by James Rosone
“How long do you think it will take them to find the President’s shooter?” inquired Mikhail.
Thinking about that for a second, Artem replied, “A couple more days, tops. I’m not aware of the shooter being a part of any of our teams, and I don’t believe Moscow would have sanctioned an action like that. From what the media is saying, the shooter appears to be a leader with the American antifascist group.” Chuckling for a second, he added, “I find it funny that he was ultimately killed by a PhD student, an academic.” He shook his head in disbelief.
Mikhail untied the last line that had been keeping the boat tied to the slip before turning on the engine. With a half dozen fishing poles hanging off the side of the cabin, the twin 300-horsepower engines purred softly as the boat cut gently through the water, leading them to the Hudson River, toward the Arthur Kill Inlet and their primary target.
An hour went by as the four of them drove the boat down the Hudson until they came to the inlet. The sun was fully up at that point, and it had turned into a beautiful morning, with the sun glistening off the skyscrapers of Manhattan to their left and the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island to their right. When they turned to head closer to their target, two of the Spetsnaz soldiers went below to the galley and began to get their weapon of choice for this operation ready.
“We are almost to the target now, if you want to see it,” Mikhail said to the two men who were getting the Kornet-EM missile ready. One of the soldiers brought the tripod launcher up to the front of the boat to set it up, while the other brought the tube with the missile. The two Spetsnaz soldiers got the antitank missile system configured deftly, like practiced professionals. Unlike the Sagger missile systems of old, the Kornets were true fire-and-forget missiles. The specific version they would be using for this attack was the EM Thermobaric, which packed a 10-kilogram high-explosive warhead, perfect for what they wanted to blow up.
As they got the missile set up on the bow of the ship, the soldiers looked at the Kinder Morgan Terminal and smiled as they saw the 37 fuel tanks, which housed roughly 2,900,000 barrels of gasoline.
Letting out a soft whistle, Artem turned to Mikhail. “I fully understand why you said this target had to be destroyed with a Kornet-EM,” he said. “If we tried to use an RPG, we’d all be killed when that place goes up.” He obviously had a new appreciation for the work the GRU agent had done ahead of time.
Mikhail smiled, happy to have his efforts recognized. “I’m going to get us roughly 8,000 meters from the terminal,” he explained. “Once the missile hits, I’m going to floor it down the inlet to try and get as much distance between us and the terminal as possible. Even still, I can’t say with certainty that we won’t be consumed in the blast if that entire place goes up at once. If that tanker farm is full, then it can hold nearly three million barrels of petrol. I can’t even imagine how big of a bang that place will set off.”
He brought the boat speed down to just a couple miles per hour, enough to steer and hold it in position. One of the Russian soldiers turned the missile seeker on and identified its target. “I sure hope you calculated this out, Mikhail,” Artem said nervously. “If not, we’re going to die in a fiery blast.” With that, he nodded toward the soldier who was going to fire the missile.
Pop. Whoosh!
The Kornet-EM ignited and shot off the bow of the boat, headed right for one of the fuel tanks. As soon as the missile had cleared the boat, Mikhail gunned the engine, racing down the rest of the inlet, doing his best to place as much distance between them and the fuel farm as humanly possible. The 1,400-horsepower engine roared as the boat picked up speed. Mikhail snuck a peek over his shoulder and spotted the missile completing the last leg of its journey as it slammed into one of the fuel tanks, causing a small explosion. The initial blast suddenly ballooned as the petrol caught fire, causing the entire tank to explode. Seconds later, more tanks blew up, adding their own mayhem to the growing conflagration, until the entire terminal detonated in one gigantic cauldron of fire that rapidly expanded beyond the terminal, engulfing a second oil wholesaler terminal across the inlet. That terminal, which housed an additional twenty fuel tanks, also exploded, adding to the growing firestorm. Fires began spreading across fuel pipelines to the other tank terminals nearby.
While Mikhail was doing his best to race down the inlet and maintain control of the speedboat, he felt the concussion of the blast. The heatwave rippled across his body and the boat, and he almost lost control when a large wave nearly pushed them into the bank of the inlet. Turning to look back one last time, he saw the fireball had grown enormous as it reached for the heavens.
“I knew those terminals were all connected,” he thought smugly, satisfied with his work. After years of covert effort, now all that was left to do was escape.
“We did it, Mikhail,” said Artem with glee. “How long until we reach the marina?”
“A few more minutes,” Mikhail responded. “Daria is waiting for us with a vehicle once we get there. She’ll drive us to the next drop vehicle at a park maybe three miles away. From there, we’ll largely stay on country roads as we drive to the cabin we’ll be using as a safe house.”
Nodding in approval, Artem just smiled. Mikhail knew exactly what he was thinking. They had just destroyed a major part of the Northeast’s fuel supply and storage terminals. This would surely hurt the Americans.
*******
Washington, D.C.
White House, Oval Office
The weather was dreary. As President Foss stared out through the bulletproof windows of the Oval Office, rain suddenly started pouring down. In the distance, he could still see people gathered outside the perimeter fence, holding vigil for the deceased President Gates. The formal funeral had taken place earlier that day, with the President’s body having been brought from the capital building to lie in repose at Arlington Cemetery, where the other bodies of assassinated presidents had been laid to rest.
Knock, knock.
The sudden noise pierced his inner thoughts, pulling him back to reality. Turning, he saw his personal assistant standing in the doorway. “The Director of the FBI, Homeland and the National Security Advisor are ready. Shall I send them in?” the aide asked.
Nodding, Foss signaled with his hand for them to be brought in. He then took his seat behind the desk as the three individuals walked into the room and stood before him. Looking up, he simply asked, “Is he in custody?”
Smiling, Maria Nelson replied, “Yes. We just caught him thirty minutes ago. We’re about to break the news to the media.”
Foss let out a deep breath, obviously relieved. “What more do we know about him?” he asked.
“We’ve looked into all of the people he’s been in contact with and his past activities. We know from the initial interviews we’ve conducted of his associates, fellow classmates, and professors that he believed President Gates was a fascist that needed to be stopped, and he felt compelled to act out of fear that his younger brother, who had been drafted into the Marines, would die in Asia if the President was not stopped.”
“Do we know if he had any foreign support or help? You had told me that he was an Antifa leader at his university.”
“He had led and organized a series of protests and work stoppages at a number of defense manufacturers in his local area. In doing so, he routinely met with the Northeast director of the organization and the international leader, a man by the name of Peter Talley who’s based out of London. As we dug further into Mr. Talley’s background and coordinated our findings with MI5 and MI6, we discovered that Mr. Talley had also been on their radar for several years. Apparently, they believe he may in fact be a man by the name of Vasily Smirnov, a major in the Russian GRU.”
Tilting his head slightly to the right, the President asked, “Are you saying the GRU is organizing or controlling the Antifa organization?”
Tom McMillan, the National Security Advisor, replied, “Not exactly. We don’t believe Antifa is an overtly Russian-backed or Russ
ian-sponsored organization. However, they are being heavily financed and influenced by the GRU. The Russians’ goal is presumably to leverage any domestic groups, both liberal and conservative, that are against the war in order to disrupt or negatively influence the war effort.”
Clearing her throat, DHS Director Molly Emerson added, “The problem we have with Antifa is we now have credible evidence that their international director, a man who has traveled and met extensively with other Antifa leaders in the US, is a Russian spy. He personally knew and worked with George Philips. Mr. Philips was also receiving a monthly stipend of $5,000 a month from the international Antifa organization as a university leader. When we inquired further into the organization’s finances, we discovered that there are only three other Antifa leaders in the US receiving a stipend from the international organization. All the other leaders are doing this pro bono, volunteering their time and skills.”
Director Emerson continued, “In March of 2018, Mr. Philips purchased the rifle he used to kill the President. The rifle and the optical system he used, combined with the four months of shooting lessons he received, cost roughly $9,000. Several weeks prior to his purchasing the rifle, Mr. Talley, aka Major Smirnov, had wire-transferred that exact amount to Mr. Philips. Right now, we are working under the assumption that Major Smirnov knew Mr. Philips was susceptible to recruitment as an assassin and provided the material support needed to make that a reality. It is my assessment, and my department’s assessment, that the GRU ordered the assassination of President Gates and used Mr. Philips to achieve that goal.”
An awkward pause sat in the room. “The Russians ordered the assassination of our president, during a time of war?” thought Foss incredulously. He couldn’t wrap his head around that reality.
After a moment, Foss turned to Maria Nelson. “Is this the FBI’s assessment as well? Do you guys have an alternate theory, or is this where the evidence is leading you too?”
Maria took a deep breath in and slowly let it out before responding, “I’m not yet 100% ready to make that same leap. The information we have is pointing in that direction, but we need to interrogate Mr. Philips first. I want more evidence before we firmly come to that conclusion.”
President Foss frowned a bit. He appreciated Director Nelson’s thoroughness, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.
“Mr. President,” interjected McMillan, “I concur with the FBI that they need to identify more definitive links between the GRU and the assassination of the President. However, the intelligence community and Homeland Security are not responsible for building an evidence-based case for a criminal conviction in this situation. We need to look at the circumstantial evidence that is not always sufficient in a court of law. Right now, we have corroborating information from MI6 and MI5 that Mr. Talley is a suspected Russian spy. We know Mr. Talley is the international organizer, financier and lobbying point of contact for Antifa. We also know he met and worked with Mr. Philips for more than a year. The intelligence suggests that Mr. Talley had at least provided material support to the man who assassinated the President. We don’t know if he directed the assassination, but at this point it doesn’t matter. He provided the assassin with the financial and material means to do it, which makes him just as culpable in our eyes. With your permission, I would like to move that we place Mr. Talley on our Top Most Wanted list, both domestically and internationally. We need to take him into custody and question him further.”
Maria’s countenance had changed during McMillian’s speech, as if she were visibly changing her opinion. “Mr. President, I agree with the NSA on this one. We need to apprehend Mr. Talley at once,” she urged.
“OK, let’s pick Mr. Talley up,” the President agreed. “Where is he currently?”
“Philadelphia,” answered Molly. “We’re tracking down the exact location, but we’ll have it shortly. We know he flew into Newark three days prior to the assassination. He spoke at Antifa rallies at Columbia University and the City College of New York. The day before the assassination, he led a protest march at Global Container Terminals in Jersey City. Their goal for the day was to shut down the port’s activity by chaining themselves to the terminal gates and creating human barricades across the streets leading to the container terminal. They essentially stopped the port operations until the police could break them up,” Molly said.
“What is that port terminal doing to support the war?” inquired the President.
“This terminal, along with many others on the East Coast, is responsible for loading the dozens upon dozens of transports moving munitions and other war stocks to Europe,” explained Molly. “What’s suspect about these types of protests is they always seem to happen when a Global Defense Force convoy arrives from Europe. If they were just targeting this one particular port, we could move the operation to another one. The problem is these protests hit every port on the East and West Coast that’s being used to support the war efforts in Europe and Asia.”
President Foss rubbed his chin. He had only been doing this job for eight days, and it still felt like he was drinking from a firehose. He’d heard a bit about protests from the nightly news, but his attention had been focused on other situations until now. He leaned forward. “Are other antiwar groups participating in these types of work stoppages? How much of an impact are these activities having on the war?”
Molly and Maria both turned to Tom, gesturing for him to take that question. “Antifa is the main culprit, but there is a large conservative group that also joins in from time to time, called Southerners Against the War. They largely carry out these types of work stoppages at the Southern ports. As to what kind of effect are they having on the war…a lot. Let me put it this way, Mr. President. A tank round is produced in a factory in Pennsylvania on Tuesday. On Thursday, the round arrives in port and is loaded onto a ship that same day. Saturday, that ship leaves in a convoy, and it arrives in Antwerp seven days later. Five days after that, the round is loaded into an M1 Abrams battle tank, and two days later it’s fired at a Russian tank. The time from when the round is produced to when it’s fired by one of our tanks is roughly seventeen days. If we flew that round on a cargo plane, then the time from factory to firing would be reduced to seven days.” He sighed. “We are so low on munitions in Europe that these work stoppages truly have the potential to be the deciding factor in whether our front-line forces have enough ammunition or whether they’re forced to retreat or surrender because they ran out of bullets or tank rounds.”
The President sat back in his chair digesting what Tom had just said. “Gates really shielded me from a lot,” he realized. He wondered how his friend had managed to stay so calm under all this pressure, and how he had managed to hide the dire circumstances of the war.
Looking at Tom and then Molly, the President’s eyes narrowed. “This has to stop. We can’t allow these organizations to pose this significant of a risk to our winning this war. I have no problem with people exercising their First Amendment rights, but not at the expense of putting our soldiers’ lives at risk. Director Emerson, if you can find a legal link between these organizations’ activity and the Russian GRU, then I want these groups disbanded and labeled as GRU-sponsored groups. If people participate in these types of activities—stopping the day-to-day operations of a factory, port, or any other function that would result in the delay of war stocks arriving at the front lines—then I want those people charged with providing material support to the enemy during a time of war. Is that understood?” he asked.
The three of them nodded.
Shaking his head for a second, President Foss waved his left hand slightly. “I’m sorry that I got us distracted down that rabbit hole,” he said. “Where is Mr. Talley at this point?”
Molly took her cue. “The day of the assassination, Mr. Talley traveled to Chicago. He gave a speech at the University of Chicago the day after and then participated in a work stoppage rally at Boeing’s downtown office, which happens to be where their design team is for
the various suite of military drones we are currently using. As of right this moment, he is scheduled to give a speech at the University of Pennsylvania tomorrow morning and then catch a flight back to London tomorrow night.”
“Apprehend him tomorrow before he gives his speech,” the President ordered. “Try to do it quietly if you can, maybe do a raid on wherever he’s sleeping.”
The group talked for a few minutes more before the directors of Homeland Security and the FBI left, leaving just the President and his National Security Advisor. Looking at Tom, the President commented, “What you told me about the supply problem is really disconcerting.” He paused, then blurted out, “Why is the problem so bad? Why are we not able to keep our army properly supplied?”
Tom briefly turned away from the President as he grabbed one of the nearby chairs and pulled it up to the President’s desk and sat down. “I’m sorry, Sir—my back is killing me,” Tom said as he got comfortable in the chair. “The issue with supply chain is our capacity to meet the demand. We’ve drafted millions of young men and women into the military. The ammunition needed to properly train this new army of millions of people is incredible. We are actually consuming nearly as much ammunition in training as we are in combat operations in Europe and Asia. The other problem is that we have active battle campaigns underway in the Russian Far East involving more than 200,000 soldiers, an active campaign in the Philippines involving more than 180,000 soldiers, and two campaigns in Europe involving 360,000 soldiers. Our forces are spread too thin, and we aren’t able to concentrate on any particular theater because we’re being hit on so many different fronts.”
“What did Gates want to do about this problem prior to being killed?” asked Foss, running his fingers through his hair.
