Fractured Nation

by Kurt Winans

  As for the helicopter, the HIP-C had performed well under all conditions during the twelve weeks since her arrival. With the weight of the helicopter having been reduced slightly, the normal limit of one hundred sixty-two miles per hour could be exceeded by an additional five. Additionally, the previous maximum range of two hundred eighty miles had been stretched another ten. Although the numbers weren’t hugely different, they could become helpful if need be. Unfortunately both extended limits couldn’t work in concert. If the speed was maximized, then the range would decrease, and if the increased range was needed, a slower speed would be required.

  Although there had been many instances when the full complement of two pilots and fourteen jumpers were onboard for practice runs over the training facility, or in flights that hugged the terrain changes of Bird Mountain, the most current flight had been the longest in duration. As such the distance from the training facility to Amarillo exceeded the maximum flight range by roughly one hundred miles, so a fueling stop had been required at the Lubbock Preston Smith International Airport.

  Early Tuesday morning in Amarillo, the pressing function of Mr. Capra and Mr. Fisk was that of tending to the needs of the bird. They ensured that all remained in top notch working order by topping off the fuel level and visually inspecting the frame and her instrumentation. As they did so, a black suburban from the trailers inside the Tillman Freight facility arrived. The large vehicle, like the two others that were only minutes behind, would serve multiple purposes. First, each would bring several canvas duffel bags filled with weapons, live ammunition, and a portion of sixteen total parachutes to the helicopter. That cargo, along with additional fuel containers, would be strapped down within the bird. In so doing there would be two negative effects, as both the fuel range due to the increased weight, and the available floor seating area during flight, would be diminished if all fourteen jumpers were to stay aboard. Fortunately that challenge could be rectified until the actual attack flight, as the three black suburban’s would take on a total of ten jumpers for the road trip toward Castle Rock just south of Denver. Combined with the drivers and jet pilots, there would be five people in each vehicle, while the remaining four jumpers and helicopter crew of two had plenty of room for the next phase of their flight north.

  Number forty seven and his contingent of guests had been waiting for nearly three hours since the theoretical time of arrival, but there was no need for any concern as of yet. The overall time needed for the lengthy travel had been an educated approximation, but with the presence of uncontrollable factors such as interstate traffic levels or potential issues with the weather being mixed into the equation, that timeframe was less than exact. In short, they all knew it could still be several hours before their friends would turn up.

  When the burn phone in his jacket pocket began to ring, it gave promise that the rendezvous was close at hand. Using a level and non-emotional tone of voice, the short and stout man originally from Abilene Texas answered with, “This is number forty seven, what’s your status?”

  “Ten minutes out. Are you ready to receive us?”

  “Yes we are. Call me again when you turn the final corner, but let it ring just once and then hang up. I’ll open the big door and you should pull all the way forward once inside.”

  “Understood, and thanks.”

  Turning to the assembled group of twenty-eight men and twenty women who were eager to commence with their eastern attack operations, number forty seven said, “We have about ten minutes. Everybody get ready.”

  The large collective had flown in on four flights from different cities in Texas the previous day under the façade of attending either a fraternity reunion or a corporate workshop, and had since been well rested at a series of hotels for their upcoming task. They all stood and gathered from various chairs and couches along the wall before moving to deposit any forensic evidence such as paper beverage cups and sandwich wrappers into a central garbage can. Then after checking to see that all was in order, the most senior of the women reported, “We’re ready to go sir.”

  Number forty seven was unaware that the woman also had been given numbered status by Samuel, or he would have addressed her by the designation of number forty one. Instead, she received nothing more than a nod of comprehension from him before they, along with the remainder of the collective, waited in silence. When the burn phone rang just once a few minutes later as had been instructed, number forty seven moved to the large rollup door and pulled down on the heavy chain. Then he looked out the open door to get a visual, and the first of the trucks was no more than two hundred yards away. After stepping outside to wave them in, he moved back into the huge warehouse and waited. Just seconds after the last of the four trucks came through the opening, the chain was pulled in the opposite direction to seal it shut from any potentially curious eyes. Jogging at a brisk pace to the other side of the warehouse in order to greet the lead driver as the man stepped down from the cab, number forty seven reached out his hand and said, “Hello friend, welcome to Harrisburg Pennsylvania.”

  Extending his own hand, the driver replied, “Thank you friend, we appreciate your hospitality. Now, shall we get these vehicles unloaded?”

  “Absolutely, what can we do to help?”

  Looking at the assembled mass gathered along the wall, the lead driver replied, “Station one or two of them at the rollup door who can repeatedly raise and lower it quickly. As each car or van is unloaded, the designated driver of that vehicle can put on one of the many license plates that have been stored under the passenger seat. Then they can be on their way without waiting for the others. We can do the same with each suburban and their associated groups of passengers, as those vehicles tend to attract enough attention on their own. It will look far less suspicious that way as opposed to a long line of vehicles emerging all at once. When we get to the last two vehicles, you or one of my drivers can take over the duties at the door.”

  “I understand. Consider it done.”

  “Once everything has been unloaded and all of the drivers have departed, we can help you to finalize your preparations before we drive the rigs out of here and head for home.”

  “That sounds good, but most of what I need to do has already been taken care of.”

  “Excellent, now how are you getting to the airport for your flight home?”

  “I have an escape route on foot mapped out, and then I can catch a cab twelve blocks from here after I’m sure that things have gone according to plan. Given the distance from here, no cab driver searching for a random fare will be suspicious. Add to that the time of day, and only a few homeless individuals in the area could possibly see me during the trek. No one should be any the wiser.”

  “Excellent, now let’s get to work.”

  Within ninety minutes all twenty six vehicles had been unloaded, various state license plates had subsequently been affixed to them, and they were on their way. Thirty minutes after that the four now empty rigs had also vacated the area, so another phase of the overall plan had moved forward. As number forty seven made his way stealthily away from the warehouse, he began to think about the logistics of all that would transpire in the next few days. Then he began to visualize what his next assignment might be, but had no idea when he would be called upon to carry that assignment out. As those thoughts raced through his head, he suddenly remembered the words of someone he had admired for years who once told him to be certain that one task was completed before becoming concerned with another. With that he stopped briefly to glance over his shoulder, and he could already see thick smoke and a blaze of fire beginning to rise from the warehouse.

  Without knowing that she had done so nearly two weeks prior, the three black suburban’s that had been unloaded from the twin trailers in Amarillo had followed the nearly identical route of Courtney toward their destination south of Denver. The only minor difference occurred within the final dozen miles of their trek, as Courtney had turned north from highway-86 onto highway-83 at Franktown whi
le the trio of suburban’s stayed west to Castle Rock. Arriving on Wednesday evening, rooms had been reserved for a three night stay with a Saturday morning checkout at the Best Western, Hampton Inn, and the La Quinta Inn. False identities had been created for the fifteen travelers, so one suburban could check into each hotel. During the course of their road trip, the helicopter had also advanced further north. While flying low, the six men within had passed over mostly uninhabited regions of land along the Colorado and Kansas state line. Then after crossing above interstate-70, the bird set down in the remote rolling foothills near the South Fork of the Republican River, but had nearly reached the maximum fuel range of the helicopter in the process. In so doing the men and their arsenal became well-hidden from curious eyes roughly fifteen miles southwest of St. Francis Kansas, and would most probably encounter no interruptions while addressing the fuel issue. With a planned overnight stay and a hold on their current position for the majority of the following day; there would be plenty of time to resolve the problem by unstrapping the fuel containers to quench the thirst of the helicopter. Then when the time was right, they could liftoff and easily reach the southern reaches of the Denver area on the night of Friday November thirteenth.

  On Thursday morning in Castle Rock, one of the black suburban’s departed with a driving pair and the two female pilots after they had all enjoyed a restful night. The four ladies were headed west toward Aspen, a journey of slightly more than two hundred miles, as twin Cessna Citation Latitude jets that two of them had flown in from southern California in August were waiting to become airborne once again. The road trip through the mountain passes of interstate-70 was beautiful with earlier snow falls having created accumulations at the higher elevations, but they had been lucky with clear road conditions and a favorable weather forecast for the upcoming days. Once at the Aspen-Pitkin County Airport, the two pilots checked in with flight operations and filed a flight plan for the following morning. Then the suburban was driven onto the tarmac so that stores of food, water, and clothing could be loaded onto the planes. As the foursome then prepared to split into pairs, one of the drivers said, “Here’s to our collective success and that of the overall plan. Happy flying and we will see you back in Texas.”

  A pilot replied, “Thank you for the lift ladies, and good luck with the next few days.”

  Then after the two in the suburban had departed for the trek back to Castle Rock, the other pilot asked her partner, “Well, should we eat dinner in your plane or mine?”

  By six o’clock eastern time on Friday evening, the fourteen cars and six vans with a lone driver in each had been repositioned to various safe locations within a few miles of where they needed to be the following day. While in the course of that transport from Harrisburg Pennsylvania toward each of the two eastern attack sites, each driver of a car had stopped for purchases of food and water that would be needed by their passengers during the upcoming days. In doing so, they collectively maintained the cover of non-threatening housewives or mothers while also making sure to use cash only for all of their transactions. Before topping off their respective fuel tanks and calling it a night, each of the women driving the escape vehicles had one last task to perform. Within the course of their training in west Texas, each had committed to memory a series of turns, and the distances between them, that would be used for the getaway. Now that burned in knowledge attained by studying maps of cities and towns could be put to practical application via a trial run, and each woman practiced the route that had been provided to them via the advance scouting.

  The four or five men within each suburban had used slightly different tactics with regard to repositioning as no supplies were needed, but they had also adhered to cash only purchases during refueling stops or when dining in groups. With a more physically demanding day requiring total focus in front of them, each had been instructed to forgo a late night and the possible opportunity of companionship in order to get a full nights rest.

  At nine thirty mountain time, roughly thirty minutes before shift change, a black suburban with government plates pulled into the parking lot not far from Courtney’s position. Two women dressed in black pant suits then emerged to enter the control tower building at Denver’s Centennial Airport. Well rested after their drive to and from Aspen on the previous afternoon and evening, the two ladies were ready to take on the next aspect of their collective mission. Although they were not part of the normal foot traffic for the facility that had been noted during the previous several nights, there was no need for concern. Based on the intelligence provided to her by Samuel several weeks before, Courtney knew exactly who they were.

  With the proper look and mannerisms needed to be convincing, brilliant although completely false identification, and just a hint of flirtation from behind a supposedly stern and impenetrable veneer, the ladies presented their request. They informed the shift supervisor that the local FBI section chief had tasked them with finding a suitable place for a military helicopter to be stored for a short time, and they would be in big trouble if they didn’t locate one. The ladies expressed that their boss wasn’t pleased with their work of late, and felt that he had given them an impossible assignment so that he could subsequently transfer or fire them. They further explained that the helicopter was already inbound from western Kansas and potentially low on fuel, so they needed his help. When the man expressed possible reservations about the legality of such a request, one of the ladies offered up a verbally convincing heartfelt appreciation for any assistance that he could render. Then she and her partner assured him that the helicopter would be gone early in the morning, which became the tipping point in the conversation. With anticipation of a positive reply the first woman drove their manipulation attempt home with a seductive smile, and the request was granted.

  A few minutes later Courtney witnessed them emerging from the building, and soon after, a large helicopter landed near the far end of the runway. The women had not known of Courtney’s existence within the parameters of the mission, let alone her observational presence of less than two hundred feet from their suburban. That of course had been the intent, and now based on their apparent success, she could move forward with her own mission. After watching them depart, Courtney looked at her watch and realized that they had cut the timing of their ruse close as the relief personnel for the control tower would be arriving within minutes.

  As if on cue, three cars pulled into the parking lot a moment later, and the occupants appeared to be having a jovial conversation as they gathered to walk inside. When her target hurriedly emerged a short time later at three minutes after ten o’clock, Courtney followed him at a distance until he arrived at the same watering hole where he had overindulged the previous Friday.

  Courtney Tillman had been asked to provide a special service that went beyond her previous self-known skill set, but now that it was done, she felt pride in having played a small part in the overall plan. The past few months, not to mention the last several hours, had brought back a zest for dangerous adventure that made her feel invigorated again. She hadn’t felt that way in many years, and although times were difficult with her husband Mason, she appreciated Samuel’s faith in her and his attempts to bring her out of an obvious funk. Now, Courtney believed within herself that Samuels trust in her was well warranted, as the evening shift control tower supervisor from Centennial Airport that he had sanctioned her to kill was now dead in his south Denver apartment.

  Per the advance intelligence reports of number forty three regarding the man’s typical late night habits, which had subsequently been confirmed by Courtney, he entered a bar at ten thirty-five filled with those in search of little more than carnal pleasures. After a close pass of his position near the taps fifteen minutes later, Courtney sat down a few stools away and offered up a coy smile in his direction as she ordered a beer. The man took the bait with eagerness, and slithered in her direction while asking, “Excuse me, but didn’t I see you here last Friday wearing a green sweater?”

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nbsp; While surprised that he had remembered the detail of what she was wearing at the time, Courtney replied, “I was here last Friday, and yes, I remember you too.”

  The ensuing conversation of more than an hour revealed that the man was quite arrogant given his less than attractive features, and he proudly boasted that he had given permission for two federal agents to park a helicopter on his tarmac for the night. Pretending to be enthralled by his self-proclaimed power of labeling the overnight staging spot as his tarmac, Courtney flirted with him over a second drink and waited for the man to advance. As the hour struck midnight and it was now the fourteenth of November, he asked if she wanted to have another drink back at his place. Courtney agreed, but as she supposedly had an appointment during the late morning, would do so only if she could follow him in her car.

  Moving through the door to his apartment that he had held open for her, Courtney made sure to not touch a thing with her exposed hands. Then he said as he closed and locked the door, “Make yourself at home. Kick off your shoes and relax if you’d like.”

  Having heard the deadbolt turn as she took note of her surroundings, Courtney spun toward him with a smile and replied, “Thanks, I think I will after you get me that beer you promised.”

  He returned the smile before moving toward the kitchen, as the thought of eminent conquest flashed through his mind. Then while leaning into the open refrigerator he asked, “So do you prefer Coors? Or would you like something a little stron…”

  Courtney hadn’t given him a chance to finish his inquiry, let alone attempt to act upon his thoughts of what could transpire during the next few hours. She had followed him into the small kitchen with complete stealth and fired two shots from her silenced weapon into his back as he spoke. Then with the body crashing forward and slumping into the now broken shelves that caused the contents of food and drink to spill upon the floor, she stepped closer and put one more bullet into the base of his skull for good measure.