Chapter Twenty-five
Commisshioner Chester continued switching from one CCTV camera to another, desperately trying to locate the chief security agent, and the presidential limousine. The whole tunnel area was a black hole with dense swirls of gray smoke obscuring everything in the tunnel.. Occasionally fleeting figures would appear and just as quickly disappear. Dark twisted shapes came into view and then vanished as the fog enveloped them. It was impossible to decipher which vehicle was which amongst the tangled wreckage.
His mobile buzzed and he snatched it from the consul.
‘Chester here...’
‘Agent number 23 sir in the presidential car ...we’re just about finished commissioner...they have the president surrounded...can you send in your best men now.’
Chester dropped his mobile and stared blankly at the array of seventeen-inch CRT TV screens -- the worst possible nightmare was staring him in the face. He smirked at the American’s remark and silently mouthed his next statement.
‘Send in our best men?...they’re already in there you bloody idiot!’
It was like playing chess with the lights off. The whole thing was the province of the younger man who could think quickly on his feet...or perhaps that of the older man with a calm head and clear thinking; coupled with vast experience in violent confrontations.
He squinted more intensely at the instrumentation in front of him -- a bank of foggy CRT displays exhibiting incomprehensible images -- it represented his personal big picture of the destruction of the presidential motorcade. After all the work and careful planning which had gone into the protection of the president it had all come down to this -- a bunch of amateur terrorists had beaten them at their own game. It was yet another humiliating defeat the world would not forget, particularly the Islamic extremist countries.
He stared in anguish at the blurred illegible CCTV images. Why, oh bloody why, had they not took his advice and upgraded to modern, hi-tech video cameras, which would have given them a clearer view of the mess now confronting them? And where were the HD LCD Monitors he‘d thrown in for good measure. In spite of all the well thought out recommendations over the years, they had been completely ignored, even though some of them had been marked in red as an absolute necessity.
Standing in the monitor room was like staring into a row of black holes on a foggy winters day. Even so, it wasn’t too difficult to see the periodic piles of black objects scattered along the roadside, which turned out to be dead bodies, most of them secret service agents and policeman, with the odd terrorist here and there. They wouldn’t be the only dead after the event -- many heads would roll as a result of this international debacle. Chester was only too aware that his head would be top of the list.
The Sydney streets were clogged with tourists who had better camera equipment in their mobile phones than the police HQ had dotted along the tunnel. How on earth could they fight well armed, hi-tech terrorists, with useless outdated equipment.
A red light blinked periodically on the computer consul indicating that the cameras were recording events in the tunnel. Chester smiled, it wouldn’t be much of a TV show when they came to playing back the video shots, and there would certainly be a bloated inquiry over the incident. Unfortunately, the images would be run through by lower ranks, and assessed by area commanders. The politicians, who were in a position of real influence, rarely saw a good police CCTV video playback. If they did, it would tell then how abominably poor the quality was on police CRT video monitors. Chester himself had often said it would be difficult to identify your own mother staring directly into the camera from a distance of two feet. They were used for their scare factor, but good identification of human features was often a problem. They had long been a bit of a joke with the criminal element and the police alike. He was tempted to smash every outmoded CRT display with the nearest heavy object.
He was reluctant to pass on the message to higher authority because he would run into a wall of bureaucracy, which was designed to give him the run around, and in any case, it didn’t really matter anymore since the siege was practically over, with the terrorist having the upper hand from start to finish.
The HQ desk phone rang, just in time to save the consul displays from being smashed, and Chester leaned over picking up the receiver.
‘Hello...’
‘Police Minister here commissioner...I’ve just heard these ruddy terrorists have the upper hand, is that true?’
‘I’m afraid it is sir,’ Chester replied in a barely audible voice, shot with emotion and suppressed anger.
‘I see...’said the minister, in a scathing tone that made Chester flinch inwardly.
‘Don’t worry sir, I’ll have several hundred men in there post haste, we’re converging on both ends of the tunnel.’ Chester felt like a nazi general in Hitler’s bunker promising more men when non actually existed on paper.
‘They will not get out of there alive sir.’
‘No, and neither will the president at that rate. We’re having an emergency meeting at government house with major luminaries in the cabinet, put someone with a bit of gumption in charge, and tell them to hold the situation...don’t go charging in willy nilly, keep your men out of the tunnel...then get yourself over here right now,’ Chester cut the call, his heart in his mouth, then squinted seethingly at the CRT displays, and smiled perceptively -- they would be one of his leading excuse for total systemic failure.
There were of course other valid ingrained reasons for failure in the line of fire. Inexperienced Sydney police had never been through an all out terrorist attack on their city before. Neither had they had any specific counter terrorist training which might have equipped them better to deal with the tunnel hijack and subsequent massacre.
Their poor performance could be put down to their first terrorist baptism of fire -- the drawing of first blood -- they were hardly battle hardened troops and had many lessons to learn. On top of all that police turnover was alarmingly high and necessitated the use of near green recruits. There was a big difference between a civilian police force armed with politicaly correct inhibiting regulations and modest hand guns, compared to a free reining paramilitary force like the BIB, armed with a range of sophisticated weapons specifically chosen for the situation at hand.
Chapter Twenty-six
Acting president Jenkins frowned at the massive pile of documents in his IN tray, it was becoming a little too much to bear after a hard morning with staffers and a rash of irksome domestic problems. Although exhilarating as it was to be the most powerful man in the world, the incessant work load came as somewhat of a shock to him, and decisions seemed to be taking forever. There was clearly too much consultation between himself and an endless procession of different parties representing different causes. What ever happened to free will, when a president could issue an order that would be carried out immediately, and be devoid of gross interference by jumped up intermediaries
The emergency phone on the left of his desk rang and he peered at the device in surprise -- it was the first time the phone had ever rung since his inauguration into the White house.
‘Hello president Jenkins speaking.’
‘Hello sir, FBI director Australia...we have an emergency, the president has been kidnapped by a group of terrorists in the cross city tunnel in Australia.’ Jenkins looked at the phone receiver with a mixture of shock and expectation. After a few moments he found his voice and deliberately kept it low key.
‘Really...what about the secret service contingent over there, aren't they supposed to be protecting him?’
‘They did sir...most of them are now dead.’
‘You’ll have to put our men onto this director.’
‘Not that simple sir...Australian sovereignty is in the way.’
‘Well at least try -- we are allies I believe.’
‘Yes sir, one would hope so,’ the line went silent as the acting president stood deep in thought for several moments. Care had to be taken in the way things w
ere handled from now on -- every step would be critical.
‘Now listen to me director, the Iranian Leader has issued a Decree, they have captured the president in order to put him on trail in Tehran in front of the world. There is no way they are going to let him go, in fact, any hard attempt to free him will almost certainly result in his death.’
‘That’s a fair assumption sir.’
‘Let’s treat it as a fact, then the only way we can come out of this on top is to use the situation to our advantage.’
‘I quite agree sir, but how?’
‘In the American embassy over there in Australia, is a special set of bullet shaped phials in a sealed box in the safe for just such an occasion as this.’
‘You don’t say, I wasn’t aware of that sir.’
‘Actually, boxes of this particular bullet are now common to most US embassies throughout the world. It was a covert decision made by a former president in case of an emergency. It has been on hold since its inception some years ago, its success depends entirely on its secrecy and this is why you are not aware of it director. I think now is the time for its release.
What I’m about to reveal to you is top secret director, I trust you will maintain correct protocol and keep it that way. Do you remember the Iranian hostage affair, where a number of our US personnel were captured and detained?’
‘Yes I do sir, wasn’t that on president Carter’s watch.’
‘It was...and we were powerless at the time. It was the most humiliating incident in the history of the United States military. It is something a great country like ours does not forget easily, and so, we had to learn from this shameful event.’
‘That’s right sir...and it also was the most frustrating thing ever to happen to any US government.’
‘It certainly was, and these special hi-tech bullets will address that situation somewhat, they have the highest possible classification...and once again, I’m reminding you of that director.
‘Are they a new take on cyanide capsules sir...does it have a code classification?’
‘Not quite that negative, but they’re the next best thing, they consists of a specially designed plastic bullet containing a micro transmitter, which when fired into the body penetrates the muscle and remains there undetected. They leave only a tiny pinprick in the skin which rapidly heals. You’ll find the relevant details listed under classified code number DS302’
‘And there purpose sir?
‘They are a marker consisting of a tiny, but highly powerful solid state signal generator. They also have an extra bio-active component which dissolves in the body tissues. The device activates the minute it enters the body. Any person harbouring such a device can now be detected anywhere in the world using one of our specially equipped drone aircraft. It will be near impossible to hide such captives from our airborne detectors ’
‘And the bio-active component sir...what does that do?’
‘It assists in the rapid healing of the entry wound and acts as a powerful anesthetic in the immediate area as well as possessing other physiological properties.’
‘But how can that help in our current situation sir?’
‘It’s simple really...your job will be to get one of these bullets implanted into the president before the terrorists whisk him away. The president should feel virtually nothing as the ultra slim bullet enters his tissues. There is a special silenced air gun in the arms cabinet within the embassy, the Ambassador has the only key. The weapon must be fired within a range of 30 metres for effective penetration.
Unfortunately, like all secret weapons it needs testing, preferable in secret by an unwilling participant who knows nothing of the device or its capabilities. Ideally the test case or victim should be totally unaware that he is the recipient of this insidious device after insertion.’
‘But how on earth are we going to test it sir...and what possible use is this device in the present situation?’
‘I would have thought that might have been obvious director. By a lucky or unlucky coincidence, depending on your point of view, president Garner is now in the most favorable situation possible for the testing of the DS 302 device.’
‘You actually intend to use it on the president sir.’
‘Of course, any politician in a position of influence wouldn’t hesitate to use it in the field. It is actually nothing more than the electronic human equivalent of a sophisticated animal marker device one might use on a pet dog or cat.
‘Your letting the terrorists take the president then sir?’
‘Yes, since they will kill the president anyway if we try to stop them, he is now lost to us, so we use the situation to our advantage -- what was the that saying by Dale Carnage?’
‘I don’t know sir, a bit before my time.’
‘Something about turning a lemon into a lemonade...that is what we will do director. Anyway, you must now find a good marksman over there, get him into the tunnel, and fire one of the marker bullets into the president before the terrorists whisk him away to Iran...that way we’ll be able to track them right to their HQ. It is therefore essential that they are allowed to get a away with the president -- make sure you get this over to the Australian authorities.’
‘Then what sir?’
‘Just as soon as we have found their head quarters via the drone aircraft detector, and established that the government hierarchy is present, we’ll nuke the bloody hell out of them.’
The FBI director checked himself against a strong desire to vigorously protest; instead, allowing himself a gross contraction of his facial muscles
‘Their is another problem here sir...the president has all the secret codes and security of our country embedded in his brain. What if they decide to torture him to death -- I can’t see the president holding out for very long -- he’s not a hard chore military type, they’ll have a field day.’
‘The only answer to that director, is to eliminated the president on the spot -- would you like to take responsibility for that?
‘No sir...that’s unthinkable.’
‘Good, then we proceed as stated. In any case, the embedded bullet will have it’s own slow release, euthanasia device built in. The president is not likely to last long enough for a full scale torture session.
Now, we haven’t got much time director, so get onto this immediately. I want this done, if the Australian authorities can’t handle it, then we’ll fly out a special FBI HRT team.’
‘A Hostage Response Team sir -- but that will seriously jeopardize our relationship with the Australians, we are already straining the friendship now.’
‘I see...perhaps a direct call to the Australian PM might do the job.’
‘Please sir, let me do my job, I won’t let them move president Garner until the device had been embedded.’
‘All right, but let them know exactly what we want, just remember, he is the US President and therefore our total responsibility. Give me a buzz as soon as a successful implantation has occurred.'
Chapter Twenty-seven
The meeting was in full swing as Chester was shown into the large dinning room at government house. Faces around a long table peered at the new man, most with undisguised antagonism.
The table talk died down as Chester took his seat opposite Bruce Jones, the police minister. He recognised most of the faces present; there was a subdued prime minister sitting at the head of the table flanked by the American ambassador, a large stately man with lots of grey hair and an expressionless face, next to him was the NSW premier, a rather bland man of average height, with a balding crown, dressed in his ubiquitous brown pin striped suit. The defence minister, George Granger was the tallest, and possibly the smartest man in the room, with his delectable Italian double breasted suit, matching pale salmon shirt, and deep crimson silk cravat. He was always blessed with a rosy face and permanent grin. Granger sat on the right side of the premier, adjacent to him were two other immaculately dressed men he hadn’t seen before.
The prime
minister looked directly at Chester.
‘We’ve been discussing the situation commissioner and the senior FBI attaché in Canberra, Director Harry Lincoln,’ the PM gestured towards one of the strangers, ‘would like to bring in an FBI antiterrorist task force at this point,’ Chester went rigid and blood drained from his face. ‘I’m sorry prime minister, but while I’m commissioner, the American FBI will not be actively involved in this situation. This is Australia, and we have our own crime fighting resources. I have every confidence the situation will be resolved the Australian way,’ the FBI director glowered at Chester.
‘All due respects commissioner we have followed your basic planning and look at the mess we’re in,’ Chester glared openly at the director by way of return.
‘You may have over looked the fact sir but most of your secret service officers are now laying dead in the western distributor tunnel and they were the last line of defence for the president,’ the FBI director’s constrained demeanor burst its banks.
‘And that commissioner, may well be do to your bumbling lack of external support...where the hell were your men when the fireworks started?’ Chester’s reply was quick and to the point.
‘It’s just as well we didn’t send too many of our men in, otherwise it would have been a blood bath, with the president as one of the first casualties. It’s a bit of clear thinking we want now...not more body bags,’ the police minister gently pulled Chester to one side and whispered in his ear.
‘I would like a word with you afterwards commissioner please wait in the ante-room.' Chester stood upright, turned sullenly, and left the room. Closing the door quietly behind him, he turned and sat heavily on a polished oak bench in the porch way, which normally provided seating for prospective interviewees at government house.
Tehran Decree Page 10
