by James Rosone
As far as Mike could tell, the President’s team didn’t really have a choice in the matter, and Harper made for an excellent scapegoat. Any new people they identified could be hung around her neck. They had to agree to his proposal to save face if they hoped to salvage the program at a later date.
The casualty reports continued to roll in from Chicago. There had been 234 people killed during the Metra attack, then another 1,453 during the second attack near the Willis Tower. The third attack killed the largest number of people at 2,748 fatalities. The Langham Hotel had been virtually destroyed during the initial blast. An hour later, the Trump Tower had collapsed and fallen across Kinzie Street, destroying two city blocks of buildings, roads and shops. The fires caused by the collapse of the Trump Tower had taken nearly thirty-six hours to get under control and required twenty-six different fire stations to put them all out.
In addition to the more than four thousand people who lost their lives that day, nearly six thousand others had been injured. The number of first responders who had been killed had also been alarming, and that slowed down the city’s abilities to treat all the victims of the attack. The hospitals in Chicago and the surrounding area were completely overwhelmed. Injured people were being flown to Milwaukee and other trauma centers in southeastern Wisconsin and northern Indiana. First responders from around the country were flocking to Chicago to help, just as they had during the 9/11 attacks so many years ago.
When ISIS issued their rallying cry and their assertion that they now had control over the city of Chicago, the President raised the terrorism alert level across the entire country. Additional FBI agents were sent to Chicago. Every terrorism tip that was being phoned in was checked and cross-checked. The tension in the air was so thick it was palpable.
Chapter 19
Don’t Get Comfortable
University of Chicago Medicine
Emergency Room
The ER at Chicago Medicine was still busy, but much closer to the normal flow of patients that came in on a daily basis. The hospital had handled thousands of injured people during the terrorist attacks three days ago, but most of them had either been transferred to other hospitals or been discharged, so the tempo of the hospital was finally starting to slow down.
It was 5:34 p.m. when Mohsin Yousef slowly walked into the ER. As he entered the waiting room, he moved to a corner where no one else was sitting. He pulled his smartphone out and proceeded to place a call to the hospital switchboard.
Once he had gone through the prompts, a live voice finally answered, “University of Chicago Medicine, how may I help you?”
Quietly but clearly, Mohsin Yousef told the operator, “A bomb has been placed in the second floor of the hospital, near the location where the majority of those who were injured during the attacks a few days ago are recovering. Allah is not done delivering his judgment on the Great Satan.” Then he hung the phone up and placed it back in his pocket calmly, remaining in his seat like any other patient waiting to be seen at the ER.
The seconds stretched by for what seemed like hours to Mohsin. Finally, he observed one of the security guards receiving a message on their radio; once he heard the speaker on the other end, the guard began to look around the ER frantically, as if he were trying to locate the bomber.
The hospital PA came on. “Attention! All patients and staff, please evacuate the hospital. This is not a drill. Please leave in an orderly fashion. Again, this is not a drill. We are asking all patients and staff to evacuate the hospital immediately.”
A journalist from NBC News had been interviewing a hospital administrator not far from the ER entrance when the evacuation announcement began to play overhead. Suddenly, the story about the bravery of the hospital staff in the face of extreme adversity took a back seat, and the cameraman and reporter began to film the crowd of confused patients as they were evacuating what should be a place of safety and refuge.
Mohsin stood up, by all appearances confused about what he should do. Then, as the hallways filled up with nurses, doctors and other hospital workers who were assisting patients to leave, Mohsin suddenly walked right toward the crowd.
As he headed toward the group, he had that thousand-yard stare. He had been prepping himself for this very moment since he had first arrived in America. It had sounded so simple when he was back in Kosovo. He would apply for a student visa to the University of Illinois and then wait to be activated to carry out his attack. Nearly two years had gone by since he had been recruited by ISIS. Secretly, he had had doubts. However, he reminded himself that if he succeeded, his family back in Kosovo would be taken care of financially for the rest of their lives. If he failed, they would be killed. As he walked closer to where he was going to detonate his suicide vest, sweat started to pour down his forehead.
*******
Jim had been working as a security guard at Chicago Medicine for three years while he went to school part-time for a Bachelor of Science degree in police science. Jim had wanted to be a cop since he was a kid. His uncle had been a police officer, with nearly twenty-six years on the job. He had really inspired Jim to want to serve his community. During the terrorist attack, his uncle had been helping injured people near the Metra bomb site when he had been shot by those two terrorists wielding AR-15s near the Willis Tower. His death had only further motivated Jim to become a police officer.
As Jim was helping an elderly man move down the hallway toward the ER entrance, he caught sight of a young man with an olive complexion, slowly walking toward them. Something just seemed off about the man, who was walking in the wrong direction, so he pointed the elderly man toward the exit and walked toward this suspicious-looking character.
As Jim walked toward him, he called out, “Hey, buddy, you all right? You need some help?”
Jim continued to walk toward the young man, but he noticed that the guy had suddenly spooked and begun to grab at something in his jacket. At that moment, Jim saw a loose wire hanging from behind the back of the young man under his coat.
Without thinking, Jim yelled, “Everyone run! He’s got a bomb!”
A police officer who had just walked into the ER heard Jim’s warning and immediately reached for his weapon. Mohsin, seeing the threat, raised his right hand and yelled, “Allahu Akbar!” as he depressed his thumb on the detonator.
In less than a second, the bomb went off, sending thousands of ball bearings in every direction. The explosion eviscerated everyone in the ER with shrapnel and fire. Because numerous oxygen tanks are always present in the ER, they also exploded, adding to the carnage already being unleashed and rapidly fueling the growing fireball.
The blast shook the hospital and caused numerous fires and secondary explosions. Gas and oxygen lines exploded. One patient ran out of the ER covered in flames, screaming for help before collapsing in a heap. Dozens and dozens of dazed and injured people staggered out of the ER, trying to escape the fires that were now gaining in intensity.
Outside the building, the NBC News crew caught much of the carnage on film. The scene was so disturbing that one of the boom operators vomited from the horror of it all. The rest of the country watched these images in utter shock, helpless at the sight of yet another terrorist attack.
Chapter 20
Down at the Station
Chicago, Illinois
District 19 Police Station
Still unaware of the most recent attack at the hospital, several police cruisers pulled up to the station at the end of their patrol, another long day almost complete. The officers got out of their vehicles and headed into the station to start their shift change. They all had at least an hour’s worth of paperwork before they were officially off the clock. Most of them grabbed an extra cup of coffee before they headed to their desks, hoping to stay awake while writing reports.
They all wanted to do their best to finish their office duties so they could get home and see their families. Ever since the terrorist attacks a few days ago, most of them had been picking up addition
al shifts and racking up the overtime. Between trying to fill in the gaps of the officers who had been killed in the attacks and assisting the FBI in following up on the thousands of terrorist tips that were being phoned in, they were all extremely overworked and exhausted.
The tension in the city was so thick that one could practically cut it with a knife. Muslims and non-Muslims were wary of one another. Fortunately, no major incidents had happened yet out in the communities, but it felt like just a matter of time.
*******
Down the block from the police station, Aslan Maskhadov checked his watch for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. “Shamil, be on guard. Only thirty-six minutes left,” he said to his partner.
“Brother, you need to stop with the countdowns,” Shamil replied.
“You’re right, of course,” Aslan chuckled.
He and Shamil Troshev had known each other for a long time. They were from the same small village in Chechnya, just north of Grozny. They had fought together against the Americans in Afghanistan before returning to their home country and establishing training camps to raise up insurgent cells to fight against the Russian occupiers. Once the Islamic State began to seize and hold territory, they had become enthusiastic members of ISIS. They saw the territorial gains the organization was making as a real opportunity to create a country. Like any new country, though, it needed to be defended. This attack against America was the first step in forcing this barbaric nation into leaving them alone.
Unlike the other attacks that had taken place so far, theirs was not intended to be a suicide mission. Aslan and Shamil were experienced fighters and knew how to carry themselves in a gun fight, as did the other members of their cell.
The plan was simple. They would pull up to the District 19 police station on West Addison Street and conduct a quick hit-and-run attack. Six other teams of two, all of whom were fellow Chechens, would simultaneously carry out similar assaults on other police stations in the city and the neighboring suburbs.
After they had checked their weapons one last time, Shamil announced, “It’s time.”
“Allahu Akbar,” said Aslan with a big grin on his face, the excitement of the attack written all over his face.
“Allahu Akbar,” echoed Shamil with a snicker.
Several police officers exited the front door of the building. As they began to walk toward their personal vehicles, Shamil and Aslan jumped out of their black Chevy Tahoe. Aslan set his sights on the lead officer and fired two quick shots, hitting him in the upper chest, just above his body armor and below the neck. The officer instinctively grabbed at his wounds, then fell backwards, unable to move.
Aslan quickly took aim at the next officer and began to systematically target the rest of the group. Shamil followed their plan and ran quickly down the sidewalk to position himself six cars away from his partner. As he opened fire, the officers were effectively caught in a crossfire, boxed in between several patrol cars and their attackers. Aslan heard the sound of Shamil’s empty magazine hitting the sidewalk as he reloaded.
One police officer ran toward Aslan’s position, crossing the street while firing his pistol on the move. Shamil was impressed by the officer’s brave heroics, but he had finished changing the magazine in his rifle and quickly took aim at him, shooting several quick rounds that hit the man in his side and knocked him to the ground.
Several bullets hit the vehicle that Shamil was using for cover, forcing him to duck back down. Just as he did, he heard the whizzing sounds of bullets sailing past where his head had just been. He moved several feet to the left before he popped up again and aimed for the officer who had just been shooting at him. Before his target could readjust, Shamil fired a single round that hit the officer in the head, dropping him immediately.
Then the front door of the police station opened up, and nearly a dozen police officers who had heard the shooting outside rushed out to try to protect their law enforcement family. They moved swiftly toward the vehicles in front of the station, seeking cover before they engaged the attackers. Aslan emptied almost an entire magazine at the newcomers, and several of the men and women dropped to the ground, hit before they managed to get behind shelter.
Aslan shouted to Shamil, “It’s time to go!” He quickly reloaded his third magazine and laid down suppressive fire to give Shamil some cover as they rushed back toward the Chevy Tahoe.
Shamil jumped into the driver’s seat, and Aslan continued shooting at the officers out of the passenger window as all of the cops focused their gunfire on the getaway vehicle. The windshield shattered and sprayed Shamil and Aslan with glass pebbles. Shamil floored it, and the Tahoe roared away, filling the air with the smell of burning rubber. Dozens of bullets hit the back of the vehicle as they drove away, smashing all the remaining windows.
Somehow, they managed to get down the street without losing any of their tires. They sped to a location five blocks away, where they had a second getaway vehicle waiting for them. Shamil and Aslan quickly ditched the Tahoe and jumped into the gray Ford Edge hidden down an alley. They had managed to survive their primary mission, and now they were headed to a secondary target, a local grocery store.
With the rush of adrenaline pulsing through his veins, Aslan felt the need to review the plan for the next attack as they drove. “Once we get there, you take the left entrance and I’ll go in the right. We empty one magazine at the customers in the checkout line, and then it’s back into the vehicle and off to the safe house.”
“We’ve got this,” said Shamil excitedly. They didn’t say anything else until they arrived at their destination.
Aslan spotted the Jewel Osco, and Shamil pulled right up to the center of the pickup lane in front of the store. They were equidistant from both entrances. They quickly exited the vehicle, leaving both doors open and the engine running. Mechanically, and almost without thinking, they entered the store and began shooting everyone who was unlucky enough to be in their way. Between the pops of gunfire, panicked screams filled the air. There were several crashes as customers knocked over groceries while trying to seek cover from the melee of bullets crisscrossing the front of the store.
Aslan dropped his now empty magazine and slapped the next one in place. Just as he was about to leave the store, he saw Shamil walk several steps toward one of the checkout lanes and begin to fire the bullets in a second magazine toward the aisles in the store.
He should have emptied the magazine and left. What is he thinking? worried Aslan.
Just then, an off-duty police officer, who must have been in the back of the store when the shooting had started, emerged from one of the frozen food aisles and fired at Shamil. One of the rounds hit its mark, and Aslan watched in horror as Shamil dropped to the ground.
Aslan yelled in rage, charging toward his wounded comrade as he shot at the off-duty officer. The policeman was severely wounded but continued trying to reload his gun. Unfortunately for him, with each beat of his heart, blood poured out of a wound in his chest until the officer eventually went limp and the blood stopped flowing.
Shamil waved Aslan off and got up on his own. The two of them rushed off toward their still-running getaway vehicle.
They screeched away in their Ford Edge, leaving tire tracks in the parking lot. Two miles down the road, they found the small strip mall parking lot where they had stashed a third vehicle, a Nissan Pathfinder. As they switched cars again, Aslan finally felt that he had a moment to assess what had just happened, and he really looked at his friend.
“Are you all right? Are you bleeding?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
Shamil nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. The bullet hit my vest. I think I may have broken a rib, but I will live.”
Aslan sighed. “That was close…too close. We strayed from the plan. We were just supposed to fire one magazine and get out of there. Why did you keep firing?” He wanted an explanation.
There was a moment of silence as Shamil stared out the window. Finally, he responded, “Y
ou’re right. I didn’t follow the plan and it almost got me killed. Honestly, I don’t know why I did that. I think I got overly confident and felt like we were in a safe position to try and kill a few more people.”
“You know that I love you like my own brother, but when we make a plan, we stick to it. Period. We do not deviate,” Aslan lectured angrily. They rode in silence for the remainder of their journey, all the way out to a farmhouse outside of Elgin, where they would meet the rest of their cell, or whoever had managed to survive the missions.
Just before they arrived at their safe house, Aslan finally broke the silence. “That was intense back there. Are you OK?” Even though he was still angry with his friend, he wanted to make sure that he really was all right. The two of them had been through a lot together: they had grown up in the same village, gone to the same school, and both suffered the tragic loss of their parents on the same day when the Russians had killed them in the first Chechen war back in 1994.
Shamil continued to watch the road as he responded, “Praise Allah, we made it. I am good, my friend.” He smiled slightly and briefly turned his head to look at his friend. “We struck a big blow against the Americans today,” he said.
Aslan returned the smile and then let out a laugh that released the tension that had been hanging in the air. “We did indeed,” he agreed. “Those police officers never knew what hit them. I just hope the others had as much success as we did.”
Chapter 21
Not Just Another Day at the Office
McLean, Virginia
National Counterterrorism Center
Acting Director Michael Stone and most of his staff had been working feverishly, putting in enormous amounts of overtime as they tried to figure out who these recent attackers were. All they really knew at this point was that this new set of terrorists had not infiltrated the country in the same way, so there was little in the way of a paper trail to follow.
