“You crossed paths with these terrorists?” the secretary asked.
“That’s correct. They ambushed a convoy, which I was told was going to the Pentagon. We were transporting a suspected Chechen terrorist. A high-ranking woman known as the Black Widow.”
The mention of her piqued the interest of everyone in the room, many of whom already knew of her.
Craig continued, “A barrage of machine-gun-mounted trucks ambushed us. We had a rollover and a firefight resulting in the death of three FBI agents and five police officer escorts. They took me hostage, but I managed to escape.”
Kessler listened attentively, absorbed in Craig’s words. “And where did you escape from?”
“An abandoned factory in Detroit, Michigan.”
One of Kessler’s aides accidentally burst out laughing, but then quieted himself nervously as people looked at him.
“Do go on,” Kessler said to Craig, glaring at his aide.
Craig told them about the leader, Abu Omar Allawi, the firefight in the factory, his escape, and the death of Allawi’s brother, Ma’mun. He even briefly explained what happened to the Black Widow and the heroism of her nephew, Husein.
Phones began ringing near all the workstations. The calls were ignored as Craig continued his story.
“I found my way home. They followed me there in retaliation. Omar sent a hit squad after me and my family at our cabin in the forest outside of Rockville.”
Kessler was in awe. “And… and how did you survive this onslaught?” he asked.
“I fought back.” Craig tried to choose his words carefully. “Neutralized the threat, all except for one. The terrorist we captured, the leader of the group, goes by the name Ghazi, and he’s our direct link to Omar Allawi.”
Kessler looked past Craig with an incredulous expression. He wanted answers. “And you approve of this? For every ISIS militant you kill, that’s one less piece of leverage we have. It lessens our chance of ending these attacks.”
Craig could feel his anger rising, when suddenly Walker cut the secretary off. “We have a laptop, sir. It reportedly belonged to Ma’mun Allawi.”
Kessler narrowed his eyes. “A laptop. And what’s on it? What information have you been able to ascertain?”
Craig spoke up. “We need to bypass the security setting first. I tried at my cabin and was unsuccessful.” His tone then became more confident and stern. “When I was in captivity, they told me of at least two more major strikes they had planned against the US.”
Kessler looked around the room. “Where?” He paused, barely able to contain himself. “When?”
“They didn’t say, but I think this laptop might tell us.” He held it up for everyone in the room to see.
Kessler shifted his attention to his aides, then back to Craig, then to the FBI director. “Well, what are we waiting for? Crack the damn thing open.”
Craig lowered it, gripping its smooth shiny surface with one hand. He then took a step forward and locked eyes with Kessler. “Before we start, I want to say one thing. If I didn’t kill those men where they stood, they would have killed me and my family. End of story. It’s easy for you or anyone else to second-guess my actions when you weren’t there.”
Calderon ran his hand down his face, frustrated, then gave Walker the stink eye.
“That’s enough,” Walker said, quietly to Craig.
Instead, Craig ignored him. “This is not the time to question decisions I made to survive against this death cult. Not when this country is under attack and desperately hanging on by a thread. And if I had been killed we wouldn’t have this laptop now. Don’t forget that.”
Walker pulled Craig back. “That’s enough, Davis,” he whispered.
Craig said nothing more as the room went dead silent. Kessler stared back him. His face looked flushed. Craig didn’t know if standing up to the secretary would have repercussions or not. Ultimately, he didn’t care.
Kessler dropped his angry expression and then spoke calmly while smacking his hands together. “Very well. Let’s crack open that laptop!”
Kessler and his entourage followed Craig and his superiors to the oval table as officials gave up their seats and made room for them. Craig set the laptop down on the table. Many others left their seats and began closing in around him, and he knew that he was going to have to take charge.
“All right, look,” Craig began, turning to face them. “First off, I’m going to need a power cord for a MacBook. Second, I need a computer analyst to hack into the system. We’re most likely dealing with encrypted files here.”
All eyes went to the FBI director, McMillian. He stood up, shifted his glasses and then pointed across the room, shouting. “Benson and Lutz. Can you come over here, please?”
Two men hurried over to the table. Benson was tall and wore glasses, and had a slight paunch and a shaggy mullet. He then loudly proclaimed that it was no surprise that the job fell on his shoulders. The mustached Lutz was shorter and stockier and more quiet and reserved.
“These are the two best computer analysts we have,” said McMillian. “I’m sure they’ll be able to lend a hand.”
Benson brazenly stepped in between Craig and the table and began examining the laptop. “Ugh,” he scoffed. “This has to be a 2013 model. They don’t make ’em like this anymore, that’s for sure.”
“Excuse me,” Craig said, gently pushing him to the side. “Why don’t you first grab me a power cord?”
Benson flashed him a surprised glare, seeming as if he had never been talked to in such a way before.
“Just do what he asks,” McMillian said, like a tired father breaking up an argument between boys.
Benson turned and shouted, “Lutz, go get a power cord! Quick.”
Lutz hurried away, looking irritated, and came back with the cord. He plugged it into the side and then ran it to a nearby wall outlet. Craig flipped open the laptop and turned it on as the onlookers attempted to crowd in to get a glimpse.
Annoyed by the crush of people, Benson said, “Step back now or leave. If you’re interested in seeing what’s on this thing, someone get me an AV cable so you can watch on the big screen instead.”
He turned, looking around. “Lutz, grab an AV cable!” but Lutz was already on the job, searching for one.
Craig waited for the laptop to start. Once the log-in screen appeared, he stepped aside and held his hand out like an usher to Benson. “It’s all yours.”
Benson approached the laptop confidently and took a seat. The welcome screen was written in Arabic and the log-in profile image displayed the black flag of ISIS.
“Cute,” he said.
He typed wildly across the keyboard as Craig looked over his shoulder. A small black screen with white text popped up on the corner of the screen. His fingers glided over the keys, pushing the cursor along, and then he clicked open other windows, one after the other. Lutz came back with an AV cord in hand.
“We’re going to have to bring it closer to one of the screens.”
Benson turned his head to address the group huddled behind him. “This might take a while. Why don’t you guys give us some space so we can get into this system?” He picked up the laptop and moved it nearer to the flat-screen televisions on the wall. Someone gave up his seat to Benson, who was typing again, hardly missing a beat.
They plugged the AV cord into the TV and projected the log-in screen from the middle television. Kessler shuffled around in his pocket, pulled out a smartphone, and looked at it.
“Shit, I don’t have any bars in here.” He looked around the room. “Anyone getting any service in here?”
The FBI director cut in. “No service underground. But then again, I would have thought you’d have known that, Mr. Secretary.”
“Let’s have some quiet!” said a brave voice from the crowd.
Kessler looked frustrated and distracted. Benson continued working on the laptop, bypassing myriad security barriers while Lutz stood near. Craig kept a close eye on both of them.
“I’m in!” Benson announced.
The officials in the room cheered in celebration.
Kessler took one look at the cluttered desktop screen displayed on the television and scoffed. “How the hell are we going to find anything in that mess? We could be here all day.”
“Not necessarily,” Benson said with his eyes down and glasses resting on the top of his nose. “I can run a search of key words. But first I need to change the language setting on the computer.” He hit several keys and the Arabic text changed to English.
Craig stood back, impressed. Perhaps the boisterous Benson was worthy of his reputation after all. Just as Craig felt they were getting there, Benson dropped his head and sighed.
“What?” Kessler asked. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Just annoyed, that’s all. The files are encrypted to high heaven. It’s going to take longer than usual, that’s all.”
Benson moved the cursor wildly and opened several different folders. “When I do a search for the words, ‘plan,’ ‘targets,’ ‘strikes,’ ‘ISIS,’ and ‘America,’ I get literally hundreds of results. So we’re dealing with a lot of information here.”
“That’s good, right?” Calderon asked.
“Yes and no,” Benson answered.
McMillian cut in. “What he’s saying is that we’re going to have to separate what’s valuable from what’s worthless.”
Benson nodded agreement. His eyes locked on the screen.
Kessler sighed again. “We don’t have time for that. This country is on the march to war, trust me. The president wants answers.”
Craig stepped forward to address Benson. “We’re looking for information about two particular attacks. Ma’mun’s men spoke of two additional phases. There’s got to be some kind of code word they have the files under.”
Benson shook his head, seeming overwhelmed. “Look, breaking encryption code isn’t my strongest suit. Lutz is much better at it than I.” He stood up, took a step back from the table and looked around. “Lutz!” he shouted. “Come here and do your magic.” Lutz had been standing next to him the entire time. He tapped Benson on the shoulder. “There you are,” Benson said, surprised.
Lutz pulled up a chair, dragged the laptop closer, and started moving boxes around on the desktop screen and typing a mile a minute. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try.”
All eyes were on the television screen. The operations room staff comprised twenty-three men and women who had been working to piece together the terrorist conspiracy to take down America. Few of them had even had a moment to check in on their families. And there seemed to be no end in sight.
“I’ve got something!” Lutz yelled. The room exploded in cheers. People stood up, clapping, unable to contain their excitement.
“What is it?” Benson asked. He leaned in closer as several different images opened on the screen.
“Three hundred forty files found.”
“So what does that mean?” Kessler barked. “Are we getting closer?”
Lutz continued on and ignored the question. “So if we try some other words, like ‘plan,’ and ‘attack,’ ‘targets,’ and ‘America,’ that can help us narrow it down.”
After clicking through some results Lutz suddenly stopped. “Interesting…”
Craig looked up at the television. There were a dozen JPEG images in a folder titled Power Plants. “Click on those,” he said, walking over to the laptop.
Lutz opened the folder, which showed pictures of unidentified power plants taken from all angles. He clicked on several other images. Blue prints. Maps. Even congressional reports on the terrorist threat to power plants nationwide.
The FBI director took a hard look at the files on the TV screen, stood, rapped on the table to get everyone’s attention, and addressed the group. “I think it’s pretty obvious what all that means. But how can we differentiate between ideas and the things they actually plan to do?”
Craig spoke up. “We need to gather enough information to find out their main area of operations. It’s the only way.”
Kessler interjected. “Look. Just find out where the next attack is going to take place, send a team out there and catch these bastards before they blow up a theme park or something.” He turned to his female aide. “Any word from the CIA?”
“Not yet, Mr. Secretary.”
He looked at McMillian. “I want to see the detained terrorist. Maybe we can make a deal with him. Get him talking.”
Calderon spoke up. “Most power plants are already at a high-alert status, so the sleeper cells are going to find them difficult to attack… if that’s what they plan on doing.”
Craig moved closer to the laptop and saw a folder that caught his interest.
“Let me have real quick look, here,” he said to Lutz.
Lutz moved out of the way as Craig opened another folder on the desktop—even stranger than the last one. All eyes returned to the screen just as phones at the workstations began ringing off the hook, but went unanswered. Everyone was too transfixed by what they were seeing on the screen to be interrupted.
The first image to grab Craig’s attention showed a map identifying FEMA sites for evacuated personnel. The information seemed sensitive in nature, making him wonder if it had been leaked or stolen. The next picture was a scan of a technically-worded formula, a mixing solution for twenty-ounce bottles, with H20 and liquid VX nerve agents as the ingredients.
“What is that?” Calderon asked, leaning in closer. “Is that some kind of plan to poison the water supply?”
“Water utilities have been put on high alert as well,” Walker said, as if the formula represented nothing more than a pipedream.
Craig sifted through each document, trying to put together the pieces. “There’s something more to it than that, sir,” he said.
There was a scanned copy of the deed to a plastics factory, with a Detroit address. Craig was certain it was the plant he had escaped from.
“That’s the place!” he said. “This is where they had me.”
He opened another file containing a series of contracts and legal paperwork for a place called, “Hudson Valley Natural Spring Water.”
“Has anyone else heard of this company?” Craig asked. No one answered and he continued reading the document. Upon closer inspection he could see what looked like business proposals and contracting paperwork. The client listed on the top gave everyone in the rooms chills: Federal Emergency Management Agency.
“What is this all about?” Kessler demanded. “Why is FEMA listed as a purchaser for this water company?”
“It’s a government contract,” Craig answered. “This Hudson Valley company made a bid and it looks like they got the contract.” Craig read the financial statement: A thirty-million-dollar contract with Hudson Water for the next five years. Things got even more interesting from there. Craig opened pictures of the Michigan factory and of thousands of plastic bottles manufactured and packaged for delivery.
Then came pictures of another factory: a bottled water plant three times the size of the plastics factory. Craig scrolled down and found the name of the owners: a Dubai company called “Emirates Integrated.” The pieces of the puzzle were startling, but he hadn’t pieced together the entire picture yet. The plant’s address indicated that it was located in Lincoln, Nebraska.
Everyone studied the documents as the phones continued to ring incessantly.
The FBI director looked away from the screen and turned to his team of analysts. “Would some of you answer those phones please? Not everyone needs to be here.”
Ten or so people scrambled and moved back to their workstations, putting their headphones back on.
Kessler seemed overwhelmed, studying the images on the screen. “So. Where… What does all of this mean?”
Craig, confident that he had figured it out, stepped in to solve the puzzle before anyone else could respond. “The water plant. That’s where Omar Allawi is running his operations. They don’t plan o
n poisoning the water supply. Only this Hudson Valley Spring Water. They’re going to have the government distribute deadly water.”
The room went quiet except for the people answering the phones as everyone was trying to figure out the answer to the secretary’s question.
Seeming to fully grasp the situation, Calderon added, “This way, they have FEMA transporting the water for them all across the country. In effect, the government will be poisoning its own people.”
Craig thought to himself: the port explosions, the radiation, the evacuations. Evacuees in FEMA camps. Military personnel and government officials, all drinking from the same bottled water.
The FBI director spoke. “This is an easy one, ladies and gentlemen. We just need to stop shipment of this water dead in it tracks.”
Craig turned to the director to make a direct plea. “Sir, I’d like to request a field team to investigate this factory.”
“Screw that,” one burly and balding official shouted out. “Shut that plant down immediately!”
Kessler again turned to his aide, frantic. “Get me the president on the line!” He then looked to the FBI director. “I want to speak to that captured terrorist immediately.”
One of the analysts then ran from his work station to the group crowded around the table. “Mr. McMillian! Mr. McMillian, sir!”
The FBI director looked at him, startled. “Yes, what is it?”
Another analyst came running over with his wireless headset still affixed. “We’ve got a serious problem.”
The atmosphere in the room quickly shifted. Something was up. More bad news.
“Power plants and electrical grids have been reported compromised in at least ten different states,” the first analyst shouted. “No one knows how they did it, but word just came through that some heavily armed militants stormed the grounds of power plants around the country and shot down anything in their way.”
Then attention switched to the television news. The live video flashing on the screen verified everything that the analyst was saying. A group of analysts ran over from their workstations in a panic to join the others. “More power plant explosions confirmed only three minutes ago!” one of them announced.
Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Page 79
