by Bob Blink
Sergeant Brooks and the six members of his SWAT team made their move at the same time Carlson was headed toward the north entrance of the facility. The chain gate that helped isolate the grounds was unlocked in preparation for the day’s activities, and they had no problem making their way to the structure. The sergeant gave the signal and the team broke through the front door and swarmed the front office where the two men they’d watched arrive earlier could be seen through the windows. Neither had been expecting trouble, and both were taken easily. Afterwards, Sergeant Brooks had his men conduct a careful search of the premises, discovering several large containers that looked out of place. Per his orders, no attempt was made to investigate carefully. Once he was certain no other suspects were inside, he had the two men driven off to the holding area that had been prepared. Then they waited to see who else might arrive.
“I’ll cover the stairs,” Laney said as he and Jake double-timed their way to the upper level. “You know better what is going to happen. Stop Khabir from reaching that computer of his.”
Jake nodded his agreement, and continued down the hallway toward the bedroom he and Laney had briefly entered a couple of days earlier. Laney found cover where he could watch their back and settled in. As he approached the room, Jake noted the doors were closed as he expected, which had probably prevented the two occupants of the room from hearing the suppressed shot from his handgun.
There was no time to plan anything. As he approached the room, several shots were heard outside the house. They were surprisingly loud and it was quite obvious what they were. Unfortunately all of the guards hadn’t been silenced before they could get off shots of their own. Jake had no doubts that Khabir, if not the woman, would realize what was happening. To emphasize the urgency of the situation, an even louder blast came from the hallway at the foot of the stairs. Laney had been forced to fire, and had apparently missed as a couple of return shots were fired by someone on the lower level.
Jake kicked the doors open as he approached. He knew from the last time they wouldn’t be locked. The occupants hadn’t been expecting any trouble. The doors slammed open. They weren’t sturdy doors like those on the entrance to the house, meant to protect anything. These were flimsy composite of some kind, and one ripped partially free of one of the hinges from the abuse. Jake followed the flying doors into the room, his weapon held in both hands, ready for use. He knew which way the threat would be, and had biased his position in that direction.
Khabir and the woman were both awake. They had obviously heard the disturbance and Khabir had guessed what it might be. While the blond was sitting up in bed, looking concerned and wearing only a thin, semi-transparent nightgown, Kahbir was sitting on the edge of the bed in boxer shorts and had already retrieved his computer and was in the process of accessing some program stored on it. The fact he was past the boot-up stage suggested he’d left it in sleep mode, and could be very close to accessing a program to trigger the devices.
Jake knew that Carlson’s signal had meant that all of the devices other than the mobile ones had been disabled. But the mobile devices would be in the facility that Carlson and her teams were now attacking. If Khabir was able to trigger the program, he might be able to set off the canisters hidden in those vehicles, which would put Carlson and her people at grave risk. A lot depended on whether the radio signal would reach the facility in McLean as opposed to on the streets of Washington where the vehicle would be expected, but Jake wasn’t willing to take the risk.
He knew that there was little to be gained by saving the computer. The last time when they’d taken the laptop in a futile attempt to learn what Khabir knew, they’d discovered that anything of importance would be destroyed by any false attempt to access the flash memory where the programs were stored. Besides, the hidden chip had already revealed what was important. These thoughts went through his mind at lightning speed as Jake adjusted his aim and fired three quick shots into the body of the laptop in front of Khabir, shattering the device and flinging it from the table. One of the rounds passed through Khabir’s upper arm on its way to the target, causing the young man to yelp in pain and grab his biceps to staunch the flow of blood.
“Don’t move,” Jake commanded, as the woman started to flee from the bed.
Turning back to Khabir, he asked, “Who else can trigger the devices?”
Khabir’s computer was now useless, but Jake knew that Widner still had the capability to activate the devices, as did Varennikov. To some degree Jake was now playing the role, as he knew the important answers, but wanted the woman to realize the situation, which would ensure her cooperation later.
Khabir looked at Jake with hatred burning in his dark brown eyes.
“Go ahead and shoot,” he said. “I will tell you nothing. If you kill me, Allah will reward me in the afterlife.”
Jake adjusted his aim toward the young woman.
“What if I kill your friend? Perhaps you will answer to save her life if not your own?”
The surprise flashed across the face of the young woman when she realized she might be in mortal danger.
“Abdul?” she asked hesitantly.
Khabir shrugged. “She is not important. Kill her if you wish. She will have died in the service of Allah.”
The blond’s eyes went wide when she realized her lover was more than willing to allow her to be killed.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” she yelled, and looked at Jake fearfully. “I’ll tell you anything I know,” she offered.
Not too far away across town, Lieutenant Ed Kimble and his expanded team of twenty SWAT officers had easily taken the warehouse. Everyone inside the structure were now in custody and were handcuffed and being loaded into transport vans to be taken into town where they would be booked and held in secure lockup until they would be individually questioned to see what could be learned. No shots had been fired. The individuals inside the structure had been unarmed, and it was Kimble’s belief that other than a couple of prisoners that had been in the office, most had no idea what the raid was about. The lone FBI agent who had been part of the takedown and who had provided the official warrants for the activity, would ride into town with the prisoners. Kimble and his crew would secure the facility until further instructions were forthcoming.
Jason Fenner was the first down the steep steps that led to the main area below decks. Lori followed behind him, and the remaining two agents brought up the rear. The stairs left them at the entrance to the wide lounge that occupied the width of the yacht at the aft end where the party had been centered when Fenner had been here some days ago. This morning the room was quiet, the expensive furniture empty of guests.
Turning away from the large room was a hallway that ran the length of the boat. On either side of the hallway were the various staterooms, three on either side. Two thirds of the way down the length of the vessel was the galley and the communications center, just this side of the second stairway that led up to the yacht’s enclosed control area topside. Beyond the stairway were the double doors that led to the master’s cabin at the bow of the vessel. The master’s cabin extended across the entire width of the yacht as did the lounge they were standing in. Toby Widner, and likely the other woman would be found there. The question was in which cabin would they find the two young men.
Fenner indicated he and Lori would deal with the master’s cabin, and that the remaining agents were to check the cabins for the remaining crew members. Moving silently but quickly, he and Lori passed down the carpeted hallway, past the communications area, and soon stood outside the double doors. Fenner had noted when he’d been here before, that among the other gear in the communications center was a built in PC. He didn’t know if that was the device that would be Widner’s control computer, or whether he had something else in the cabin. Since the yacht was equipped with Wi-Fi, any portable device would work just as well.
Fenner looked at Lori, who nodded her readiness. Then he slipped the latch and pushed open the door to the stateroom. Wid
ner was on the left side of the large bed. Something had alerted him that all was not right. Perhaps a subtle movement of the boat as they moved around. Perhaps they weren’t as quiet as they’d thought. Whatever the reason, he was moving as the door opened, reaching for a weapon he had secured to the side of the bunk where he could easily reach it.
“FBI,” Fenner yelled. “Don’t move.”
Widner paid the command no attention, and the nude woman who had been shocked at the sudden opening of the door moved quickly, rolling out of the bunk on her side. As she hit the deck, she reached under the bed, coming up with a weapon of her own. Both were obviously aware of the situation and active participants in the plan, willing to fight if cornered.
Widner was fast, his weapon coming up and almost leveled toward Fenner when the agent triggered his shotgun, which he’d had pointed in Widner’s general direction as he’d come into the stateroom. The blast caught Widner full in the chest, throwing him back against the headboard, the damage to his bare chest readily apparent.
The shotgun blast was accented by the sound of several additional gunshots. Standing to his right, Lori fired a pair of rounds that ended the woman’s attempt to bring the weapon she’d retrieved from under the bed to bear. She collapsed before she could get the handgun aligned on any target.
Down the hall behind them, the sounds of the shots fired brought the two deckhands out of their bunkrooms. Both were intent on the altercation in the direction of the master stateroom. Since one of the two FBI agents had moved in that direction, the deckhands appeared between the two agents, but neither had time to note that there was yet another agent behind them. In the exchange of gunfire, both were killed, and the exposed agent took a hastily fired round in the side.
The sounds of gunfire was becoming more sporadic now. The exchange had been intense for a while, and Carlson knew that she’d lost several agents in the exchange. At least a half dozen more were wounded. She didn’t know how badly. The element of surprise had worked to their advantage, as did the fact that the interior offices were no different than the walls of any home, and essentially transparent to gunfire. While she and her agents had either the armored vehicles to hide behind, or one of the many vehicles in the wide open spaces of the central floor, the defenders had tried to hide behind walls, with only the occasional pillar for any realistic support. For the most part they had been armed only with handguns, giving the M4 equipped FBI a distinct advantage.
She’d worried that all of the firing would strike one of the lethal containers releasing the deadly contents, but the tanks had been protected enough by the efforts to hide them, that it hadn’t happened. Only one of the suicidal drivers had managed to reach his vehicle and drive it out of the facility. She knew that he’d triggered a release of the contents before he’d been shot by one of Brad Fenwick’s snipers. The wind had been away from the facility protecting them from the discharge. She could only hope it was the Sarin GB and that it would be dilute enough before it reached any inhabited areas. The facility was isolated enough from other structures there was a reasonable hope that would be the case. They had shot the tires of the remaining vehicles to ensure they couldn’t be driven very far or very fast.
One of the facility’s defenders had prepared for the eventuality of the raid, or had other plans they hadn’t discovered. In the middle of the attack he had come running toward a group of the FBI screaming something incoherent. He was shot several times, but the vest of explosives he was wearing survived and he got close enough that the blast that shredded his body, also took down three of her agents. Two would live, but one had been too close.
Both Fenwick and Smith had brought their teams through the structure to where she was located.
“Search the entire facility,” she ordered. “Make sure no more are hiding anywhere.”
Her two deputies nodded, and signaled their teams. As they moved off, Carlson felt her cell phone vibrate against her hip. She doubted she could hear the ring after all the firing. She pulled it out and looked at the caller. It was Jake.
Chapter 41
Two days later the situation was mostly sorted out and the various sites were under control.
“The only device triggered was the Sarin gas released by the suicide driver of the vehicle that was able to escape the facility in McLean,” Laney noted. “That’s better than we had any right to expect.”
“Apparently all of the mobile units had only the Sarin gas. They wanted rapid effect to be seen to create as much panic as possible. Once the driver triggered the release, the two closest agents were exposed, one fatally, the other caught far less of the deadly stuff. We had an antidote on hand and one of the agents applied it quickly. It remains to be seen how the affected agent will be. He’s currently in the hospital. Fortunately the wind direction was away from the facility, and there were no other structures nearby. It was dissipated quickly enough it doesn’t appear any others down range were affected. You were right Jake. We were able to contain the attack,” Carlson concluded.
“Unfortunately, there were too many who lost their lives,” Jake responded. He was thinking of the FBI agents and not the terrorists who had been killed. He had considered last time what might be done, but a combination of distance, he’d been all the way south in Newport News and out of back-track range during the assault. The simple fact demonstrated by experience was that any changes would likely result in others dying if he tried to manipulate the situation to save those who had been killed. The situation was too complex and dynamic, and not the result of a single cause he could deal with. He’d finally accepted he couldn’t accomplish miracles.
“Six agents killed and more than a dozen wounded,” Carlson acknowledged. “We have the terrorists incarcerated and they are being questioned, although without much success. The canisters of poison are still being removed. Most have been relocated, and those facilities where others remain have been closed until the cleanup can be completed.”
“What about the Russians?” Laney asked. “We lost almost everyone who can point a finger their way.”
“Only the woman on Widner’s yacht and Abdul-Khabir ibn Barir survived who knew about Varennikov,” Carlson replied. “Both are hard core and have refused to reveal anything. We know of their involvement, and the President knows, but at the moment, we have nothing that can be used as proof.”
“What about Varennikov’s transmitter?” Jake asked.
The agent who Carlson had asked to deal with the Russian agent had found the man missing. He’d searched the apartment where Jake and Laney had once encountered the dangerous agent, and discovered a hidden transmitter that could potentially have been used to trigger the devices. Varennikov had not been seen since. So much for the hope of changing things and capturing the Russian agent.
“Varennikov had a transmitter, but there is nothing unique about it. Its function could be many things. The only commonality with the one you called me about is the fact it had an internet link for control. The manufacture and design were different, so we can’t even link them that way.”
Jake had learned about the location of the primary transmitter from the blond woman who Khabir had so callously ignored and indicated it was acceptable for Jake to kill her in the name of the cause. Incensed at the treatment, she had revealed that she’d overheard Khabir and Widner talking about a transmitter they had hidden in the Hay-Adams Hotel. Widner had stayed there more than six weeks earlier, and the visit had provided him the opportunity to place the device in the spacious suite that had a fantastic view of the Capital. That was the information Jake had called to relay to Carlson in the middle of the gunfight. Carlson had dispatched a pair of agents to deal with the unit, and they had found it easily enough and disabled it, further assurance any missing canisters couldn’t be triggered. The role of the young woman remained uncertain. She claimed that Khabir had told her he was a Saudi prince, and that’s why he required such extensive security. Her story and background were still under investigation.
> “What about Widner?” Laney asked. “Why was he in the middle of this?”
“Money,” Carlson said. “We’ve learned that his lavish spending had caught up with him. He was selling off properties to support himself, but it wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Even the East Wind, that beautiful yacht and his pride and joy, was at risk since he’d used it for collateral for several loans to keep himself afloat. Masud ibn Tahir al-Baghdadi had paid him handsomely for his participation.”
“Widner would have carried Khabir to Florida where he would have disappeared on Masud ibn Tahir al-Baghdadi’s yacht when he sailed away from the United States,” Jake added.
“Widner’s crew were all home-grown jihadists,” Carlson added. “It is frightening to realize how many of our own people are willing and even eager to see such damage inflicted on their own country.”
“The main thing is that things are under control,” Jake said. “The threat has been neutralized, and those responsible killed, or at least identified. Where it goes from here is a political matter. I wish my situation with Graper was in as good a shape.”
“I’m sorry he’s missing,” Carlson said sincerely. “We should have dealt with him immediately.”
“There was no opportunity,” Jake replied. “He was wounded too close to the time we had to move on the terrorists. Hopefully he hasn’t had time to pass on what he suspects.”
