehicle and sticking out his hand. “I’m Josh Matthews and this is Rafael Estrada.”
“Good to meet you, come on in,” he answered, shaking their hands.
Wilson’s long strides led them inside and down a maze of corridors. Josh and Hollywood had to work to keep up with the major. He spoke as fast as he walked.
“We’re under the courthouse. The SO’s headquarters is on the other side of the building. We’ll go over there and have a cup of coffee and chat. The police academy is about twenty minutes away but I wanted to meet you here first. Normally, the boss would want to take you out to eat sometime this week but he’s at some kind of sheriff’s conference in Atlantic City. I’m sure that’ll be a blast, a bunch of drunk cops, schmoozing and telling war stories,” Wilson laughed, finally slowing down to take a breath.
By now, the three men had reached the lower level of the department’s headquarters. They passed an area with several holding cells, most of them occupied. All the deputies seemed glad to see the major.
“Yo, Major, when you coming back over here to HQ?” a graying sergeant asked.
“Hopefully, never, Hank. If I can have my way, I’ll stay out at training for a few more years and then hang up my spurs.”
Wilson led them to an elevator and up to the first floor where the administrative offices were located on the front side of the building. He paused in front of a door marked “Sheriff Walter Jarvis” on the nameplate. The training director pulled out a key and let them inside.
“Like I said, he’s out of town but this is as good a place to talk as any. Plus, he’s got a fancy coffee machine.”
After firing up the Keurig and preparing them each a coffee, the major motioned towards the leather chairs in front of the sheriff’s massive oak desk.
“I’m glad to have you guys here. This is long overdue. I was the SWAT commander up until a couple of years ago and I used to handle all the training for the team. A few months ago, the sheriff, son-of-a-bitch that he is, told me I was too old and put a younger man in charge. Lieutenant Dodd is a good man and you’ll meet him later. Now, I run the police academy and oversee the rest of the department’s training.”
As Wilson paused to blow on the hot liquid before carefully tasting it, Matthews spoke up
“We got the file you sent us and we’ve tailored a course that covers everything you asked for. We did have a couple of questions, though.
“I looked online and saw that Trenton also has a police department but you told our training director, Andy Fleming, that your SWAT team handled all the callouts when a tactical team was needed?”
“That’s correct. The PD handles most of the 911 calls but they’re understaffed and poorly led. The sheriff has offered their chief our assistance to build their own team, but Chief Wallace has the attitude that since the SO has a really good SWAT team, they’ll just use ours. Are you guys cops?”
Estrada nodded. “After I got out of the Army, I was with LAPD for a few years before going federal.”
“I was with a metro-agency near Atlanta for while,” Matthews spoke up, “and then moved to the DHS. All of our instructors are reserve deputies for the SO near our office in Northern Virginia.”
“Politics is always a nasty business,” the major said, “but especially in law enforcement. Even though I called our sheriff a son-of-a-bitch earlier, he’s actually a great cop and a natural leader. Plus, he’s my brother-in-law. When the police chief made it clear that he didn’t want a tactical unit of his own, we started applying for every federal grant we could get to equip and train our team. You’ll see that we’ve got all the coolest toys.”
“That explains why your SWAT team needs to be so versatile,” Hollywood commented. “They have to be ready for serving high-risk warrants, handling a riot at the jail, a barricaded gunman on a domestic, or anything else that comes up.”
“Exactly! I know your company hasn’t been around a long time but you guys are becoming well-known in the SWAT circles. We haven’t had any outside training in a few years so I’m sure there’s a lot you can teach us.
“The reason I wanted to meet you here is so I could take you over to the courtrooms on the other side the building for you to get the lay of the land. That’s one of the places that you’ll be training for active shooters tomorrow and Thursday nights. We got permission from the DA and the Solicitor since it would be their asses SWAT would be saving.
“I know you wanted to spend the first day in the classroom so after I show you the courts, we can head out to the academy. The team will be ready to kick off at 1000 hours. We have access to the police department’s outdoor range for the rest of the week.”
MORRISVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA, MONDAY, 0835 HOURS
It was only a twenty-minute ride to their target location in Trenton, New Jersey. One of the women in the cell, Calaso, had volunteered to drive the van. Her family had immigrated to the U.S. from Somalia several years earlier. Even though living in America was light years better than her home country, her parents still struggled to make ends meet. The money from her martyrdom would set them up for several years.
Calaso was a true believer and knew that sacrificing herself for Allah would ensure her salvation and take her straight to heaven. The young woman was honored that their leader had agreed to let her deliver the first blow of this attack. While the idea of dying still scared her, at least she knew that her death would be quick when the van exploded. Her friends faced more uncertainty.
The six men in her cell would all be wearing suicide vests and carrying rifles. They would approach the courthouse from different angles ten minutes after the car bomb went off, as the first responders started to arrive. The American had instructed them on how to fire and maneuver and how to use parked vehicles as cover. The plan was for the soldiers of Allah to fire two magazines of ammo from their AK-47s at the police officers, firemen, and paramedics who showed up after the initial explosion. After cutting down as many of the infidels as possible, the warriors would then detonate the
ir vests where they could do the most damage to kill the most Americans.
Their instructor had left a few days earlier after training them. Their leader had shown up at the safe house this morning to see them off.
“May Allah be with you, my brothers and sisters, and welcome you into Paradise! Today is going to be another great victory in this jihad against the Great Satan!”
The leader had not given his name but the other man who had been helping them during their time together was Ishmael. He had looked after the team as they had trained and brought groceries to the house for the women to prepare. Today, he had helped everyone get their heavy explosive vests on and had issued ammunition to the seven who were coming in on the second wave. By that time, Calaso thought, I will have received my reward.
As the Somalian woman climbed into the van, her anticipation building, the leader pushed the door closed. He was a small man with a short beard, but his eyes blazed with intensity. He spoke to her through the open driver’s window.
“The GPS has been programmed. You know what you must do. Drive up the stairs, crash into the lobby, and push the detonator. After your glorious success, your friends will follow you to Paradise.”
“Yes, thank you for this honor,” Calaso said, averting her eyes out of respect, and turning the key to start the vehicle.
Musa Khan watched the van pull away from the safe house. Five minutes later, the other seven warriors got into three vehicles and were on the way to their destiny. After they were gone, Khan went back inside and sat down in front of his computer. The GPS tracker on the explosive-filled van flashed as it made its way towards the Mercer County Courthouse.
Even though he had told the woman to push the detonator, in reality, it was just a dummy. Musa wanted to make sure the bomb went off and that the volunteer didn’t decide at the last minute that she really didn’t want to be a martyr after all. Khan would send the signal to the device when the GPS told him that the van had reached its target.
He had already sent Ishmael to Philadelphia to prepare for the next group. By all accounts the American Special Forces traitor had done a good job in preparing the team. After watching the coverage of the attack in DC, the soldier had even adapted his training to help the soldiers of Allah last longer before they were killed by the police or were able to detonate their vests. How much did this man hate his country to train those who were going to kill his fellow citizens?
Khan took the next few minutes to wipe down all the surfaces in the safe house. He knew he wouldn’t get everything but hoped to make any investigation difficult if somehow the authorities found that the residence had been used to train terrorists. Musa kept checking the display on his laptop watching the team’s four vehicles approaching downtown Trenton. Even now, after being a part of so many different operations over the years, he still felt a tingling in his stomach until the mission was executed.
At 0856 hours, the van was on Lincoln Highway, stopped at the light at the intersection with Market Street. Khan knew that Calaso could see her target right in front of her. The blip began moving again across the Pakistani’s computer screen. Right on cue, the Chevrolet delivery van turned right where there was no street, up onto the sidewalk and then accelerated towards the seven steps that led to the entrance of the Mercer County Criminal Courthouse.
Suddenly, the blip on the computer screen stopped, Khan having no idea if Calaso had managed to smash through the glass doors or not. Close enough, the terrorist thought, pushing send on his phone. Six seconds later, the flashing light disappeared letting Musa know that there had been a successful detonation. Hopefully, the other seven soldiers would play their roles as well as the woman had.
Khan quickly shut his laptop and put it into his computer bag. A calm descended on him now that the rest of the operation was out of his hands. He took another quick look around the residence to make sure they had left nothing behind. A few minutes later he was on his way towards Philadelphia.
TRENTON, NEW JERSEY, MONDAY, 0905 HOURS
The three first-floor courtrooms were all at street level on the backside of the large building. There were three more on the second floor. Major Wilson explained that they handled both civil and criminal cases as he gave the two instructors a tour of the building. Offices for clerks and admin were adjacent to the courtrooms. Only two of the courts were in session on the first floor as a superior court judge was hearing motions and a state court judge was taking pleas. Upstairs, two trials were scheduled to start later in the morning after they had selected juries.
“I’m curious as to why you’re worried about an active shooter in here?” Josh queried. “Don’t you run everyone through security and metal detectors before they can come in?”
“That’ s correct, but let’s just say that we don’t always have the cream of the crop working at the courthouse. We’ve had a few incidents where guns have made it into a courtroom. Usually, it’s just some scumbag defense attorney who forgot it was in his briefcase. But a couple of months ago, we had a suspect show up for his sentencing on a possession with intent to distribute. He had a full-size Beretta 9mil tucked into his pants and had walked right in with his lawyer. Thankfully, when he went to draw it to shoot the judge, it snagged on his shirt and the two deputies in the courtroom dog piled him.”
Wilson shook his head at the memory. “Needless to say, the judge wasn’t happy and expressed his displeasure to the sheriff. The boss has already required that everyone working security get retrained in running the metal detectors. He figured that since you guys were going to be here training SWAT, we might as well run some active shooter scenarios in the courthouse.”
Suddenly, Matthews was slammed into the wall as the building shook and the roar of an explosion sent them sprawling in the corridor. The blast rocked the courthouse and the lights flickered and went off. A few seconds later, the emergency generator activated.
Josh opened his eyes, a loud ringing in his ears. What am I doing on the floor? he wondered, looking around, surprised to see Hollywood and the major lying a few feet away. A sudden spasm of coughing gripped him, smoke and dust blowing through the hallway and into his nostrils.
Something bad must’ve happened, he surmised, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, still leaning against the wall in an effort to regain his equilibrium. Something wet was running down both sides of his head. When he touched his right ear, his hand came away bloody. Well, that sucks, he thought, shaking his head, immediately regretting the move as pain ripped through his skull.
“Hollywood, you OK? I think we just had an earthquake!” Josh yelled at his partner.
Estrada was now sitting, his arms wrapped around his knees. He also had blood dripping out of his ears where his eardrums had burst.
“That was no earthquake, amigo! That was a bomb, just like when my base got hit in Iraq. Major Wilson, you alright? We need to go see if we can help.”
Josh and Hollywood helped the older man to his feet, unsure of what had happened but knowing that they needed to make their way back to the front of the building. The only thing that had saved their lives was being on the back side of the government facility, two hundred feet from the blast site.
People stumbled, coughing and sputtering, into the hallway as clerks, lawyers, defendants, jurors, and prosecutors all attempted to make sense of the situation. An obese deputy assigned to the pleas calendar followed the crowd, his face bleeding from where he had fallen into the corner of a table.
“Major, what happened?” the deputy shouted over all the other voices in the hallway.
With their eardrums burst, they had to yell at each other to communicate, but Wilson ordered everyone into the closest courtroom and had the deputy lock the doors from the inside until they could get some help and get an idea of how serious the situation was.
The major motioned to Josh and Hollywood, leading them to the other side of the building until they were halted by a blocked hallway. The ceiling and walls had collapsed near the front of the co
urthouse, completely shutting off access to the point of the explosion. The sounds of the trapped and wounded reached their own injured ears, screams and moans filling the air.
“This is Major Wilson, I’m at HQ,” the deputy yelled into his radio. “We need fire and med units, as many as you can get! Notify the city PD and state police, as well.”
“10-4, Major,” the dispatcher acknowledged. “Can you confirm that there was an explosion there? We’re getting conflicting reports from the 911 calls that are coming in.”
“I don’t know what happened, just get some help over here now!”
The three men could see some of the chaos through small openings in the metal, brick, stone, and live electrical lines that blocked their passage. It appeared that the entire front end of the courthouse had been ripped open by a large hand, sounds from the street carrying inside.
Something clicked inside of Estrada. “Major, we need to get outside, now! This could just be the first part of an attack.”
Wilson stared blankly, shock clearly setting in.
“Sir!” Hollywood grabbed the deputy and shook him. “Are you coming with us?”
The major finally nodded and said, “Follow me. We can go out the jurors’ entrance.”
They retraced their steps to the courtrooms. The juror’s entrance put them out onto Market Street. A right turn would take them down the sidewalk to the front of the building on Lincoln Highway. Josh had wanted to go through the basement to retrieve their rifles and body armor from their vehicle. Rafael nixed the idea wanting to get outside as quickly as they could.
Hollywood and Josh had seen the coverage of the previous week’s attack in Washington and both men understood that if this was a related incident, time was of the essence. They needed to be in a position where they could protect the first responders.
They paused momentarily at the door.