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Levels of Power Page 19


  Tom answered quickly. His voice was soft, but doubt was starting to creep into his words. “Randy … you just spent a full day stuck in a small office staring at the physical evidence. How much more do you think you can get from looking at the photographs?”

  Randy felt some irritation building inside his chest but kept his voice calm. Tom Evans was a good friend and he respected him. “I don’t know, Tom, but until I know for sure these guys are out of the area and we haven’t any reasonable chance to catch them, I’m going to stay. This is the first time in three years I’ve had a chance to get some answers about what happened at the fairgrounds in Columbia. I’m not going to stop until I get those answers to my questions.”

  Chapter 35

  London

  Wednesday, December 2, 2015

  12:45 p.m.

  Hossein Rahim Bonab walked into the spare room on the second floor of the safe house on Newby Place Street. The room was almost bare. No bed or dresser. No chair to sit in. Only a threadbare carpet to cover the hardwood floors. Lying on the carpet were Hossein’s items of interest.

  Five sets of clothes and equipment. First were the uniforms: gray cotton coveralls for each. They were identical to those worn by field employees of Thames Water Utilities Ltd. in every detail. The front right breast had the name of the employee above the pocket. On the left breast was the logo of Thames Water Utilities, a blue circle open at the top with what appeared to be water waves on the bottom. The words embroidered inside the larger blue ring were Thames Water.

  No uniform was complete without a cap. The baseball-style hat was gray to match the coveralls and included the logo on the front above the visor. To complete the physical disguise was an identification badge. A plastic envelope attached to the chest pocket flap of their coveralls would include their photograph, false nametag, and position.

  To any common person or even a local police officer, they would be just as they appeared: field technicians for Thames Water. No one would question them about being out on an emergency repair. Of all the water utilities firms servicing greater London, Thames Water was the largest. It also had the highest record of water leaks within the supply system. It would be normal to see a Thames Water technician out on a service call at any time of the day or night.

  On the wall were several large photographs taken of Thames Water employees working on hydrants or other equipment. Their white vans were included in several of the photos.

  Hossein was kneeling on the floor holding one of the uniforms when Mohammad Javan walked in. Hossein dropped the coveralls and looked at his most trusted man. “How are things proceeding in the garage?”

  Mohammad was the largest and perhaps the most intelligent of the five men. Finding a set of coveralls large enough to fit his huge frame had been an impossible challenge. It was not the height but the girth that had been a problem. Mohammad was an inch or two below six feet tall but tipped the scales at nearly 275 pounds.

  “We will be ready by tomorrow afternoon. Rest assured, my brother, I will have the vans ready. The cold weather is giving us problems with the paint drying, but Gholam brought in some electric heaters and we are keeping the building warm enough. We will be prepared.”

  They both looked at the clothing. In addition to the uniforms, each man had a pair of black work shoes, all with a decent shine—not too bright, but good enough to maintain the impression of a good Thames Water employee.

  Winter coats with the company’s logo were folded and lying beside the other clothes, along with a pair of heavy cotton work gloves. Here they had not needed to worry about a company-approved look. From the photographs of the work crew, each member wore whatever glove style suited his or her purpose.

  Each man would have a heavy-duty gray canvas tool bag with a zippered closure along the top that would allow easy access to the bag’s interior. The bag was sixty-one centimeters, or about twenty-four inches long. Two heavy straps, sown completely around the bag to provide support to the bottom and looped above the bag, provided a handle grip. Lying next to each tool bag were the individual equipment and supplies each man would need to perform their job during the attack. The most common item for each man was his weapons. The bag was the perfect size to hide a Micro-Uzi machine pistol.

  Major Uziel Gal developed the Uzi in the late 1940s. The prototype was finished in 1950. The Israeli Defense Force started to see the Uzi first in 1954, and it became a general issue weapon two years later. The weapon had become very popular with many official armed forces and terrorist groups. The Uzi came in four different versions, and sales exceeded ten million pieces. The original, the submachine gun, fired six hundred rounds per minute of 9 mm Parabellum or a slightly slower rate of five hundred rounds per minute with an effective range of two hundred meters with the .45 ACP.

  The Mini Uzi, introduced in 1980, was a smaller version of the regular Uzi. It had a faster recycling time and an effective range of only one hundred meters. The Micro-Uzi, introduced in 1986, was an even smaller version, quite suitable for Hossein and his men. The weapon was 486 mm long (19.13 inches) fully extended but reduced to only 282 mm with the stock folded. Its muzzle velocity was 350 meters per second, and its cyclic rate of fire was twelve hundred rounds per minute.

  Beside each weapon were six magazines: one to be loaded into the weapon before they left the property and five for back up. The magazines held twenty rounds of the 9 mm ammunition, but the six magazines would provide 120 rounds of ammunition.

  Next to the Micro-Uzi was a Korth 9 mm semi-auto pistol manufactured in 2006. Few Americans were familiar with one of the highest quality German manufactures of handguns, located on a small island in the Schaale River in northern Germany. Ratzeburg, Germany, was located in the northern part of the country, home to the Korth Firearm Company. Willi Korth was forty-one when he founded his company in 1954. His first models were basic revolvers manufactured from high quality steel obtained from MG-34 machine guns scrapped after World War II. The steel used had a 1,700-psi tensile strength; heat-treated to Rockwell 58C.

  The current 9 mm model, released in 2001 as a single action, worked with a trigger pull release of 2.4 to 2.6 pounds, with only a .06-inch trigger travel. To manufacture these high-end custom European guns involved as much as 70 percent hand labor and hand fitting in each pistol. The magazine for the Korth held ten 9 mm rounds. Each man would have one clip in the weapon and two spares clips.

  Their main weapon was laid out off to the side and against the room’s outer walls. Beneath the hidden firearms, each tool bag would contain a four-pound block of C-4 explosive and blasting caps. The blasting caps were currently safely stored in another room away from the C-4.

  C-4, or Composition C-4, is a common variety of plastic explosive. C-4 is composed of explosives, plastic binder, plasticizer, and usually a marker or odorizing chemical to identify its source. The explosive RDX, cyclonite, or cyclotrimethylene trinitramine, was 91 percent of C-4 by mass. The plasticizer diethylhexyl, or dioctyl sebacate, made up 5.3 percent. Other ingredients to complete the chemical make-up include polyisobutylene as the binder at 2.1 percent and a SAE 10 non-detergent motor oil at 1.6 percent. Normally 1.25 pounds of C-4 can destroy a pickup truck. An eight-inch steel beam would require eight to ten pounds of the stable but dangerous explosive.

  In their group, Iraj Malek-Mohammadi was the explosive expert. He had taken the cakes of off-white explosive and blended within the putty-like substance hundreds of metal BBs that would be propelled at a high rate of speed, wounding or killing almost anyone within close range of the tool bags when they exploded. However, the killing of bystanders was a secondary target for the C-4. Each bag’s configuration of C-4, carefully designed, was meant for a unique target. Hossein had selected specific targets to draw the authorities away from their main objective: the Honor Oak Water Reservoir, the new prime target.

  He and Shir Mohammad would take the powder laced with enhanced cryptosporidium
to the huge water reservoir. They had to assume security cameras around Trafalgar Square or Charing Cross Station had captured Shir Mohammad’s face. Even under the wide-brim hat, Hossein also concluded his face was now in some British government databank from his rescue of Shir Mohammad, so all public locations were off limits to both of them. Not that Hossein cared. He wanted to be the one to pour the powder into the reservoir and kill anyone who drank the poisoned water. If they did not have enough time to pour the powder into the reservoir, they would use the two bags of explosives to destroy the huge water supply. Maybe they would not kill as many people in London, but they would cause a huge disruption in the clean drinking water supply.

  Target Two was intended to be a diversion from their main target. Hossein had selected Trafalgar Square, specifically Nelson’s Column. To cripple the national monument, a symbol of Britain’s history of world domination, and perhaps damage it to the point where the massive column might collapse would be a very symbolic blow. Since it was a popular tourist location, they could also hope to kill or maim many dozens of people. For this target, Iraj had shaped a four-pound block of C-4 to fit against the base of the column. The shaped explosive charge would cause tremendous damage. Iraj Malek-Mohammadi, their bomb expert, would be the one to deliver this blow to the British.

  Target Three was another diversion that could impose a deadly impact on the British. Charing Cross Station. The largest passenger station in Central London would be very crowded at the time of the attack, allowing them another opportunity to divert attention from their primary goal and to kill many British citizens. Gholam Reza Rasoulian would be the person to deliver that deadly blow.

  The confusion from the explosions would draw hundreds of British security personnel into the very heart of Central London, away from Hossein and Shir as they approached the reservoir at Honor Oak.

  Mohammad Javan Nik Khah would be the driver for the second van. His huge girth made him too noticeable and he moved too slowly for other assignments. His huge size would not hinder his ability to handle the van. He would drop Iraj off near Trafalgar Square and then deliver Gholam in front of Charing Cross Station at the main entrance on The Strand. Afterward he would travel northeast up The Strand to Lancaster Place and turn right to cross the River Thames over the Waterloo Bridge. Once on the other side, he would park near the London IMAX Theater and wait for Iraj and Gholam to rejoin him. They would have three possible avenues of escape: continuing on Waterloo Road or east on Stamford Street or west on York Road. If all went as planned, they would drive south to Honor Oak and help finish dumping the powder into the reservoir and provide additional security.

  Hossein and Mohammad moved toward the doorway and turned to look over their equipment one last time. Clothes, weapons, and explosives. The only things not into the room were the blasting caps. Iraj had insisted on keeping them in his own bedroom. He would insert the electric detonators into each individual block of C-4 just before they left the building tomorrow.

  Chapter 36

  Washington DC

  Wednesday, December 2, 2015

  9:30 p.m.

  Harold Miller, president of the United States, pressed the off button on the television remote in his private study on the second floor of the White House.

  He was happy but slightly concerned. The good news was from his legislative affairs staff members. They were telling him the three Davids were in a precarious position. The campaign by his media staffers was continuing the pressure for the three senators to give up their fight to hold the floor. They were also keeping the pressure on the other senators to force a vote to invoke cloture; once the three senators lost control of the Senate, they would have enough votes in their back pocket to force the bill into committee.

  The thing bothering Harold Miller was the letters and e-mails they were receiving at the White House. The percentage for passage of the Fair Share Bill was ever so slightly decreasing.

  Why? Were the three senators being that effective in their broadcasts from the floor of the Senate? Would his lead still hold and persuade voters to perceive that Harold Miller was moving his political thinking more toward the center, away from an extreme conservative position?

  Two other things were bothering him. Tom Evans, who was almost certain to win the Democratic nomination and run again him in the 2016 election, was remaining silent. True, the Democratic candidate had promised on several national news networks that he would remain quiet on the subject of Fair Share. He simply stated he felt the bill was wrong and would enter his negative vote on the floor of the Senate. He would not use the bill as a campaign tool against the president. So far, Evans had kept his promise, but it would not take much to find a reason to come out and blast the bill and add his weight to the filibuster.

  The second concern was the silence from his other archenemy. Senator Randy Fisher had not spoken out on the bill.

  Harold Miller sat back in his swivel chair and ran his right fingers through his thick hair. How he hated Randy Fisher. His hatred grew every time the senator appeared on a news program or his name mentioned in a conversation. He simply could not stand to read another story about the famous senator from South Carolina.

  Miller knew his polling figures better than anyone did. In 2012, he had been five points behind incumbent president Johnathon Blakely. Blakely was almost assured a reelection for four more years; Harold would be the “almost candidate”, a one-line footnote in American history.

  However, luck had changed for Blakely. An almost successful terrorist attack was Harold’s path to the White House. If the nuclear device had detonated in Columbia, then Miller and Blakely would probably have died, along with thousands of other Americans. The country would have faced the worst calamity since its birth almost 236 years before.

  If he had died in the explosion, then the election would not have mattered to Harold Miller. However, a young, unknown man had walked into the dock at the grandstand on the state fairgrounds and stopped the terrorist from completing his mission.

  Harold Miller’s political action committee had almost immediately seized the opportunity to tell the American voters they were not safe under another four years of the Blakely administration. With only three weeks until Election Day in November, to the surprise of the Democrats they had turned the polls around. Harold Miller won the election.

  It was a wonderful day for Harold Miller and his family, but the one nagging irritation in the back of his mind was the unknown young man who saved the country that day in October. Randy Fisher was the unknown man. His actions prevented the nuclear blast from affecting the entire Mid-Atlantic and Northeastern portions of the country. That one man had helped Harold Miller turn the polls in Miller’s favor and put him in the White House.

  Now the same man was in the United States Senate, already considered one of the brightest and most popular people in Washington. As the Democratic senator from South Carolina, Fisher had proposed several pieces of legislation against Harold Miller and forced them through Congress with enough votes to override a Miller veto. The man whose actions had put Harold Miller into the White House was usually against every issue that Harold proposed before the country.

  Just thinking about Randy Fisher made beads of sweat pop out on Harold’s forehead and upper lip. He reached into a side drawer of the desk and pulled a facial tissue from the cardboard box. He wiped the moisture from his face.

  He had been wondering why Fisher had not been heard from on the Senate floor, perhaps even joining the three renegade senators to add his voice to the growing discord with the Fair Share Bill. He had been almost afraid to ask any of his legislative affairs staffers about Fisher.

  Finally, during a meeting early that morning, he received an update about a possible terrorist attack developing in London from his director of national intelligence and national security advisor. During the meeting, he learned the deputy director of operations for the Central Intelligence Age
ncy was in London representing the American interest. There was proof that one of the terrorist suspects had a possible relationship to the man who brought the nuclear device into the United States three years before.

  When he asked about the reliability of the information, he then learned Randy Fisher was not in the United States but in London. The senator had been the one to sound the alarm.

  Miller shook his head. Fisher was again at the center of attention. The only good thing about the whole event was that the immediate terrorist threat was in London instead of Washington, and Fisher was not in the Capitol, where he would be working against the Fair Share Bill.

  A soft knock on the study door interrupted Miller’s thoughts. A Secret Service agent opened the door, and Alison Warden walked into the study.

  “Good evening, Mr. President. I’ve got the latest poll numbers and the last-minute changes to tomorrow’s bus schedule for your approval.”

  The tall redhead walked up to the small desk and handed the sheets of papers to Harold Miller. On the two top pages were the reports from the polling organizations. He quickly scanned the numbers.

  “We’re still leading by fifteen points, sir. The numbers are down slightly from earlier in the week, but they do not reflect your speech in Memphis. With the bus event tomorrow, we will reverse the numbers, and the Senate will be forced to do something to take the floor away from the three senators.”

  She pointed to the figures on the second page. “These figures indicate the American public is getting tired of the three senators and their hold on the Senate floor. It shows the country wants the Congress to get on with its work and not have three members of the Senate stopping all other pieces of legislation from being heard.”

  She waited until the president looked up toward her. “You need to hit them hard tomorrow during your three speeches. Hit them with how they are disrespecting the Senate and that they need to listen to the growing number of voters who want them to end the filibuster.”