by Mike Gilmore
He moved to place his feet against the second upright barrel. After several attempts, he was able to slide it to the right about eighteen inches. When he pulled back to the doorway, there were two barrels to the right of the barrel on its side and three more standing upright to the left, providing a wall of protection.
He positioned his back against the other side of the doorframe, this time facing where the terrorist was hiding. He placed both feet against the top of the barrel on its side and slid down low so he could bend his knees to propel the barrel across the floor. When he was ready, he checked his weapon one last time. He had to assume there were only eleven bullets left in the gun.
He pulled several breaths deep into his lungs, visualizing what he wanted to achieve with the barrel. Summing up every ounce of strength, he reached deeply within himself and gave out the loudest yell possible. With every fiber in his body, he shot his legs out and sent the barrel rolling across the floor.
The barrel rolled faster than he could have hoped. It crossed the open space, staying on target for the terrorist stooped down behind his own barricade. Randy quickly rolled to his left and rose to kneel behind the three upright barrels.
Shir Mohammad heard the yell and thought the British SAS was charging the building. He had been trying to reach the detonator with his left hand, but the bomb was in the bottom of the canvas tool bag under his Uzi. From the corner of his eyes, he saw something moving in his direction. He rose from behind his wall of barrels and fired at the moving target. Six or seven times his fingers pulled the trigger of his weapon as he tried to kill his enemy. The building filled with noise and smoke from the multiple gun blasts swirled heavily around his body, making it difficult to see his target.
He stood, aiming the gun toward the barrel. It came to a stop about four feet in front of him. He could not believe it was one of their own barrels and not a British soldier. He looked up to see the American holding his own weapon, both hands resting on top of one of the upright barrels. He saw the determination in the eyes staring toward him across the open space. There was no lack of conviction in the voice.
“Make the slightest move and I will kill you. Drop the weapon now.”
Shir took a moment to gauge the look in the eyes. This man was responsible for his brother’s death. In all the public records he had read of the account, the man had claimed his brother had fallen on his own knife and killed himself. This American had never actually killed before.
Shir looked at Hossein lying on the floor and then at the two constables. He remembered how it felt to jam the knife into the soft body of the one he had killed. He looked back at the American. A smile formed on his lips as he started to bring the gun up. He would kill this American just as easily. The hand with the gun had moved only an inch when two explosions from one gun filled the pump house once again.
Chapter 56
Washington, DC
Friday, December 4, 2015
6:00 a.m.
Randy Fisher felt the wheels of the British Gulfstream jet touch down on the runway at Dulles International Airport. He had dropped into a deep slumber almost immediately upon takeoff from Heathrow and used the transatlantic flight to catch up on a lot of lost sleep. As the only passenger on the Gulfstream provided as a courtesy by the British government for services rendered, he had been no trouble for the two flight attendants.
In Honor Oak, Charlie Booker had called for backup as soon as he could get his cell phone out of his back pocket. His call to Constance Langhorne had resulted in a slew of emergency vehicles arriving on the scene. Upon inspection of the open barrels, another call when out for an emergency HAZMAT team that closed off the building and started their own special investigation.
Marion and Charlie received transport by ambulance to Kingston Hospital in southeastern London. A lightweight plastic boot now enclosed Charlie’s broken ankle. The bullet fired from Shir Mohammad’s gun had grazed the back of Marion’s left shoulder, deeply grooving his skin. The bleeding had been heavy but the wound was not serious. He also had a large lump on the back of his head where it had struck the concrete steps after his backward tumble. He was kept overnight for observation.
A hospital staff member provided Randy with a clean shirt. His had been soaked with rain and sweat. While he waited for the doctors to examine and treat Marion and Charlie, he reflected on his gun battle with the two terrorists.
He had never killed a man before, much less two in as few minutes. His hands shook as he waited in the cold rain for backup support and a medical team to attend his friends. During the ride to the hospital in the back of the ambulance, Marion assured his friend the tremor was only nerves and adrenaline. It would all go away in a short time.
Randy had sat in Marion’s hospital room listening to the cell phone conversation between Marion and Marci Bellwood. His friend tried to explain to his wife why he would be away for a few more days. When the call was finished, Randy had to bring up the subject of Marion’s wounds. “It seems I might have evened the score today. You’ve been reminding me for years how you saved my life twenty-some years ago in Germany.”
“All right, MP. We are even. Maybe I still own you one. You took out two bad guys today.” He saw Randy’s face darken as the younger man remembered the deaths only a few hours earlier. “You all right with what happened tonight? It’s not every day you face a terrorist with guns and a bomb.”
Randy looked at his hands. The shaking had finally stopped. “I’m fine, but I’m also worried by that man’s last words. He said there would be another attempt to destroy a large part of the United States. I wanted to capture him alive—any of them, for that matter. Now we have five dead terrorists and no leads.”
“Whoa, big guy,” Marion said. “We’ve got lots of leads to follow. We will have forensic evidence from the five terrorists, fingerprints, and DNA. The VIN numbers from the vans led the British to the rug company. The two buildings will be filled with evidence.” He looked over at Charlie. “What have I missed, Charlie?”
Charlie Reader sat in a chair near the foot of the bed, his damaged ankle stretched out in front of him. “The SAS boys who came to the pump house told me those handguns were very expensive. They can trace each serial number back to the original owners. Someone with a lot of money purchased those guns, and we always follow the money.”
“Right,” Marion said as he shifted his body into a more comfortable position. “Listen, MP. We have plenty of evidence to follow. It might not happen tomorrow, but we are a lot closer to finding out who was behind today’s attack in London and our own incident three years ago. Believe me. We will find out who did this.”
There was a light tap on the door, and Constance Langhorne walked in, followed by Deputy Commissioner Shepard. Constance smiled at all three men before she wrapped her arms around Charlie Reader’s wide shoulders and planted a fat kiss on his forehead.
DC Shepard smiled but kept his enthusiasm at a more controlled level. “Well now. You all look almost first rate. I thought you would like a recap of what we have learned to date. Our first examination of the rug company has convinced us there were only five terrorists in the group. So with your two at Honor Oak, we got the lot. There are tons of material and papers to go through at the rug company, so it will be some time before we can learn everything possible. However, I can assure you we will put a lot of people into the effort.”
Marion broke into DC Shepard’s recap. “I assume whatever you find will be fully shared with my agency?”
Shepard nodded. “Absolutely. You have my word on that.”
Randy asked the biggest question on his mind. “What was the powder in the barrels?”
Shepard’s expression darkened somewhat. “The powder is still being analyzed by our medico people, but it appears to contain some sort of protozoa that at normal strength can cause serious gastrointestinal illness. Our people are running tests, but they seem to think the
protozoa could have caused many people to get very sick. Maybe even die. We will have more information in a few days. Thanks to the efforts of you three men, we are very glad the drinking water for 800,000 Londoners was not contaminated. If the terrorists had been successful in poisoning the drinking water, we might have not determined the cause until hundreds or possibly thousands of people got sick or died. Then we would have faced the problem of preventing people from using the contaminated water and cleaning the poison from the reservoir.”
Constance looked at Charlie and then Marion and Randy. “You blokes are big heroes. Wait until my mum hears that my Charlie drove the car to the reservoir.”
Charlie laughed. “Yeah, and fell flat on his face.”
Randy spoke up next. “I think it would be better for all if our involvement in this affair was kept quiet. I think my CIA friend here would agree.”
Marion was already nodding. “Yes. I think keeping this under wraps for now is best. I’ll have to inform my superiors in Washington, but the less said the better.”
Shepard agreed. “We will try to keep information of your involvement out of the hands of the press both here and abroad. However, Mr. Fisher, I know of one special person already notified of your efforts in today’s activities. She has requested your presence before you leave the country.”
Randy’s reminiscences of what had happened a few hours later were interrupted by the flight attendant’s normal “Welcome to Washington” speech. He thought it was amusing, since he was the only passenger on the flight.
The meeting with the Queen had taken place shortly before his Met driver whisked him away to the airport. She had smiled and offered her hand, which he had softly taken within his own. They spoke for almost a quarter hour, in which time she asked if Randy would be happy to return to America and his wife Annie. Randy had been surprised someone had taken the time to learn about Annie, and he thanked the Queen for her inquiry. “I’m surprised with all the chaos over the last few hours that your staff was able to take the time to learn about my family.”
The Queen had smiled, and Randy saw a little twinkle in her eye. “We like to keep track of foreigners who will soon rise to high positions.”
The plane came to a stop in a VIP area away from the main concourse buildings. One of the flight attendants released the exit door lock and prepared to lower the door that converted to a set of stairs for leaving the plane. Waiting for the passenger door to open, Randy thought about the number of e-mails he had received in the last twelve hours. Most had been from Sally LaSalle, informing her boss the filibuster was taking an ugly turn. Senators were tired of the whole mess, and name-calling was becoming common. She sent her last e-mail shortly before Randy got on his plane. Only the subject line was filled in. “When are you coming back to the Senate?”
Randy had sent a short reply that he was boarding a jet for Washington. He asked Sally to call Annie to update him with his new schedule. He had talked with her only briefly from the hospital, promising to provide more details when he got home.
The cabin door finally opened, and Randy walked down the stairway. He noticed a black limousine pulling up near the bottom of the steps. The back door opened, and Annie Fisher stepped out and ran up to the stairway to greet her husband. After a long hug and kiss, she broke away from his strong grip. Her face beamed with delight. “Well, it’s about time the hero returns home.”
Randy smiled back and gave her another hug. He broke away as a tall man stepped out of the car. He wanted to ask Annie what she meant by the hero returning, but it would have to wait until they were alone.
He recognized the British ambassador to the United States. “Ambassador Hordern. It is a pleasure to have you meet me here at the airport. Thanks for bringing Annie along.”
Michael Hordern was in his third year as the British government’s highest-ranking representative in Washington. His relationship with the Miller government was excellent. The tall sixty-two-year-old man was slender and had a full head of white hair.
“It’s my great pleasure, Senator Fisher. After all, we cannot have you arriving this early at the airport without several friendly faces to greet you. I received a call from the prime minister himself, asking that I arrange this meeting with England’s newest hero.”
Randy was confused. How could they know so much about his small part in the terrorist plot?
Seeing his confused look Ambassador Hordern opened a large folded piece of paper. “This is a copy off the embassy printer. It’s the front page of an early morning edition of the Times.”
The headline told Randy all he needed to know.
American Senator Helps Scotland Yard Foil Terrorists Ultimate Target
Randy quickly scanned the first few lines. It seemed Jasmine Ainsworth, the CNN reporter, had been closely watching Scotland Yard and had seen Randy and his friends leave the headquarters’ building. They had not been able to follow their car, but the reporter had been able to put together pieces of information, along with several quotes from unnamed sources.
Annie smiled up at her husband as she slowly shook her head. “Just couldn’t keep your head down over there, right?”
Chapter 57
Washington, DC
Friday, December 4, 2015
8:15 a.m.
United States Senator John Laird had replaced Roberta Hanley and was just starting his speech to hold the Senate floor for the next four hours. He felt deeply in his tired body that today the Senate would vote to break the filibuster and then vote again to allow the Fair Share Bill to go to the Finance Committee. They had held off the vote for more than four days, but the three senators were tired, and the others senators wanted the filibuster to end.
He stopped to collect his thoughts and was about to begin again when he felt someone softly take hold of his left arm above the elbow. He turned to find his friend Randy Fisher standing in the aisle with a warm smile on his face.
Randy leaned in to whisper in John’s ear. “Tired, John?”
John gave a little snort and a quiet laugh. “Just a little. I read in the papers you’ve been very busy yourself the last few days.”
Randy just smiled back again and stepped over to his bench seat across the aisle from the Republican. He picked up the copy of the Corporate America Fair Share Tax Bill that had been lying on his desk since Monday morning. He gave the cover a quick glance and sat down in his seat.
As Senator Laird resumed his speech to hold the Senate floor, Randy thought about the last forty-five minutes. He felt better now that he had taken a shower, shaved, and was in a clean suit. He had received an update from Sally LaSalle, Brad Guilliams, and Renee Stockli in his office and then met with Tom Evans and a few other senators in the majority leader’s office next to the Senate chambers. Shelba Mace from North Carolina was a good friend. Margaret Anderson of Iowa chaired the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, Amy Carlson was the junior senator from Tom’s state of California, and Senator Timothy Richards was chairman of the Senate Finance Committee.
After fending off their questions about the events in London, Randy was finally able to ask a few questions of his own.
“I assume nobody in this room wants to see this Fair Share Bill go to Tim’s committee? Am I correct in my assumption?”
Richards sat in a smooth leather chair in the left corner of the office behind Tom’s desk. The majority leader sat at his desk, and the three women were sharing a couch against the wall to Tom’s right. Randy had refused the chair in front of Tom’s desk and was pacing the room. It felt good to be walking around the familiar office of the majority leader after being cramped inside the Scotland Yard building for almost three days, followed by a six-hour flight from London. He was anxious to end the filibuster and have the bill killed. After that, he would enjoy a long three-day weekend with his aunt Frances, who had stayed with Annie until Randy returned from London.
Senator Rich
ards spoke for the group. “Hell … None of us in this room wants to see this bill come to my committee. I do not even think most of the House Republicans who voted to pass it were really in favor of the dang thing. They were just afraid to go up against the president. His White House drum beaters did a real number to build up support for the bill from the very beginning.”
Shelba Mace voiced her opinion. “The latest polls show the public is tired of the filibuster, but they are starting to listen to the three Davids. Support for the bill is slipping.”
Anderson leaned forward on the end of the couch closest to Tom’s desk to look at Senator Mace. “When the president didn’t finish his bus tour in Virginia, the steam seemed to go out of their engine. I think we can get this thing killed today.”
Randy looked at the majority leader. “Tom, you’ve been quiet in the Senate and in the news about the bill. If we can get the three Republican senators to allow a vote, do we have the support in the Senate to stop the bill?”
The six-foot five-inch Democratic presidential candidate leaned back in his chair to stretch. The former pro basketball star normally tipped the scales at 285 pounds but to improve his public image had recently gone on a diet and exercise program. Over the last four months, he had dropped forty-five pounds. He was almost back to his playing weight. He was sixty-three years of age and still sported blond hair with very little gray mixed in. He shifted forward to lean against the edge of his desk. “I’ve tried to keep presidential politics out of this, but it’s time to end the filibuster. Besides, I need to get back out on the campaign trail.”
