by Paul Stein
“All clear, Team Leader,” Rafie reported, understanding that these perfunctory questions were merely to check communications. “Same schedule…about ten. Will advise before entry.”
“Ten-four, Rafie,” Kilmer said. “Keep the channel clear.”
Tooz, Stark, and Krilenko arrived at the Lawrence Livermore Lab site and parked about 100 yards from the fence closest to the water tower. Both cargo vans would be abandoned. It mattered little where they parked so long as they weren’t spotted by the lab’s photo-security surveillance, which initial reconnaissance indicated only extended fifty yards beyond the perimeter fencing. Abandoning the vehicles at this distance was considered reasonably safe.
Rafie had registered ownership of both vans to individuals known by Homeland Security to be sympathetic to Al-Qaeda dissidents. This was the first step in misdirecting the law enforcement who would be investigating the crime.
As the first team approached the lab, the men could see its impressive size from miles away. The facility’s sparkle of lights illuminated the horizon ahead like a desert mirage shimmering in the night. Even though it was near midnight, Lawrence Livermore Lab looked to be in full operation: Steam rose from two large, chimney-like structures, a flashing beacon rotated atop a massive radio transmission tower, and the facility showed every sign of an active, research-intensive operation. Had any of the men really stopped to contemplate the difficulty of breaking into this compound, they might have reconsidered the decision.
When the first team had parked, they began gathering the gear they would take into the facility. Stark and Tooz would climb the tower to set up Thor, the M-24 sniper weapons system; although Thor was lightweight compared to other weapons of this caliber, a close proximity to the tower was necessary to avoid fatigue hauling everything 100 feet to the top. Krilenko moved ahead to isolate a section of the electric fence he would cut through to access the facility. Gear in hand, the men made their way to the perimeter.
Krilenko cautiously approached the fence. He located the photo cameras surveying the perimeter and fired a paintball-like projectile at each camera, splashing an oily substance on the lens. In this manner, security wouldn’t be unduly alarmed by the lack of clarity, but would simply send a guard to investigate; totally defusing the camera would warrant a more forceful response. He next donned protective gloves and stood on a thick rubber mat to affix a bypass conductor across a single panel of the fence. This allowed the 10,000 volts of current buzzing through the perimeter fence to continue flowing uninterruptedly. The bypass completed, he cut a six-foot square opening in the fence to allow access. They were ready to breach the Livermore facility.
“Team Leader, Assault Team’s ready; standing by to breach,” Tooz said.
“Ten-four, Assault. Wait on Demo Team before goin’ in,” Kilmer said, sticking to their choreography of the op.
“Team Leader, Demo. We’re on site right behind Assault Team; will rendezvous shortly,” Rafie replied.
“Good oh, mates. Square off. Transport Team’s standin’ by…stay frosty,” Kilmer said, using his trademark phrase for wishing good luck but advising caution.
Within moments, Nuzam and Ventura joined Starkovich, Krilenko, and Metusack at the opening in the fence leading into the lab compound. Using thumbs-up hand signals, they each indicated they were ready, and the men in turn stepped through the fence.
“Team Leader, both teams active…stand by,” Rafie reported.
The men used their night-vision goggles to advance directly to their assigned posts. The water tower was only fifty yards from the fence opening, and after unfolding the access ladder mounted on the side of the tower, Stark and Tooz immediately began their ascent. Krilenko took a position atop a cargo truck parked nearby, across from a large warehouse. This elevated vantage point allowed a superior position to cover the sniper deployment and watch for stray guards; he was certain someone would eventually investigate the faulty camera aimed at this part of the compound.
At the same time, Rafie haphazardly dropped additional telltale paraphernalia along his way to intersect the electric substation: personal possessions and a small fanny pack containing articles that couldn’t be confused for anything but Middle Eastern in origin. The substation provided the electrical power for the entire Livermore complex, and Ventura would use a brand of C-4 plastic explosive known to be manufactured by Al-Qaeda sources. It was Rafie’s goal to throw off Homeland Security by implicating a local terrorist organization in the heist. As Rafie planted evidence to be found in the aftermath, Ventura set the explosive to blow the substation.
With help from Tooz, it was just a few minutes before Stark had set up the tripod to deploy the sniper system. He took a comfortable spread-eagle position, lying on his stomach behind the powerful weapon he called Thor. Tooz helped configure the clips of .308-magnum ammo, which he laid alongside the gun’s feed mechanism. In this manner, Stark could easily trigger semi-automatic rounds without difficulty. This part of the mission completed, Tooz bade Stark farewell and began his decent.
“Team Leader, Thor’s ready to rock,” Stark whispered softly into his mike.
“Ten-four, Stark,” Kilmer replied. “Hang a tick for the lights.”
Rafie was covering Ventura while he wired the C-4 plastic explosive to the substation. The structure was protected by another chain link fence, but this was easily infiltrated, allowing Ventura access to the building. There were two massive transformers that received power off the grid from Pacific Gas and Electric, which the substation distributed through high-voltage cables throughout the compound. Ventura had previously determined from the aerial photos that blowing the transformers would take out the entire facility in one strike. He estimated two pounds of plastic would disable the structure. In just a minute, he was ready. The mission was about to escalate.
“Team Leader, Surgeon…the substation’s rigged to blow. Your call,” Ventura reported.
“Ten-four, Surgeon…stand by. Stark, ya game?” Kilmer asked, making sure his sniper was ready to neutralize the main gate.
“Green light…guard in the crosshairs…he’s out with the lights,” Stark replied.
“All teams, Team Leader. Brin’ the thunder…operation’s a go,” Kilmer said, giving the final command. The mission was now underway and success depended on everyone’s commencing their orders and working in concert.
No sooner had Kilmer given the command than there was a deafening explosion that rocked the entire compound. The lights were immediately doused and the emergency backup lighting system spontaneously activated.
Starkovich focused, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger, sending the first .308-magnum bullet through the thick, reinforced glass of the guard shack. The velocity of the bullet slowed some-what as it penetrated the glass, but slammed into the first guard’s cheekbone with such tremendous impact that the man’s entire head exploded. For a moment, Stark was staring through the infrared scope of the M-24 at a headless man, before he finally slumped to the floor. The pitch-black surroundings momentarily disoriented the second guard, who was covered with a warm, greasy substance that he couldn’t immediately distinguish. Fortunately, he had not seen the crimson splash of blood covering the room, which, a moment before, had been his partner’s head.
Stark put the crosshairs on the second guard, drew his breath, and squeezed the trigger, sending another round into the guard shack. In like fashion, the second man’s head blew cleanly off his body. Neither man felt a thing. Instant death; good kill, Stark thought to himself.
“Main entrance clear,” Stark whispered. “Join the party.”
Colt Hamil anticipated the explosion and was racing toward the compound in the armored Humvee. He had designed the fortified vehicle specifically for this mission. It had a massive hardened-steel front bumper to blast through anything that stood in its way. It was armored with an impervious titanium shell and bullet- proof glass. The occupants of the Humvee were completely protected from conventional law enforcement we
aponry. Only a missile launcher could take out this rig.
“Hold on,” said Colt, grimacing and gripping the wheel.
All three men were strapped into special seat harnesses to absorb the impact when the vehicle collided with the reinforced main gate to the facility. Kilmer and Weaver followed his instruction, bracing themselves for impact. From the nervous look on both men’s faces, it was obvious that even though they trusted Colt’s driving abilities, they were not accustomed to hitting an immovable structure at high speed.
Colt was traveling near sixty-five miles per hour when he rammed into the concrete structure protecting the main entrance, which promptly exploded on impact. As soon as he cleared the entrance, he screeched to a near-stop to regain control of the vehicle.
“That’s how we do that, gentlemen,” he said off-handedly, looking relieved but satisfied with himself. He took an immediate left turn and accelerated to the containment center where the nuclear fuel they had come to extract was stored. So far, everything was going according to plan.
At the time of the explosion, however, a four-man security detail came roaring up to the area where both teams had breached the fence. They stopped beneath the tower so Starkovich was unable to draw a bead on this advancing counter-force.
“We’ve got company,” Krilenko said in his heavy Russian accent. He began firing at this security detail, hitting the first two guards. The other two took cover and began returning his fire. They were unprepared for additional firepower coming from Tooz, who had taken a cover position equidistant between the tower and the demolished substation.
“I’m on it,” Tooz replied in a steely voice. He returned their fire and both men went down, but not before calling in reinforcements. It would soon become apparent just how many guards were actually at Livermore Lab. Reinforcements were on the way.
“Special delivery, boys,” Colt said with a touch of bravado as he brought the Humvee to a skidding halt in front of the containment room. “Let’s do this,” he added, looking over his shoulder with a smirk while Kilmer and Weaver threw open the door. Scrambling from the Humvee, they raced the last few feet to the entrance of the containment building. As they did, Colt repositioned the vehicle for a fast get-away and took up a hidden position to provide cover for Kilmer and Weaver.
“Let’s put a bite on,” Kilmer yelled, as he and Weaver raced to the corridor leading down to the repository. They recognized the large cargo door that was used to transfer restricted material into the building, but it was the smaller door the men isolated. Kilmer shot out the backup lighting while Weaver began placing the shape charge on the door hinges, just as Ventura had specified. He pressed the malleable Simtex explosive onto each of the hinges, taking care not to introduce the firing mechanism until each was properly set. It was only minutes before he was ready to blow the door.
“Fire in the hole,” he said to Kilmer, ready to detonate the charge. Both men ducked behind the side of the building as Weaver pressed the remote control to trigger the explosion. They felt a slight tremble and saw a brief flash of light as the Simtex detonated.
“Damn…that was it?” Weaver asked, as they both returned to the door opening. The shape charge worked perfectly, blowing the door from the building with a minimum of damage. “Terry’s a surgeon, alright. Look at that…nothing’s damaged but the door.” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Move yer arse!” said Kilmer, wasting no time in discussing the obvious. The smoke was still clearing as they entered the building. Kilmer ran to the elevator, pressed the button, and was relieved that the building’s backup electrical system had kept the elevator operational. The doors immediately opened and the men stepped inside.
“All teams, hostiles responding from unidentified location,” Stark said from his vantage point on the water tower. He drew a bead on the driver of the first vehicle, squeezed the trigger, and watched the truck drive into a light standard at the corner of the upcoming intersection. The remaining men scurried from the back of the truck like roaches from beneath a restaurant dumpster.
“Stay alert! Counter-forces everywhere! Shadow, three vehicles converging on the substation. Colt, two more heading your way. The exits are cleared.” He kept pumping out .308 rounds of ammo from the M-24 as fast as he could focus and fire.
Things were no better in the containment building. As soon as Kilmer and Weaver exited the elevator, they were greeted by an unexpected guard outpost that stood between them and the room holding the nuclear material. Having heard the explosion above, they rushed to defend this area with all force necessary.
Weaver was first to exit the elevator and stepped into a hail of bullets. Kilmer saw him fall with a gunshot to his face that tore his jaw away. Other bullets hit him in the chest and legs.
“Bugger me…shit, Colt, git yer arse down here,” Kilmer bellowed into his com unit. “Dallas is down…it looks ugly. I repeat…Dallas is down!”
“Ten-four,” Colt replied. “On my way.”
Kilmer reached into his belt and pulled out a flash-bang. He pulled the pin to activate the grenade-like countermeasure and tossed it down the hall toward the guards. It exploded, blinding them with intense magnesium light that would keep them incapacitated for the next few seconds until their retinas recovered.
Kilmer made his next move without hesitation. He pressed the elevator button, returning it to the surface. At the same time, he charged into the hallway, both his nine-millimeter guns blazing at the guards. He could see them perfectly with his night-vision goggles, but neither of them would ever see anything again. He fired three shots into each guard, stopping to put a final bullet into the head of each, guaranteeing that neither would recover.
He raced back to check on Weaver. The bullet that tore through his mouth had nicked the carotid artery and his heart was spurting blood all over the floor. He was alive and unconscious, but wouldn’t last more than a few minutes.
“Colt, Dallas is beside the lift; have a gander and do what ya can for ‘im. I’m goin’ for the cargo. Hang before goin’ topside,” Kilmer said, composing himself. He knew that Colt was already approaching the elevator and would follow orders.
Hearing Kilmer report that Weaver was down filled the other men with a new sense of urgency. They knew without hesitation that the mission parameters were blown, and that the new imperative was to evacuate as soon as possible. Everyone began retreating to the Humvee, being extra vigilant to provide cover fire as they made their way to the rendezvous point. Stark didn’t falter, leaping up from his prone position he immediately descended the water tower.
“Thor’s out of action,” he said, so everyone knew he was no longer their eyes from high above the compound.
“Ten-four, Stark, I’ve got you covered,” said Tooz, who was still nearby the tower. The remainder of the men had left for the Humvee, but Tooz wouldn’t leave Stark alone and unprotected while he vacated his position.
Kilmer reached the door to the containment center, which had a pass-code to activate before opening. He entered the code that Holloway had provided and was pleasantly surprised that it opened, first try. Crikey, he thought. I’ve got the pass-code but no intel on guards down here? Gimme a fuckin’ break.
Kilmer entered the containment room. He scanned the area left of the door and immediately located the cart containing the enriched uranium they came to retrieve. The two-foot, square, lead-lined box was positioned to the left of the entrance. He unlocked the wheel-casters and began pushing the cart toward the door. Even with the terrible difficulties encountered so far, he felt they were still on schedule. All he needed was to get this cart back to the surface, load it into the Humvee, and exit the premises. He tried not to think about Weaver. There would be plenty of time to debrief the mishap following the mission.
“What the hell just happened?” Colt asked as Kilmer made his way into the elevator with twenty pounds of enriched uranium. Even in the pitch dark of the elevator, both men could see clearly with the night-vision that Weaver was i
n shock and dying, with blood still pumping from his neck and a tangled mass of red flesh and cartilage barely hanging where his mouth used to be. There was no way to stem the flow and nowhere to compress the wound; nothing could be done. He was a casualty of the mission.
“My bad…we’re balls up, pally,” Kilmer replied, half shrugging his shoulders and leaning over Weaver to inspect the severity of his wound. “No time to yap about it. Let’s git him topside…maybe Sully can figure somethin’. I’m dead cert on one thing…this recon sucks. Holloway’s full ‘o shit. This pisses me off…I’m gonna kill somebody’s arse for this.”
“You’ll be standing in line,” Colt replied, his jaw clenched, a look of fury in his eyes. “Dallas was a good man. There’ll be a reckoning,” he said solemnly, referring to their fallen team member as if he were already dead.
“Ya tellin’ me,” Kilmer agreed. “Just now…let’s git the cargo out o’ here. If we’re lucky, he’ll live ‘til we find a doc.”
Conditions were even more hectic at the surface. Stark had rejoined Tooz and the two of them hurried toward the Humvee. Krilenko, Ventura, and Nuzam were likewise retreating to the rendezvous point but were caught in a furious gun battle with a dozen guards firing automatic weapons. The team was out-manned and out-gunned.
Krilenko had taken a round in the upper thigh and was being dragged, limping on one leg, to the Humvee by Ventura. Nuzam was left to cover their flank and was doing his best to stave off the onslaught. Everything he had feared about breaching this compound was coming true. The unresolved intel on the number and strength of the counter-forces had caused several injuries; it sounded like Weaver was terminally injured, Krilenko was wounded, and they were still on the property. The likelihood of getting out with their skins, let alone the cargo, seemed remote.
“Colt, what’s your location?” Nuzam shouted as they approached the Humvee to find it standing unoccupied. “We don’t have much time. Guards are bearing down on this location. We’ve only got a few seconds left here, guys.”
