by R. A. Lamb
TERRORIST ATTACK
UNDER
CAPITOL HILL
By
R A Lamb
MURDER AND MAYHEM
IN DC
Photo is in the public domain. From the Carol M. Highsmith Archive at the Library of Congress.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Leave A Review
Contact Me
About The Author
Acknowledgements
Rights
Chapter 1
I could barely see the Capitol dome just a few hundred yards away through the storm. I was sitting at my desk writing a background report on US border crossing when Kathy, the congressman’s administrative assistant, walked up to my desk holding a manila envelope. What I actually noticed was the dark blue, form fitting, pantsuit she was wearing.
“The Congressman needs this ASAP, Todd. He’s at the Capitol.” She held out the folder. It had the Congressman’s name on it and stamped BETA PROJECT UPDATE.
A roll of thunder shook the windows. I glanced out Congressman Bradford’s third floor office suite. The wind was gusting, driving the rain in sheets against the building. I liked storms like this, we get them in Texas and for a moment it made me think of home. Kathy, however, must have misread my expression.
“It’s your job to take it over, that’s what a summer internship is all about.” She softened the statement with a mischievous grin and dropped the envelope on my desk. “By the way”, she said, “I’m jogging from the Lincoln Memorial to the Washington Monument and back early Saturday morning if you think you can keep up.” She raised one eyebrow and gave me that, bet you can’t look.
I grinned. “Just tell me what’s at stake when you lose and as we say in Houston, be ready to eat my dust.” Now wasn’t the time to tell her I’d been a long distance runner on the varsity track team. That information would remain on a need to know basis until after the run.
She brushed her hair back over her ear “You cowboys say the cutest things. I’ll give it some thought and let you know.”
I watched the sway of her hips as she walked back to her office. I’d only been working here a few weeks but was definitely going to like it.
The rain made my decision easy. I decided to take the tunnel system through the connection in the basement and grabbed my suit jacket. I still hadn’t gotten accustomed to wearing a suit. This place was nothing like school.
The rule was you put on a coat every time you stepped into the hallway no matter what, even if it was only to the bathroom. I took the elevator to the first floor and headed for the stairwell which led to the basement. At the head of the stairs I looked down the hall and saw security guards checking someone in at the lobby entrance. A guard examined the man’s ID as he dropped his keys into a plastic tray and walked through the metal detector.
D.C., I thought, it’s all about security. I’d seen it everywhere, from the suspicious look on the face of the cabbie who drove me from the airport to my apartment, to the unrelenting vigilance of the ever present security cameras.
As I hurried down the stairs I thought about Kathy and wondered if she was dating someone. She was a little older than me, I guessed maybe twenty one. So what was a couple of years? It wasn’t only just her figure I liked. Maybe it was her blue eyes with a hint of green.
My footsteps echoed on the painted cement floor. I approached a gray metal door, opened it and continued through a passage which led into the well-lit tunnel system. There were several people hurrying up and down even at nine o’clock in the morning. I passed the branch leading to the Library of Congress and approached a T-intersection. Straight ahead was a book store with shelves filled with government periodicals and pamphlets. A turn to the right led to another office building. The tunnel to the left led to the Capitol. Unlike the others, the corridor was blocked by a barred gate and security guards were checking authorizations.
I touched the folder under my arm and reached into my pocket for my badge. I smiled as I read, Todd Boling, Congressional Intern. Pretty cool for a new high school grad. I clipped it to my suit jacket and waited in line. That’s when all hell broke loose.
Suddenly I was blinded by a brilliant flash of light followed by an ear splitting explosion and was thrown backwards against a wall hitting my head. I didn’t remember sinking to the floor. The next thing I knew, someone lifted me under the arms and dragged me. I was dizzy, ears ringing. There was muffled shouting. My vision was blurry but I made out the gray floor tiles just inches from my nose and a dirty sneaker. Above it, an ankle wrapped with—sounds crazy--blue barbed wire.
I kept blinking. It made no sense. My nose burned from the acrid smoke. It smelled like fireworks and hung thickly in the air. I chocked and my world faded away again.
Then an alarm going off and men’s voices. They were talking fast and in a foreign language. I knew it wasn’t Spanish. I know a little Spanish. I squinted upward through the smoke trying to focus. There were three of them standing there. The one with the dirty sneakers pulled vests out of his backpack and handed them to the others. Each put one on. The vests were bulky with wires sticking out and “Oh, my God”, I murmured, “Bombs.”
I lay on the floor, my head propped against a bookshelf. Several others lay beside me, a man, a woman and two security guards. I noticed the guard’s badges were gone and glanced down at mine. There was blood on my shirt. My badge was missing. My head buzzed as I tried to focus through the gray haze. People lay scattered on the floor of the tunnel, and I wondered if they were just hurt or worse? I couldn’t tell.
I tried to focus on the three terrorists. There was a white guy with dark curly hair and two others with darker complexions. All three had short beards. They didn’t look much older than me, maybe early twenties.
I heard a lot of footsteps running toward us. Someone shouted “Stop where you are!”
The two darker guys started running toward the Library of Congress. I lost track of the white guy. There was more shouting. Four cracks echoed, two more.
A man wearing a black flak jacket and carrying an automatic pistol ran over to us. The jacket read DC POLICE in big yellow letters across the front. He asked, “Is everyone okay?”
I answered but the others remained silent. Now the tunnel was filling with people, police with weapons drawn and medics pushing gurneys. Others examined those lying on the floor. I saw the man in a brown suit lifted onto a stretcher and rushed away. Two medics came toward me. One said, “You check the guy with the crew cut, I’ll check this lady.”
The he nodded and bent over me, “Don’t try to get up. Stay where you are.” He examined my head and neck. “Your nose is bleeding. Can you move your arms and legs?”
I slowly nodded. The medic took a penlight from the pocket of his scrubs and examined my eyes. “You probably have a slight concussi
on from the shock of the flash grenade. You’re one of the lucky ones. Stay down. We’ll get you out of here as soon as we check the others.”
I didn’t feel lucky but the medic sounded so calm, so matter of fact. I felt better. He moved to some others in the book store, examined a security guard and then checked a man in a blue suit whose leg was twisted under him. He looked unconscious. The medic called for assistance. Another went to help and pulled out a stethoscope; moved it around the man’s chest and put his fingers against his throat. The medic hung the scope back around his neck, looked at his partner and shook his head. The other medic wrote something on a small card and placed it on the man’s chest. They got up and moved to the next victim.
I overheard a policeman in a flak jacket say to one in uniform, “We got both terrorists, Sir.” The officer holstered his weapon and took off his helmet. “We downed one before he could detonate the vest. The other tried but it didn’t go off.” He ran his hand through his close cropped brown hair, “They’re both dead.”
Without thinking I mumbled, “But there were three.”
The uniformed man looked down at me. He was in his late forties, dark hair with streaks of gray at his temples. He wore gold rimmed glasses and looked serious, “How do you know there were three? What did you see?”
“I heard them talking after the blast. I couldn’t understand them, but I saw one take the vests out of a backpack. Two of them had dark complexions; one was white.”
“Have the CSI’s look for that backpack, Simmons, and call Holland at the FBI. I know we’ve locked down this area but make everyone aware we’re looking for a third man. Oh yeah, alert Homeland Security.” He looked back at me, “Young man do you feel well enough to describe them to a sketch artist?”
I still felt dizzy but said, “I think so, I mean I’ll try”
“Simmons, as soon as he’s checked out, take him to the station and see if he can describe that third man to Hendricks.”
Officer Simmons kept an eye on me while the medics checked my vitals. One cleaned the blood off my face then transported me on a gurney to an ambulance. Officer Simmons walked beside, “I’ll meet you in the emergency room and wait while the doctor checks you out. Oh yeah, you can call me Marty.” He handed me his card. It read Detective Marty Simmons, District of Columbia Metro Police, Special Victims Unit.
Chapter 2
My sight was clearing but I still heard ringing in my ears and had a pounding headache. The emergency room was busy as the medics wheeled me in. A doctor examined me and ordered some x-rays. “As a precaution,” he said.
Marty arrived and stood waiting. I saw him talking to the doctor who showed Marty my chart. They agreed on something and shook hands. An hour later, I was released with two prescriptions and advice to rest.
“There’s a pharmacy on the first floor. The sooner you start the meds the better you’ll feel.”
Marty got me bottled water while we waited for the pills. Pretty nice for a cop, I thought.
“The Doc says you should take it easy but agreed, if you feel well enough, we could go by the station.”
“I think so.” I looked down at my shirt. The blood stains were dried and turned a dark red. “Do we have time to go by my apartment? I’d like to get out of these clothes”.
The rain had stopped. The parking area had lots of puddles and we got in an unmarked car. I gave Marty directions to my place. “Damn.” I fumbled through my suit jacket for my cell phone. “I’d better call the Congressman’s office. Damn. I lost the envelope I was taking to Congressman Bradford.” I speed dialed the number.
Kathy answered, “Congressman Bradford’s office.”
“Hello Kathy this is --.”
“Where are you? Are you okay? We have been--.”
“I’m okay, well what I mean is …,” I explained what had happened and ended with, “and tell Congressman Bradford I don’t have the envelope. I guess it’s back in the tunnel somewhere.”
Marty and I stopped by the apartment I was sharing with another summer intern. Damon wasn’t there. At this time of day he would still be on Capitol Hill. He was my age, just graduated and ready to start college in the fall. He had been accepted to Vanderbilt. I was still applying. Texas A&M and Baylor were my top picks.
We kidded each other about talking funny. He would tell me something and end it with ya’ll and I would try to work in the word harbor by saying haba as often as possible. Damon was from Baas-tin, that is, Boston, Mass.
“You don’t need to wear a coat and tie to the station. Be comfortable. We may be there a while,” Marty said and sat down on the couch while I walked toward the bedroom to change.
“That’s a relief, thanks.”
I put on khakis and a button-down sport shirt. As we left I grabbed my umbrella. Gray clouds hung over DC as we got in the car and drove to the station. It looked and felt like it could rain again any second.
Marty turned his head, “I’ve been on the force almost sixteen years and never imagined I’d investigate acts of terrorism at the Capitol.”
We continued talking and I learned Marty had grown up in Manassas, Virginia, had two older brothers and liked football, a Redskins fan.
We pulled into the parking lot. The police station was a dingy gray limestone building with stone steps leading to the front entrance. We walked past a policeman sitting at a desk just inside. I guessed he was the desk sergeant, at least that’s the way it was on reruns of NYPD Blue. The officer nodded to Marty as we walked by.
Marty opened a door and motioned me inside. It was a large room with four metal desks, one in each quarter of the room and several green file cabinets along one wall. The room had a musty smell mixed with disinfectant.
A middle aged man in a red tee shirt and jeans was sitting by one of the desks answering questions for an officer who was typing the answers into a computer. I had never been in a police station before and it gave me a rush.
Marty, motioned me to a seat by a desk in the far corner of the room. He called to the man standing by the file cabinets and waved him over. “This is Todd Boling, Jamie. The Captain wants you to work up a computer composite of a man he saw. Todd, this is Jamie Hendricks.”
We shook hands. He was about my height; six feet, straight brown hair combed back, brown eyes and a friendly smile. I guessed Mr. Hendricks was in his early thirties and a little overweight. “Have a seat and call me Jamie. This may take some time.”
Jamie Hendricks, called up some software on his computer. This is kind of exciting, I thought, real police work.
“I’ll be back in a while,” Marty turned to leave, “see what you can do.”
It seemed like we worked for hours. Anyway my legs cramped sitting on the metal chair. We both stared at the monitor as Jamie enlarged the head shape I chose. I had never seen such an array of hair lines, noses, ears and so forth. Finally I was able to say, “That’s the guy I remember.”
Jamie studied the image on the monitor. His jaw tightened. He hesitated and kept staring at the screen, “You sure about this?”
“Yes, that’s him. That’s who I saw. Is there a problem?”
Jamie again hesitated, printed out several copies and made a few more keystrokes, “After I get this database comparison started we’ll go down the hall. Maybe facial recognition software will help us ID this guy.” He went over to the printer. “The Captain will want these.” He grabbed a handful of the pictures and took me to the Captain’s office.
There were a group of men, some in uniform, others were in plainclothes sitting around a table studying files and talking. The conversations stopped as we walked in. On the Captain’s desk was a backpack. It looked like the one I had seen in the tunnel.
“Sit there,” the Captain pointed to a chair at the table across from Marty Simmons. “Let’s hear what you saw, young man.”
Jamie Hendricks passed out the composites. The men glanced at them then added them to their already bulging folders.
I repeated everyth
ing I remembered in as much detail as I could. Taking the tunnel, waiting at the gate to the Capitol, the explosion, my blurred vision, being dragged to the book store, my missing badge, the three men, the backpack and the vests.
The captain scooted his chair out and walked to his desk, “We found this backpack and a vest in the bookstore. Look familiar?”
I nodded, “Yes Sir.”
“We also found this key lying beside it. Did you see it before?”
“I don’t remember a key.”
The captain handed the key to a man in a suit and tie sitting by Marty.
“Holland, does the FBI have any ideas?”
“Looks like a bus or airline locker key.” He passed it to the man beside him. Everyone studied it and passed it on. When it got to me the captain reached for it.
I said, “Sir it looks like the kind we use at the “Y”, I mean when I play racket ball I use a locker and well this key has C46 stamped on it.”
“So?”
“At the “Y”, C46 means Section C Locker 46.
The captain flipped the key to Marty, “Check it out. Take Todd and a CSI.”
Agent Holland said, “I’ll go with you.”
Chapter 3
At the “Y”, Agent Henry Holland showed his credentials to the locker room attendant. Marty, the crime scene investigator and I walked with Holland to Section C. The row of metal lockers had numbers on the doors. Marty tried the key in locker 46. It didn’t open. He jiggled it. The key turned. The locker was empty except for a wadded up gym sock on the upper shelf.
Marty said, “It’s a long shot but….”
The CSI put the sock in a plastic bag and took a flashlight from his case.
Agent Holland looked annoyed, “Looks like a dead end. Let’s go back to the precinct.”
“In a sec,” Marty said as the CSI shined the light around the locker.
I sat down on the bench and stared at the moving flashlight beam. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so well. My vision wasn’t clear and I felt out of breath. I lowered my head to knee level. It helped.
