by Henry Hack
Those protests, however, were mitigated a few days later when the Apostle sent a lengthy epistle to the media detailing the impending disasters that would surely occur if the United States nuclear industry were not shut down completely. The seven page document, with an additional three pages of citations, was clear, concise and terrifying. Peter first detailed the increase in the population levels surrounding the danger zones of each plant, showing four million people lived within ten miles of sixty-five operating plants. But, he pointed out, the actual danger zone extended fifty miles from a plant resulting in 120 million people being exposed to serious danger in the event of an accident.
Peter then specified, for each plant, its current state of danger to the local population from radioactive tritium water leaks, rusting cooling systems, unsafe or overburdened fuel rod storage and aging components. He capped the discussion with the secret plans of the government to dump all the radioactive waste, from all the plants, into the ocean. Of his seventy-three citations, seventeen had an asterisk next to its number and the footnote indicated these highlighted reports were classified and not available to the general public. To verify the accuracy of his data, Peter added the user names and passwords necessary to access those seventeen citations.
When the general public, the news organizations, the scientific community and the politicians fully analyzed and digested the Apostle Peter’s “Report on the Current Status of the Nuclear Power Industry in the United States,” they all came to the same conclusion – he was correct in every detail. The government had been ignoring, down-playing and covering-up the dangerous conditions at plants all over the nation.
There was a huge public outcry and congress was forced to act. They passed legislation with a timetable to shutter all the nuclear plants in the country, in the order suggested by Peter in his report, which was from the most dangerous to the least. The legislation specified that electrical energy required for replacement use because of these shutdowns be renewable or natural gas only, with federal subsidies available for renewable sources.
Peter and Wilt were ecstatic with the results of their campaign as was the Reverend Alton Phineas. “My God,” Alton said. “You pulled it off. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, Alton,” Peter said. “I’m actually amazed at the outcome. I thought we’d have to fry a few more plants before they came around.”
“Our research took a lot of time, but it was sure worth it,” Wilt said. “And with no one killed or injured, we sure pulled the fangs of law enforcement.”
“Yes, we did,” Peter said. “Those Task Force bastards must be highly pissed off just about now.”
“Assuming this shutdown continues flawlessly,” Alton said, “what will you target next?”
“The oil industry, I believe,” Peter said. “What do you think, Wilt?”
“The coal industry is the biggest polluter, shouldn’t we tackle that next?”
“You’re correct, but the coal industry’s vastness is the problem. Fifty percent of the nation’s electrical energy is produced from coal, but only six percent from oil, chiefly in the northeast. And, although nuclear power provided twenty percent, we had to target them first because of the high danger level.”
“Those people in New England and New York are not going to be happy,” Wilt said. “We just melted down Shoreham and now we’re going after their oil heat.”
“Screw them,” Peter said. “I hate those snobby bastards in Nantucket and the Hamptons. They won’t have windmills spoiling their ocean view mansions, will they? When I get done with them they better remember how to catch whales like they once did because they’ll need the oil for their reading lamps.”
26
“Now, Mr. Kobak,” Harry Cassidy said over lunch at a Georgetown restaurant, “what do we do with the Apostle Peter now?”
“Nothing, I suppose. The bastard has appeared to have successfully out-maneuvered us. Everyone loves him now.”
“Are you forgetting the massive property damage he caused to the Shoreham nuclear plant? Or that he is still number one on your highly-touted most wanted list?”
“Not at all, but we must face reality and lay low for awhile. We cant make him a martyr. The public, and of course our spineless politicians, have adopted an end-justifies-the-means philosophy regarding the nuclear power industry. And, after a thorough reading of Peter’s documentation, I can’t say I blame them.”
“You mean you sanction what is going on?” Harry asked indignantly.
“No, but it seems everyone else does.”
“What do we do if we’re successful in tracing the source of his computer signals?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. The plain facts are unless the Apostle begins killing or maiming a lot of people, or blowing up a lot of buildings, no one cares if he is caught.”
“That is bullshit!”
“Yeah, old friend, it probably is. Relax and finish your corned beef sandwich. Rest assured the Apostle will make a mistake. Patience, Harry, patience.”
If Harry Cassidy was pissed-off after his lunch with Walt Kobak, he was absolutely foaming at the mouth when he turned his PC back on. There on the screen, in big green capital letters, was another message from the Apostle Peter. It said, Hi guys, how are you all doing? Bored? Given up trying to find me? You’d better give up, because I’m a genuine hero now, and the public doesn’t like its heroes hunted down. I’m planning my next campaign and I’ll probably be a bigger hero after that one’s done. But don’t think I’ve forgotten about you bastards. Oh no, I and the Romens will never forget, especially you Cassidy, and you Kobak, and you McKee and you Faliani – the four cowards who killed my Savior and the Apostle Mark. We got your old pal Pop Hunter and we’ll get you, too.
As the screen with the Apostle’s message faded, Harry’s phone rang. He picked it up, hand trembling in anger. Nick Faliani shouted, “Harry did you see that? That motherfucker’s threatening us personally. Are you guys getting close to him?”
Harry filled Nick in on his lunch with Walt Kobak and how opinions were shaping up in favor of the Apostle. Nick said, “Maybe this message will change his mind. Has everyone down there gone soft in the head, for Christ’s sake?”
“Not me,” Harry said. “Let me find out who else got this message beside us four. Then we’ll put our heads together.”
Four other top law enforcement officials had received the Apostle’s message: FBI Director Jim Driscoll, Homeland Security Secretary Randy Newton, CIA Director Admiral Richard Peele and NYMPD Police Commissioner Charles Carson. When they were all linked on the conference call and had thoroughly discussed the message and vented their anger and frustration, Jim Driscoll said, “Do I smell a rat here?”
“What rat would that be, Boss?” Kobak asked.
“This guy is riding high on victory. Why tweak us now? And tweak is too mild a word. He threatened four of you. Why? Why get you all riled up?”
“Do you think he wants us to come after him?” Harry asked.
“I can’t see why he would when things are all going his way,” Carson said.
“Guys,” John McKee said. “He doesn’t want all law enforcement coming after him, just us four. He’s made this personal.”
“You think he’s trying to set us up?” Nick asked.
“Could be,” Driscoll said. “I already have a full-court press on to trace the source of that message. If we find it without too much difficulty, I would be careful when we go in.”
“I hope when we find him, he’s right here in New York,” Nick said.
They all knew perfectly well where Nick Faliani was coming from.
A week before the Apostle sent the message that stirred up his adversaries he, Wilt, four members of the New Vikings and two specialists had paid a lengthy visit to his old cabin in the Idaho woods. The New Vikings had become the elite protective core of the Church of the Christian Brotherhood providing personal security services for the Reverend Phineas and his immediate staff an
d for Peter and Wilt. Ronald Ericsson had molded them into an efficient, well-trained, disciplined force of one hundred and twenty enforcers. Each man was paid fifty dollars an hour, in cash, for a minimum of ten hours to a maximum of thirty hours per week. This schedule gave them ample free time to tool around the beautiful Wyoming countryside on their Harleys and frequent the roadhouses to drink and make merry.
The New Vikings, under their deputy leader, Edward Stoddard, were the liaison biker group with all the other biker groups, seventeen in all, who now called Wyoming their home base. Stoddard knew all the strengths and capabilities of each of the groups and now his knowledge allowed him to approach the leader of the Red Satans and say, “Howdy, Don Diablo, we need your help.”
“What can we do for the New Vikings, my friend?”
“We need the works.”
“Explosives? Detonators? Remote devices?”
“Yeah, and a lot of it. And two of your guys who know how to put it all together.”
“This could be an expensive proposition, Edward.”
Stoddard smiled and said, “I know that, but we always take good care of our friends that are helpful to us.”
“And exactly how good is your care going to be?” Diablo said, returning the smile.
“Tell me what the materials cost and I will pay you double. I will pay you ten thousand dollars for your personal help, and I will pay five thousand each to your specialists.”
“Your generosity is beyond my ability to argue for even a penny more. Let me get my two specialists, as you call them, and we will go over the details.”
When Peter, Wilt and the six others left the cabin in Idaho in their Econoline van one of the specialists from the Red Satans said, “Peter, you had us put an awful lot of stuff in there – and around there. Unless you’re expecting an army battalion, this might be overkill.”
The Apostle clasped the specialist on the shoulder and said, “Overkill! That’s just what I want to accomplish. I want to kill everyone who shows up here – kill ‘em twice over.”
“Sounds like you have someone specifically in mind,” said one of the New Vikings, “and you want to make sure to get him.”
“Good observation,” Peter said. “As a matter of fact, I have four someones in mind. I don’t know if any, or all four, will show up, but I’m praying they do.”
“Peter,” said the other specialist, “I guarantee you whoever shows up ain’t leaving.”
“Sorry to contradict you,” said the first specialist, “but all who show up here will most certainly be leaving – in tiny bits and pieces scattered about the Idaho countryside.”
They all had a hearty laugh as they envisioned the scene of destruction to come as they began their journey back to their home base in Wyoming.
Peter had personally directed the laborious three day process of wiring the explosives throughout the cabin and the outside foliage for twenty-five yards in all directions. He wanted the initial team that would enter the cabin to feel safe for just a few minutes. He knew they would go right for the computer in the small bedroom in the upstairs loft. A hidden motion detector trained on the PC would set off the explosions within a few seconds of each other totally destroying the cabin and killing everyone within. The outdoor devices, loaded with shrapnel, should take care of the reserve forces left there. And please, Peter implored to an unknown and unseen deity, let Cassidy, Kobak, McKee and Faliani be among the dead.
The van dropped Peter and Wilt off at their home inside the compound and the two weary but content Romens poured a glass of wine before turning in for the night. “A toast to the death of those four killers of our Savior,” Peter said.
They took a sip and Wilt said, “How long before they find the cabin do you think?”
“Just a few more days. I removed two of the five security layers on my last message. Even the idiots in the FBI should be able to crack through the others.”
“And you’re sure about the dogs not being able to sniff out the explosives?”
“The Red Satan specialists assure me the gel coating they used to seal all the explosive packages will prevent the slightest odor from escaping, except for the hint of pine they mixed in with the gel.”
Wilt shook his head and frowned.
“Wilt,” Peter said, “this stuff was developed by the bad guys in Iraq and Afghanistan where they used it to cover roadside bombs. It works. Stop worrying.”
“I’ll stop worrying when the bombs go off.”
Nine days after the message that so angered Harry Cassidy and his associates, the assistant director in charge of the FBI’s computer crimes section in Quantico, Virginia picked up the phone and called Jim Driscoll and said, “Sir, Ben Dickinson, here. We got it. We got the source of the signal.”
“Great, Ben! Where?”
“The ISP address belongs to a customer served by the local cable provider, Greenwoods Cable, in southern Idaho.”
“Idaho! That’s the Denver office. Do you have a name and exact location?”
“No, sir. You need someone to serve a subpoena on the cable company to get that, just like we have to with the telephones.”
“Okay, I’ll call Denver right now. Thanks, Ben.”
After speaking with the assistant director in charge of the Denver office, Driscoll called Walt Kobak with the news. “How do you want to do this?” Walt asked.
“I’m leery, Walt. Remember what we said about finding this too soon?”
“You think it’s a trap?”
“I’m not sure, but let’s get everyone’s thoughts first.”
By the time the conference call was put together, the ADIC of the Denver office called back and said, “The security manager at Greenwoods Cable was extremely helpful. He gave me the information now, pending the deliverance of the subpoena which is going to take a few more hours. The guy’s name that lives there is Lars Jurgens. He’s current on his cable and internet service bill. Always pays on time. We pulled his DMV photo. Full beard, bald, brown eyes.” “Nothing at all like the Apostle’s description,” Driscoll said.
“No, unless it’s an elaborate disguise,” Harry said.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Nick said.
“I suggest we get Admiral Peele at Langley to get us some satellite surveillance for a few days before we put our ground surveillance in place,” Driscoll said.
“Good idea,” Walt said. “Let’s try to make certain what we’re up against before we knock on the door.”
“Are you going to run this operation out of Denver?” John McKee asked.
“That’s the logical place,” Driscoll said.
“Harry,” Nick said, “when do you want me and John to fly out to Denver?”
Before Harry could answer, Randy Newton said, “Personally, I don’t want you two out there. And I also feel Harry and Walt Kobak should stay in Washington.”
As the howls of protest began, Jim Driscoll raised his voice and said, “Calm down! I happen to agree with Randy, and when the secretary of Homeland Security and the director of the FBI say you’re not going – you’re not fucking going. Are we all clear on that?”
“You’re the boss,” Harry said, “and of course we will all accept your decision. But I’m sure you understand why we personally want to go after the Apostle.
“Which may be just what he wants,” Newton said. “This has to be some sort of trap.”
“I agree,” Driscoll said. “We’ll run this operation out of Denver and, depending on the surveillance results, we’ll go in heavily protected – bomb suits, dogs, the works.”
“Can we at least talk again after the surveillance results come in?” John McKee asked.
“Sure,” Driscoll said. “Let’s end this call and I’ll get the CIA on the phone right now.”
Three days of surveillance by the CIA’s spy satellite revealed no human presence in the cabin or the surrounding area and just one heat signature coming from inside, probably in the loft area. Based on this intelligence, the Den
ver office of the FBI sent in a ground surveillance team which trained electronic devices on all areas of the cabin, particularly the location where the heat source was located. They remained there for twenty-four hours never creeping closer than a hundred yards and never observing any human activity.
As per John McKee’s request another conference call was held and the results of the surveillance were discussed. Jim Driscoll said, “Our conclusions are as follows: Neither the Apostle, nor anyone else is in that cabin and, although there is electrical service, only one device seems connected and that device, with a high degree of certainty, is a computer in sleep mode.”
“We feel it is probably a slave unit,” Newton said. “If we are successful in recovering it, and cracking the hard drive, the information may lead us to the original source of the signal.”
“But this could be the original source, right?” Nick asked. “I mean the Apostle could just go to the cabin on those occasions when he wants to use it.”
“Yes, it could,” Kobak said, “but who knows when he’ll return there? Do we want to set up a surveillance that may last weeks, or even months?”
“He’s not there now,” Harry said, “that’s for sure. What is the fastest way to find him – wait for an unknown period, or grab the computer now?”
“And what if the computer is booby-trapped?” McKee asked. “Maybe not with high explosives, but with enough to fry the hard drive?”
“And,” Nick said, “set up to send a signal back to that bastard that tells him we found it?”
They finally decided to go in and try to retrieve the computer. A twelve-man team from the Denver office consisting of FBI agents, Homeland Security agents, BATF agents and two FBI bomb sniffing dogs would move in during the night and make their move just after dawn. The team would not include Harry, Walt, John and Nick.
