Levels of Power

by Mike Gilmore

  Sniper 2, positioned on the South African High Commission office across Charing Cross Road, centered the crosshairs of his scope on the target. Unknown to him, the van carrying Mohammad Javan and Gholam Reza was almost directly below his position.

  “S-1. I have a clear shot. Awaiting a green light.”

  “S-2. I have a good visual, but the water shooting up from the fountain might deflect my shot. Awaiting a green light.”

  Alfie Duncan was now the closest man to the suspect at less than fifty feet. He stopped moving when he heard the reports from the snipers. He was unarmed, and the only protection he could take was behind the bronze lion on the northwest corner of Nelson’s Column. He looked around at the number of other people in the square. Many were simply passing through Trafalgar Square as a shortcut to their destination and had stopped in their track. Others were already hurrying to a place of safety. Those coming from the tube stations were moving to take shelter on the south side of Nelson’s Column, putting the tall obelisk between them and the man standing in the center of the square. Alfie was motioning for other people to move back and away from the suspect.

  Iraj assessed his position, turning slightly to look at Alfie Duncan and the two other officers who were now in front of him. They were not blocking the path to his target but he knew they were there to stop him.

  Dozens of eyes were watching the scene: close up, like Alfie Duncan and his men; the snipers through the high-powered eyepieces of their Accuracy International L115A3 sniper rifles; at a distance over the monitors in the War Room. Many of them saw the smile forming on the suspect’s face.

  Randy Fisher sensed movement next to him and stole a quick look to his right; he discovered Marion Bellwood standing beside him. Bellwood motioned to the big center screen filled with the scene from Trafalgar Square. “Is that either of the two men from the bridge?”

  Randy was about to answer when they all saw the suspect’s face almost light up with a larger smile, and then he quickly slipped his right hand inside his tool bag.

  DC Shepard was preparing to yell into the microphone and give the release to the snipers when the male suspect pulled the Micro-Uzi from his backpack.

  Many things happened in just a few seconds. Alfie Duncan yelled for his men to take cover. Shepard yelled into the microphone for the snipers to shoot the suspect. Exposed bystanders saw the gun appear and started to make a run for the nearest shelters.

  Both British snipers made their kill decision at almost the same split second before they heard DC Shepard give them the command. Their AI L115A3.388 sniper rifles were bored to fire an 8.59 mm bullet with a muzzle velocity of 936 meters per second at an effective range of fourteen hundred meters.

  The two specially trained riflemen aimed for a head shot that would cut through the medulla oblongata within the brain and destroy the eleventh cranial nerve, also called the accessory nerve—more of a motor nerve rather than a sensory nerve. The high-powered bullets would destroy the nerve and freeze the subject’s motor capabilities to the head, neck, and lower muscles. A successful shot would stop all muscles from moving and prevent the terrorist from being able to activate any device inside the tool bag.

  Both heavy rounds from the rifles hit Iraj within a period too quick to determine which bullet struck first. His right arm, holding the Micro-Uzi, was already out and moving toward Alfie Duncan when the weapons discharged all twenty rounds in the clips. Iraj was falling toward the paving stones of the square. He was dead when his body flopped to the surface of Trafalgar Square. He did not need to be concerned with detonating the bomb. His backup plan automatically went into a very short countdown.

  The rounds from the Micro-Uzi all hit hard surfaces and ricocheted off the paving stones up into the nighttime sky. Every person in the immediate area around Trafalgar Square hit the ground. Their bodies were as low as possible when the eight pounds of C-4 exploded inside the canvas tool bag.

  Chapter 45

  London

  Thursday, December 3, 2015

  5:15 p.m.

  Iraj Malek-Mohammadi had not touched the trigger mechanism inside the bag. Even if he had, the separation of his cranial nerves by the two 8.59 mm bullets would have made it impossible for him to move his hand or fingers to activate the bomb. In fact, Iraj was dead before his body hit the ground.

  However, the level-sensing back-up firing mechanism he had wired into the bomb and armed just before he left the van had worked perfectly. Iraj had kept the tool bag perfectly level even when he transferred the bag from the handgrip to holding it under his left arm. Once he starting to collapse after the lethal headshots, the mercury-filled leveling mechanism inside the bag went into effect. The level in the tube went off balance and rolled the liquid to the end of the short tube, touching two bare wires and completing an electrical circuit. An energy charge left the battery and traveled at the speed of light to the electric-type fuse head blasting cap. The fuse wires delivered the electrical charge to the electric match inside the blasting cap and ignited the pyrotechnic ignition mixture that provided the explosive charge to set off the eight pounds of high-explosive C-4.

  Explosive materials receive a classification based on the speed at which they expand when detonated. Materials that detonate or explode faster than the speed of sound receive a “High Explosives” classification. C-4 certainly fell into that category.

  The eight-pound block of explosives detonated just as Iraj’s body hit the surface of Trafalgar Square. The blast sent out a shock wave of light, sound, heat, and pressure. The shaped charge inside the bag was designed to fit against the curvature of the column and direct the destructive blast into the column, bringing the obelisk down.

  Instead, the blast exploded 360 degrees. Iraj’s body completely vaporized from the force. The energy waves traveled away from the epicenter at the speed of sound. Car and building windows were shattered. The waterspouts in both fountains were blown toward the rear of the square. Because Iraj had pulled out the Uzi and fired the weapon, witnesses close enough to be seriously hurt by the blast were lying flat on the pavement or behind a structure for protection.

  Alfie Duncan and nearly everyone huddled near Nelson’s Column suffered ruptured eardrums. Although people lay close to the ground, normally harmless debris suddenly moved at tremendous speeds, slicing through their clothing. Those lucky enough to be wearing eyeglasses avoided some damage to sensitive eye tissue.

  Because Iraj was in the open space of the square, most of the energy from the bomb blast simply expanded out into the air. The light energy was blinding and the noise defeating, but the explosion lost most of it strength before it caused major damage beside ruptured eardrums and hundreds of shattered glass windows.

  In the War Room, the blast was captured on the many CCTV cameras recording as the event unfolded. While the people in the room were some distance from Trafalgar Square, they could not stop from leaning away from the screens and shielding their eyes from the intense light.

  However, it took a full minute for the lenses inside most of the CCTV cameras to reset after the bright flash of the blast. The cameras closest to the blast site received a direct hit and sustained damaged by the explosion. Many failed to reactivate; others provided an out-of-focus picture too fuzzy to provide any information. Operators inside the War Room quickly tried to switch the monitors to other cameras, and the big screens slowly came back to life.

  Disaster training kicked in for the people inside the War Room, and they placed calls for emergency responders. Ambulances dispatched. Medical personnel were notified; fire and rescue equipment rolled out of bays. Others were trying to contact the local police officers at the scene to get updated information.

  Randy Fisher felt helpless as he watched the trained professionals try to maintain their composure and go about their duties. Marion Bellwood was on his cell phone calling in a situation report back to Langley, knowing the information would so
on reach the White House Situation Room. Phillip Booker and Charlie Reader stood by their chairs. Their coffee was going cold.

  DC Shepard moved quickly to each station to ensure staff members were all right and able to focus on their work.

  Constance Langhorne was doing the same when she heard one of the technicians over by the frosted glass wall call her name. She hurried over to the station and saw the woman staring hard at her monitor.

  As Constance reached the younger woman’s desk, Emily Shoreham was pointing at her twenty-seven-inch monitor. “Constance, I’m playing back the digital recording, trying to find where the bomber came from. Look here at the back corner of the square. It looks like he came from behind that Thames Water motor van. I don’t see him any other place until he emerges from behind the van.”

  Constance watched another replay on the screen. She agreed completely with Emily’s assessment. “Transfer your video to one of the larger front monitors.” She turned back to the large wall screen as the image from Emily’s monitor suddenly filled one of the left side screens. It took only a moment to locate where the van had been before the explosion.

  Constance shifted her eyes to the main screen, filled with the disaster on the square. All around the perimeter were stalled cars, vans, and a few larger trucks. Many were sitting at unusual angles. Because of the damaged CCTV cameras, it was difficult to distinguish whether some vehicles were cars or small vans.

  She went to one of the other stations and directed the man to change his camera angle to show all of Charing Cross Road. It took several seconds for the camera to move and the technician to bring the picture into focus. The area was darker than before; many streetlights were out. The technician adjusted his equipment to compensate for the low light level.

  Finally, they could at least distinguish the cars from the trucks. She looked carefully and noticed the van on Charing Cross Road, almost at the Ducannon Street intersection. A car from the inner lane had tried to move away from the blast area became stalled itself and blocked the van. Some drivers were outside their cars, unable to see through their damaged windshields. From their distant expressions and unsteady motions, many were simply in shock. Nobody was visible inside the van. “Switch your screen to the main center screen.”

  As the man complied, Constance moved back to the center of the room next to DC Shepard. She grabbed his left arm to get his attention. She pointed to the main screen, now showing the white Thames Water van in the center of the picture.

  “We think that Thames Water van was used to bring the bomber to the square. It’s still stuck in the traffic.”

  Shepard took only a moment to bring up the portable hand radio he had switched to since the explosion. He quickly issued new orders for onsite security forces to move in on the van and take anybody inside into custody.

  Sniper 1 on the roof of the National Gallery changed his position to focus his weapon and high-powered scope on the van, but he found only the solid sidewall and the small window next to the driver’s door.

  Sniper 2 was almost straight above the van. He leaned over to sight the van through his rifle scope. At the short distance, he hardly needed the extra magnification, but the angle of his vision was off. He could not see inside the van.

  Less than a minute after DC Shepard issued his new orders, four heavily armed members of the Armed Service Department of the Metropolitan Police moved in from two different directions. The rain had almost stopped. The wind was less fierce. Lighting was bad from the loss of the streetlights, but that might help the officers remain undetected as they moved closer to the van.

  The lead officer finally worked his way closer to the van using stalled cars for protection. He thought there were two people inside the van. He quietly warned anyone nearby to walk away from the area.

  “This is leader A. I see two possible suspects inside the van. We are moving in. Everyone has a green light if they have a clear shot.”

  Chapter 46

  London

  Thursday, December 3, 2015

  5:37 p.m.

  Mohammad Javan and Gholam Reza were slowly recovering from the effects of the explosion. The safety glass in the driver’s door next to Mohammad and the front windshield were gone, blown away by the force of the explosion. Light rain and wind blew into the van and on their faces. The combined effects of rain, wind, and the drop in temperature helped to restore their senses. The small pellets of broken glass had pockmarked their faces, and each had small cuts that slowly oozed blood.

  They had watched as the British shot down Iraj, his body falling to the ground. The explosion from the bomb took them by surprise as much as the other people in the area. Only a short time passed before Mohammad had recovered enough to think about moving the van and escaping from the area. It was no hope; other cars boxed the van. He used the sleeve of his right hand to wipe blood from his face. He could feel tiny pieces of glass pellets imbedded in his skin. As Gholam was coming back to his senses, Mohammad looked out the open spaces of the front and side windows, trying to decide their next move.

  The car next to the driver’s side rested against the van and prevented Mohammed from opening his door. “My door is blocked. We need to leave through your door or the back of the van.” The giant made a quick decision. “Get your bag. We will walk to the train station. We will set our explosives inside and leave any way we can, train or the underground.”

  Both men reached down to the floor between the front seats and picked up their tool bags. They quickly checked for their weapons; both removed the Korth handguns. There was no need to keep the weapons hidden. They would take too long to remove from the bags if they needed them.

  Gholam started to open his door when he saw movement ahead about twenty-five feet. The shape was human, and he could just make out the silhouette of a rifle or some sort of weapon. Mohammad looked to where Gholam was staring and saw the same shape. He spun in his seat to look off to his right; he saw another armed officer moving in toward the van. He pointed to the slow-moving target. “It seems our fate will end right here.” He reached back into the bag for the Uzi and the spare clips. “I don’t want to die like Iraj, with a bomb blast. I want my death to be more personal.”

  He quickly fed a round into the chamber and slipped the safety off. In the darkened interior of the van he could hear Gholam readying his own machine gun.

  They looked at each other, and each gave a smile and a head nod. Looking back toward the moving targets approaching them and the people still milling around the cars stalled beside the van, they stuck their weapons out the space where the front and side windows used to be and pulled the triggers.

  Chapter 47

  London

  Thursday, December 3, 2015

  5:50 p.m.

  The gunfight lasted for only a short period, but the number of dead and wounded was much higher than from the bomb blast. Bullets from the Uzis cut down the two closest police officers with lethal head and neck wounds above where their bulletproof vest could protect them.

  Immediately afterward, the two terrorists changed their direction of fire and took out numerous bystanders still recovering from the effects of the blast. Those people had no chance.

  Both terrorists used the brief opportunity in the confusion to change the magazines in their Uzis, inserting fresh clips with another twenty rounds each. They were ready to fire their weapons again when bullets started to enter the van’s sidewall behind Mohammad.

  Sniper 1, on the roof of the National Galley, could not see the terrorists. He was a perfect witness to the death coming from inside the van. Still having no clear target but using logic as to their location, he opened fire on the van from his elevated position behind them. The first round missed Mohammad Javan Nik Khah, but the next three entered his back and throat. Blood spurted from his mouth and neck, and his body fell forward against the steering wheel.

  Gholam saw his friend slump fo
rward. The huge body compressed against the steering wheel, and the horn started to blare. He knew he needed to try to leave the van. Safety in mobility was one of the ideas they taught at the camps. He opened his door, firing his Uzi to create whatever distraction possible. He had only taken one step from the van when Sniper 2 fired an 8.62 mm-round directly into the top of his head from the rooftop above. He died as he fell to the asphalt.

  Chapter 48

  London

  Thursday, December 3, 2015

  6:00 p.m.

  The uniformed officers and civilian employees inside the War Room in the Scotland Yard building were in shock. For many, this was their first involvement in an actual terrorist situation. No amount of classroom training in the coordination of monitors and the flow of information in and out of the facility could prepare them for the scene on Charing Cross Road. Even the former military officers experienced and hardened from overseas duty in Afghanistan or Iraq were deeply affected by what they had just witnessed.

  Marion Bellwood and his two security agents had seen almost every conceivable type of horror in their time working for the CIA, but they were just as speechless. Randy Fisher felt sick to his stomach.

  There had not been enough time to assess the death and destruction from the bomb blast before the people inside the War Room stood by helplessly as the second attack occurred before their eyes.

  They watched Londoners getting out of their damaged and stalled cars on Charing Cross Road, trying to understand what had just occurred on their beloved Trafalgar Square. Many of the drivers from the cars were just realizing they had survived a terrorist attack. Some were turning to help the wounded, only to become the targets of another attack, gunned down without mercy.

  The workers inside the War Room would never forget the images on the huge center screen as the bodies reacted to the deadly hail of gunfire from almost point-blank range.