Full Assault Mode (29 page)

“Farooq, please do not doubt my desire to help. But I must see my wife, for the last time of my life, before I commit to accompanying you brothers on the attack,” Kolt said, seeking some sympathy.

“That is impossible,” Farooq said. “Your wife is OK, but she is not near us.”

“Farooq, would you deny me a simple phone call? A chance to hear her voice and provide me peace of mind before I embark on our path to martyrdom with you?”

Farooq thought about it for several seconds. He looked at the other brothers and obtained nods of approval from Joma and Abdul.

“Very well,” Farooq said as he picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

Kolt waited as Farooq spoke Arabic with an unseen person on the other end of the phone. He understood the words “wife” and “Timothy” and the phrase
athbatta
and
haajam,
Arabic words for “prove” and “attack.” And then Farooq handed the phone to Kolt.

Kolt had his proof of life.

Cherokee Nuclear Power Plant

The night of 21 April was a moonless one. Farooq and Joma were just about complete with the installation, and even though Kolt wanted to be in on the job, he figured he better sit this one out. He sat in the van down the street at the all-night gas station on the corner. Timothy’s house sat only a few miles away to the east. And as the sky filled with stars over the midsize suburb, Kolt figured that very soon Timothy would wish he had taken the night off to take in some Xbox.

Kolt’s mind drifted to thoughts of Shaft standing in the snow in Pakistan. He wondered where he would be right now had he not ignored Mason’s order to abort.

He had a load on his shoulders—his primary services to Tungsten, his orders to stop the nuke plot and prevent a devastating attack on the Cherokee power station, and his most pressing operation, to rescue Cindy Bird from these asshole terrorists—and he could feel the pressure. Kolt couldn’t predict the future, but after hearing Hawk’s faint voice over Farooq’s cell for a few seconds, he was certain she had been beaten severely. All this combined to stretch his core to the absolute outer limits.

The loud honk of a passing motorist brought Kolt back to the present. He looked at the time on his cell phone and wondered how the others were doing. He hoped they would cross the wrong wires and blow themselves into kingdom come, but that wouldn’t help him find Hawk. But, all things being equal, Kolt needed the attack on Cherokee to happen.

How hard can it be to open a vehicle trunk, remove the spare tire from the wheel well, and replace it with fifty pounds of Semtex bulk explosives?

A verse of “Back in Black” by the eighties heavy metal band AC/DC started playing as his cell phone rang. That song always took Kolt back to his carefree high school days. But carefree was exactly what he didn’t need now. He needed to be switched on.

Kolt fingered the answer button. “Yeah?”

“We are ready, Timothy,” Joma whispered. “Pick us up immediately.”

“Are you sure everything is ready. Do we need to wait for another night?”

“Yes, yes … come get us. We must get to the water.”

“Did you activate the detonator? See a red light come on?” Kolt continued, practically ignoring Joma’s requests for pickup.

“Yes, yes, just as we rehearsed. Allah saw to it that we were successful.”

“Yes, yes, brother, I knew Allah was with you.
Allah u Akbar!
” he answered, changing tones slightly. “Be there in five minutes.”

*   *   *

Kolt was oddly pleased to be teamed with Abdul tonight. Not that he trusted the son of a bitch necessarily. He was still a terrorist, and Kolt would just as soon choke him out right there, but he had seemed to take to Kolt the most. Abdul had been the least aggressive toward him in the seedy hotel room during planning. And at the moment, he was Kolt’s teammate and needed to be treated accordingly. More importantly, in the 105 Auto Shop gas station parking lot just off the eastern edge of Wilkinsville Highway, Abdul was currently Kolt’s only link to Cindy Bird.

The two of them had not been alone at all since they met. As they waited on the others to finish up loading the explosives, Kolt knew another opportunity might not present itself. He decided to throw the Hail Mary.

“Abdul, do you miss your family?”

“They are in good hands,” Abdul responded stoically but clearly startled by the question. He didn’t make eye contact. He remained nervously alert, looking out the rain-spattered window for any signs of trouble.

“You are a lucky man,” Kolt said as he looked toward Abdul. “I envy you.”

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Kolt thought twice about continuing on with the same conversation. Speaking of family with a fellow Delta operator was usually a great way to break the ice and lower the tensions when on a high-risk mission. Kolt assumed it was a sure-bet acceptable topic with a terrorist as well.

To Kolt’s surprise, Abdul spoke next. “You don’t speak much of your wife,” he said. “Have you forgotten her?”

Kolt stared straight ahead, out the driver’s-side window. He had to be careful. “My wife would not be proud of me,” he whispered.

“No?”

“Her and her family believe in defensive jihad only,” Kolt said with a tone of empathy in his voice. “They desire peace in the world.”

“I see.”

It was now or never. Kolt knew he wouldn’t have another chance. If things developed the way he had secretly shaped during the hotel planning, then Abdul was only an hour or so away from martyrdom. He needed information on Cindy’s location.

“Abdul, my biggest fear is being captured by these infidel dogs, yes?” Kolt said.

Abdul turned to look at Kolt. “God willing, we will be heroes to all Islam. Allah will accept us tonight.”

“Yes, that is a wonderful feeling,” Kolt answered as he placed his right hand on Abdul’s left shoulder gently. “But I fear the harsh treatment my wife is enduring for so long in captivity. I’m afraid I would not be able to endure days and days of isolation as she has.”

Startled a second time, Abdul hesitated. “Your wife is being treated fairly. But she is stubborn.”

“No, no, I could not survive a day in captivity.”

“You could, Timothy,” Abdul responded, looking at Kolt reassuringly, “just as your wife is.”

“So my wife is still alive?” Kolt said in amazement.

“But she is.” Abdul answered confidently. “I am certain of it.”

Kolt paused for a moment to let it all sink in. “How so, brother?”

Before Abdul could answer, a white Ford King Cab F-150 turned into the convenience store parking lot. On the driver’s-side door, a red, white, and blue EnergyFirst logo confirmed the occupant.

Just as Timothy said he would, the ops engineer stepped out of the truck as he had done every weekday night for the past two years and lifted his light Windbreaker over his head to block the rain as he quickly headed for the front door. Kolt exited the van, slipped his T-shirt over the handle to the .38 Abdul had provided, and followed the man into the store. Abdul pulled out a black balaclava hood and quickly slipped it over his head to expose only his eyes and lips. Thin rubber surgeon’s gloves followed before he slipped out into the parking lot.

Kolt overheard the cashier as the man approached the counter. He was recognized by all the store cashiers. This wasn’t a surprise. Kolt figured they routinely rang up the same amount each night.

“The usual tonight, Warren?” asked the thirtysomething woman two-fingering a half-burnt cigarette behind the counter.

“Yep, Deborah, nothing new at the power plant,” answered Warren.

“Alright, then, four cups of house-blend coffee, a cherry pie, and three honey buns comes exactly to…”

Warren interrupted and finished her sentence while smiling. “Six dollars and sixty-six cents.”

“You got it, Warren,” answered Deborah as she took his money and opened the cash register. “But that number always spooks me.”

“What a bargain!” he said, smiling.

Warren pocketed his change and gently picked up the four-section cardboard coffee holder and the plastic bag.

“Careful with the coffee. It’s really hot,” Deborah said.

With his arms full, Warren backed gently into the glass door and pushed it open. He spun around and took a few short steps before stepping lightly off the wet curb. His worn leather boots splashed dirty puddle water on top of his boot toes as he fumbled for his truck keys.

Warren opened the driver’s door and gingerly placed the small bag of snacks on the plastic leather front seat. He pushed the four cup holder around the seat-belt buckle and rested it against the back of the passenger’s seat to ensure it wouldn’t spill. He turned the key, and the engine roared. Warren placed the truck in reverse and backed out of the parking lot.

Kolt walked out of the storefront, pulled his black balaclava over his head, and took the wheel gun from his pants as he moved briskly to the F-150.

As Warren eased onto the empty asphalt road, he reached to the radio and turned it on. A second later, the fifty-two-year-old chain smoker was having a hard time breathing. His most immediate concern was the force of Abdul’s left forearm pressing against his larynx.

Warren’s inherent survival instincts kicked in immediately. He grabbed Abdul’s forearm with both hands to relieve the pressure even a little. His right foot instinctively hit the brakes, and the momentum threw them both forward slightly. Kolt threw open the passenger’s door and slipped into the front seat next to Warren, sliding the coffee and sweets over.

“Don’t panic, Warren,” Kolt said as calmly as possible. “Follow instructions and save your own ass.” Abdul eased off Warren’s larynx enough to allow him to talk.

“What, what do you want?” Warren struggled to say. “I don’t have any money.”

“Your money is safe, Warren,” Kolt answered. “It’s your family you should be concerned with.”

“Pull into that church parking lot ahead and drive around to the back.”

Warren regained the wheel and eased into the parking lot. He drove toward the back, past the side doors, and stopped near the edge of the old graveyard and behind the white sided Mount Ararat Baptist Church.

“Kill the engine,” Kolt ordered.

“OK, Mr. Warren Samperson,” Kolt began. “Father of a beautiful daughter living at home as she attends the local Spartanburg Community College and happily married for thirty-three years to the lovely Eleanor.”

“What in the world…” Warren barked before Abdul reapplied the neck pressure to cut him off.

“You are a family man, right Warren?” Kolt asked. “We know everything about you and your family,” Kolt assured him and then placed the colored photocopy of his family in front of his face.

“Basically, Warren, you have two choices here,” Kolt continued. “And your decision will directly impact on whether or not your daughter is around long enough to graduate.

“Now, all you need to do is drive this truck back to Cherokee. Proceed through the checkpoint, hold your badge up to the window like you always do, and continue to the parking lot in front of the main access facility.

“If you do this, Warren, act as if nothing is amiss, then your family lives,” Kolt offered, before giving him a few seconds to think it over. Kolt could see the rapid pulse from Warren’s neck as it pressed against the skin of Abdul’s forearm.

Kolt whispered into Warren’s right ear. “If you don’t, Warren, with Allah as my witness, your family will be videotaped being raped, tortured, and murdered just as the American pigs are doing to our women on Muslim holy land.”

“OK, OK, please don’t hurt my family,” Warren begged. “They haven’t hurt anyone.”

“I know, Warren. I know,” Kolt quickly answered. “Head back to the plant and don’t let the muzzle of this .38 Special against your funny bone bother you.”

For the first time since the night began, Kolt allowed his emotions to power down a bit. Even though he was able to maintain his composure while talking to Warren, his adrenaline had kicked in overdrive as they neared the plant. Sure, it was exciting, but Kolt wondered at what loss of life and psychological cost? At the moment, there was no telling.

So far, so good. The mission was going according to plan. Warren seemed assured of being on board, albeit reluctantly, and the other pieces were falling into place. But on this mission, Kolt was still troubled by one thing.

How can I pull this mission off and still not harm any of the good guys?
Abdul might have decided that Warren needed to die, but to Kolt the ops engineer’s future certainly hadn’t been decided.

TWENTY

Floating offshore on the calm lake water less than two miles from the amber glow of Cherokee Power Plant’s towering high-mast light poles, Joma and Farooq huddled close aboard a red and white Sea Doo 1250 Jet Ski. Highlighted by the half-moon glare off the still water, a few feet behind the impeller boot and exhaust sat two large tractor-trailer inner tubes carefully rigged with a mix of nearly three hundred pounds of fertilizer and Semtex explosives.

Farooq’s cell phone rang, and he reached into his shirt pocket carefully so as not to upset the delicate balance of two adult males on a single Jet Ski.

“Hello?”

“Brother Farooq, peace be upon you, we are ready, my brother,” Abdul said enthusiastically into the phone. “We are almost to the checkpoint; execute your mission, brother. May Allah be with you both.”

Shaking his head vigorously, Farooq answered. “Yes, yes, yes,
Allah u Akbar
!”

“Allah u Akbar!”

It had been just under an hour since Farooq and Joma had pulled off McKowns Mountain Road, cut the chain lock on the simple cable barrier, and taken a narrow north-south dirt road for half a mile to the public boat ramp on the southwest edge of a no-name reservoir. Farooq easily backed the trailer wheels three feet into the water and waited for Joma to unhook the Jet Ski and let it float off the trailer in the calm, frigid water.

After pulling the vehicle and trailer into the tree line, Farooq and Joma slowly slipped their way northeast up the reservoir, hugging the west-side shore as much as possible as they maintained course toward the ambient artificial light surrounding the power plant. They had remained under the overhanging tree limbs until they reached the left turn that would be their last hiding place as they awaited the phone call from Abdul. Now, only a thousand feet from their target, Cherokee’s large concrete intake structure, everything was in place.