by Frank Perry
drank tea with some acquaintances before they all went upstairs to the meeting.
She seated herself near the front. Long rows of tables had been set up with an aisle through the center leading to a podium. As people filed in, a French military officer walked down the aisle and greeted officials assembling at the speaker table. NOFORN? He sat on the end. She took her seat. There was about three feet separating each row of tables, so she would stand if more people chose to sit near the front with her. She had just scooted forward with her knees under the table when someone said, ”Excuse me, ma’am, is that seat next to you taken?” Peter!
Rachael was surprised,”Whah...?”
Peter interjected, “Well, it seems that the Bureau has loaned my body to Army Intelligence under your Lt. General John Simmons, who ordered me here.”
Rachael responded, “We’ll be working together, how coincidental is that!”
“I’m not sure it’s a coincidence, didn’t you make some calls? Anyway, someone thinks we make a good team. You’re the brains and the beauty, I’m just the brawn.”
She just smiled as the speaker began, “Hello, I’m Jerry Burch, Assistant Director of the Counterterrorism Division, FBI. Thank you all for coming without more notification. I’m sure you can guess why we’re here, but in case you’ve been locked in a freezer, we have evidence that terrorists smuggled missiles into CONUS and shot down an airliner day before yesterday.
“This is not a formal meeting and there’s no specific agenda, so we want to hear from everyone who has information or ideas.”
While Mr. Burch spoke, Rachael’s Blackberry started vibrating indicating a new email message. She pulled it discretely from her purse and lowered it below tabletop level. The sender was Mark Brennan, Miami FBI. It read, “Rachael, sled found. Also, debris from a rental truck. Believe sixteen missiles came into the US.”
Returning to Burch, “...and now, I am pleased to introduce Colonel Jean-Luc Michaud, Military Attaché at the French Embassy. Colonel Michaud.”
Michaud was a tall man in his late forties, with white flowing hair. He didn’t look military in demeanor, and it was easy to see why he was assigned embassy duty in Washington. He spoke nearly perfect English. “Good morning. As Mr. Burch said, I am Jean-Luc Michaud, and many of you know me. For those who do not, my military profession is in the area of Intelligence. Several days ago, our organization provided information about a shipment of missiles to the U.S. on a ship from Liberia. This information was provided to Ms. Aston of the U.S. DoD. I understand Ms. Aston is here today? (Rachael raised a hand momentarily). Ah yes. With this information, Ms. Aston, together with the FBI in Miami Florida, came very close to apprehending the missiles. But alas, the terrorists escaped.”
He continued, “Since my country’s first intelligence report, more information has been received, which may be very important. We now know the identity of the terrorist who is bringing the missiles to America. He is Hasan Abd al-Majiid. You will find many pictures and his biography in your intelligence files. He is a very bad man.
“Majiid is a killer who does what he is told. He commands small groups of terrorists, but always under direction from others. In this case, we do not know who provided the missiles and is paying for operations in the US, but it is someone with large resources. These missiles are very expensive to buy, but available. We suspect that this mission is sponsored by a terror state, but we have no verified intelligence regarding this.
“I hope this information is useful.”
Burch moved back to the podium, “Thank you Jean-Luc. Now, without any notice, I’d like to invite Ms. Rachael Aston to bring everyone up to speed with respect to Florida operations.”
Rachael walked confidently to the podium, adjusting the microphone before saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, last Thursday, I was with the FBI in Florida looking for missiles smuggled into the U.S. aboard a large fishing trawler through Port Charlotte. We got to the trawler within hours of its arrival back in port, but the missiles were not aboard. The crew was killed and the ship burned. Later evidence indicates that some or all of the missiles were moved outside Florida. We now suspect one of these missiles shot down the Atlantic flight in Atlanta, killing hundreds of people. A launcher has been recovered, indicating that these are Russian SA-18 shoulder-fired missiles, which you can find on the web.”
She continued, “Something odd about this terrorist crime is that ransom demands were made to protect future flights. I’m not sure what that means with respect to our aircraft industry, or even if it’s truly an act of terrorism. It could be old-fashioned extortion. Okay, that’s where we’re at today, that’s it for me, Mr. Burch.”
“Thank you Rachael.”`
Boston
Majiid and his men drove all night. He had been careful to be sure all of his men had valid international driving licenses, and counterfeit passports and visas. He was also careful to have the missiles carried in other trucks along with their arsenal of weapons. There was nothing in his car to cause any concern if police stopped them.
It was early morning when they arrived at their new “safe house” in Canton, MA, just south of Boston. Again, a local friend of their cause had arranged to rent the house. Canton was a semi-rural area with houses spread widely apart due to septic conditions in the granite-based soil. With colonial-era farms now returned to woodlands, many houses are concealed, and New Englanders keep to themselves. This suited Majiid’s plan. When they drove on to the stone driveway, a truck towing a boat was parked in the woods behind the house. The small house would be crowded.
As the men reunited, Majiid took the car and went searching for a Wi-Fi connection. Today he would deliver two messages. Near the Interstate, he located a large strip-mall with a Barnes & Noble, including a Starbucks franchise with Internet service.
Settling at a table with a large hot tea, he initiated his laptop. Once online, there was a message from his handler, under his code name Duke. Majiid was congratulated on his amazing victory. Duke said the sensational crash of the airplane was worth their expense, and the Islamic world was praying for more such victories! The ransom money on top of this would be like finding gold below the sea, such a wonderful accomplishment! He provided the routing code and information for Majiid’s next message to Atlantic Airlines.
Majiid felt very important and would surely gain a high post, perhaps a Minister’s position when he returned to his home country. But now, it was time for his next message to Atlantic Airlines.
After completing the message, he was thinking about his next target. He would get confirmation of the Atlantic money transfer from Duke once the accounts were cleared, a process that can take days, even with electronic funds. If the funds did not arrive, he would shoot down another Atlantic airliner. Now it was time to send his second message of the day.
“To the owner of United Airlines,
Greetings from the Apostles of Islam. We have destroyed an Atlantic Airlines airplane. Tonight, we will shoot down one of yours. We will do it again each day if you do not meet our demands. If you do not fly, we will wait until you do. Our demand is simple, deposit $100 millions of U.S. dollars in our bank account tomorrow by wire transfer. I will give you the transfer information only ten minutes before you must send the money so nobody will try to hurt us. We are very serious as you will soon see.”
