Fueling the Rage Read online

  The tower’s words were delivered with a Russian accent, “Welcome home.”

  *****

  Bryan had set up scheduled calls by all of his leaders. At 9 am, noon and midnight Eastern Time they would each call a phone number and then hang up. He was adamant that these calls were done within ten minutes of their schedule time. A missed call would mean the site had most likely been raided by the police. It’s surprising how little Malcolm really understands about jihad. Sometimes he seems more concerned about profit and loss than Allah’s work and nothing could be more important than jihad. He looked at his special cell phone that was just used for the leaders to report at their times. The calls would appear together as four missed calls, but there were only three missed calls. Topeka had not reported as required. He again reviewed each number. A chill went down his spine. There’s no call from Topeka!

  *****

  The farm was secured at the highway and the ATF scientists closed the building and were fearful of even entering the structure. The amount of explosives stored was immense. If the farm was in downtown Topeka it could level an area one mile in diameter, but the good news was the isolated location. The DFBI’s helicopter had landed at the farm and picked up Bill and Ivan and headed to Topeka FBI central. There was a helipad on the roof. They landed and followed the DFBI to a work area. “I pulled its paper work. The Topeka Peace Mosque is a tax free organization and a computer check showed that nationally there are four. Warrants to enter and search all of these institutions have been requested. Topeka, Houston, Tampa and Atlanta all have Peace Mosques and each of them is closely associated with other businesses.” He explained these holdings to Bill and Ivan. Bill now knew the cities and he told the DFBI about Bryan and Malcolm.

  “No one told you about Henry did they? Yesterday afternoon he visited Malcolm Akiff’s office, and that night was murdered. It seems he knew about this plot and tried to get Akiff to stop it. His attempt must have failed and he then called the American Ambassador to Chad from his hotel room. He told the ambassador that jihad was going to erupt in several cities. The Secretary of State was alerted and the Group was dispatched to meet with Henry, but they got to his hotel room too late. Malcolm Akiff seems to have had Henry’s head cut off. We haven’t been able to locate Mr. Akiff, but we actually found Henry’s head in his office.”

  Ivan looked at large paper map that covered the area of the Atlanta mosque and its associated businesses and then scanned the incorporation documents, “Atlanta was their first mosque and these papers indicate that they own a company called Georgia Haulers.”

  Bill went to a computer, “Let’s look at all this Atlanta stuff on the Internet.” He entered the address of the mosque and it was located in downtown Atlanta. Industrial Diesel was north of Atlanta.

  Ivan said, “Zoom in on Industrial Diesel.” There was a private airport just behind the business and they went to street view and there it was. A large square structure was directly behind Industrial Diesel. “That’s new construction and I bet Bryan’s there.”

  The DFBI called a federal judge and received warrants to search the airport, the building, the trucking company, and any business near the new construction.

  “We now know the starting point of the attack in Atlanta, but we haven’t found them in Houston or Tampa. You close down Atlanta and send Ivan and me to visit the Peace Mosque in Houston!” Within twenty minutes they were aboard an FBI plane.

  Bryan called the Topeka Mosque from his special phone. A woman answered and he hung up. There are no female workers at the mosque. He went to his computer and connected to the Internet and pulled up the Topeka black box that he had hidden on the roof beam. There were several entry areas, but Bryan went directly to date and time. They must have looked over the site and I’ll bet the police are being very cautious. Tomorrow they’ll bring in all of their experts. If I detonate tomorrow just before lunch time maybe I’ll catch some of them. That should give me enough time to start jihad in the other cities.

  He picked up his cell phone and called his leader in Tampa, “Hello.

  Bryan knew the voice, “Start the operation tomorrow at 10am local time, but dispatch the Miami truck at 5am and the Orlando trucks at 8am, Allah Akbar.”

  The voice on the phone said, “Allah Akbar.”

  Bryan then called Houston and a voice said, “Hello.”

  “Get going tomorrow morning at 8am, Allah Akbar.”

  The voice replied, “Allah Akbar.”

  Everyone in the Atlanta building was standing around him, “How soon can we be ready?”

  His leader gave him a quick review, “Counting us, we have eight drivers ready right now. The rest are at the mosque or Georgia Haulers.”

  “Are any of the fire truck drivers here?”

  “No, they’re at the mosque, but I’ll call everyone in.”

  “We may be under attack. Call everyone to come and drive now, but send the truck drivers directly to Georgia Haulers. As soon as you finish your calls take the last position and use your ambulance to close the Interstate and take down that hotel.”

  His leader’s reply was, “Allah Akbar.”

  Every Law enforcement agency near any of the potential bomber locations had been alerted by the DFBI. The Atlanta drivers all ran to their ambulances and Bryan’s revised destruction plan began. All of them were able to leave and headed south on GA 400. Bryan was the third to leave the warehouse and this was his first time at the wheel of a fire truck. Normally the truck had room for six in the cab area, but there was now only the driver’s seat. Four tons of nitrated hydrocarbons in a black bladder filled the rest of cabin. The fire truck was called a pumper and was built around a tank that carried thousands of gallons of water and special chemicals that smothered fire. That area now contained bladders each filled with one thousand gallons of explosives. It has a powerful diesel engine, but the extra thirty two tons of pay load slowed its normally quick acceleration. Bryan was able to reach 70 mph as he headed south on the highway.

  The CDC was just off of Interstate 75 as it ran through downtown Atlanta. He was now about 20 minutes from his target. Bryan knew where every vehicle was destined and the last ambulance would follow his path on GA 400 to I85 and through a toll both until it would reach an underpass that supported a swank hotel. This single ambulance would close one of the most important highways in America for weeks. The first two ambulances were going directly downtown. As they approached their target they would travel side by side on a one way downtown street. When they reached their targets, each ambulance would pull onto the side walk and stop. Six skyscrapers would be exposed to the explosion. A Major portion of the world’s telecommunications was housed in two of the buildings.

  Bryan was now doing 77mph and watched as dozens of police cars passed him in the opposite direction. He was now only ten minutes from his target and was disappointed that Kansas was deprived of his jihad. It would be fun to watch the news tomorrow. There will be photos of fires and death and the discussion of blame will go on for months. His hope was that prisoners from all over America would see their real value. He looked ahead and saw that the traffic was slowing. He was now very close to his exit and turned his on his siren and flashing lights. The traffic ahead of him was getting heavy, but they were moving to the left and traffic began clearing a path for him. He had just one more exit to the CDC and was now using the right lane and the shoulder. He reduced his speed to take his exit to the right. A single police car partially blocked the exit ramp, but Bryan just followed the gentle curve. He was going 35 mph as he hit the police car and it moved aside like a small toy. He needed to cross over the Interstate. He saw his street and turned left. The rear of the fire truck touched four or five parked cars as he turned the corner. He could hear the grinding, but it didn’t slow him down.

  He had two more turns and then a one block straight run at the guard gate. It was just as his cell mate had explained. He was heading straight for the truck entrance and had reached almost 40 mph as he cl
osed on the guard post. He would first go through a flimsy wooden bar that was in the down position and ten feet past the gate there were three round posts that rose from the roadway. They were two feet tall and eight inches in diameter. They were made of special concrete and were reinforced with steel. He could feel his front wheels leave the ground as his front bumper pushed ahead, slightly bending the posts forward. As the body of the fire truck moved ahead, the barriers ripped away at the understructure, but the weight and the forward motion of the truck was too much for the barriers. As the back of the fire truck cleared them the wheels barely lifted from the ground.

  There was 100 feet to the truck entrance. It was protected by a large garage door and Bryan held the wheel with both hands as the nose of the fire truck smashed through the door. His windshield was now gone and small pieces of glass made cuts on his face and arms. His foot was still holding the accelerator to the floor. The fire truck had slowed, but the tank-like construction revealed no obvious top side damage. From his vantage, the long hood was undamaged. His fire engine had lost its oil pan as it passed over the barriers and he could feel the power fade as the end of the journey approached. The driving wheels still were pushing as the nose of the truck penetrated the closed elevator door.

  Four floors below, workers were unloading a tractor trailer. Normally there was a slow elevator ride down to the receiving area. The tractor trailer would be unloaded, would drive ahead through the back of the elevator, under the complex, and enter another elevator. There would be a slow 80 foot elevator ride up to the ground floor. The doors to the street would open and the driver’s job at the CDC was done. He was now entering the elevator shaft and the rigid body of the fire truck only allowed the cab to bend down slightly as the six rear axles supported the weight of the truck and its load. The engine was no longer operating as the upper body scrapped through the last door. Now only momentum allowed forward advancement, but it was advancing.

  The cab was now starting to rotate downward as the vehicle continued to move forward. At some point the fire truck was balanced. Half of the load was over the edge of the elevator shaft and he was regaining his composure as he sat behind the large steering wheel, but his ride was not over. It was eighty feet to the bottom of the shaft.

  When the balance of weight was shifted slightly forward the slow movement was replace by a rapid increase in forward and downward speed. Bryan was fully aware as the nose of his fire truck smashed the trailer of the truck below. Above him were many tons of explosives in one thousand gallon bladders. Each bladder weighed four tons. The nose of the truck hit the bottom of the shaft and stopped, and the airbag deployed and his chest was pressed hard against the steering wheel. Seconds later the airbag deflated and became a flat plastic surface. He was still completely conscious as the heavy bladders began shifting downward.

  The bladder in the cab engulfed his driver seat and it rotated up and forward as the deflated airbag allowed the steering wheel to slide from his chest to his waist. He was still conscious and heard the bones of his hips crack. More and more weight pressed him harder and harder against the steering wheel shaft. His heart was able to pump, he was taking shallow breaths and his mind was still clear. His lower body was now completely isolated from just below his rib cage. The pressure pinching his abdomen squeezed his circulatory system to the point that there was almost no blood loss. His pain was almost unbearable, but it was not enough to shut his system down. His right arm was free and he was able to use it to wipe the now dripping mixture of nitrated diesel fuel from his eyes. He could even see his watch. It would be a long thirty minutes before he would maybe see paradise.

  There were CDC people now all around the cab of the fire truck. They thought it was just a tragic accident and they were trying to find a way save him. A young doctor in a white lab coat was able to lie on his back and slide under the windshield. Their faces were inches apart, “Don’t try to talk we’re getting you help and I’ll return with an IV.”

  Bryan whispered and the man understood every word, “I’m already dead, this truck’s full of explosives. Get everyone out. It will explode in fifteen minutes.” Bryan could see his watch and prayed for the fifteen minutes to pass.

  Sirens blasted and speakers warned every person to lock up and exit the building to safety. In an orderly manner, the CDC was completely evacuated. Hundreds of people left the building and escaped down Peachtree Street. Police cars were stopping traffic two miles from the complex. Deep inside the Center for Disease Control were living samples of every germ and virus that historically had infected mankind. The worst of the worst were locked away in vaults. The 32 tons of explosive power pushing down on Bryan were a true test of their security systems.

  The employees included many highly specialized men and women that helped protect America and the world from all sorts of medical attacks. There were scientists that knew everything about very small areas of research. To almost everyone, the CDC was a shining light of successful science, but Bryan had picked the CDC to attack because of his prison cell mate. As time had passed, the cell mate had grown to hate the rich, mostly white doctors that for some reason had fired him. He had forgotten that he had left the CDC after he was arrested for killing his wife. Bryan was normally totally void of any personal feelings for others. His cell mate hated, so he hated. For his entire life he had felt for no one, but this short conversation with the young doctor came from some place within Bryan’s brain that had never been used before.

  A large amount of liquid explosive had leaked from the bladders. The floor of the elevator was not the bottom of the shaft. The elevator rested above a concrete pit that allowed space for the workings below the floor. The leaking fuel was filling that pit when the time came for the timer to close a digital relay. The power from both batteries fired a detonator in the bladder at the rear of the fire truck which was now many feet above his head. He was expecting an explosion to instantly engulf him when his watch’s second hand showed those thirty minutes was completed. The detonator glowed from the current, but the explosive soup ignited like a slow fuse. The detonator emitted a small explosion, but it was in an air space between the plastic and the fluid below. The space between the liquid and the plastic bladder held too little oxygen to support the explosion, but the battery current continued to flow. The top of the plastic bladder started to burn. The power from the batteries now had a path to ground. As the current flowed, it heated the plastic and the air above the mixture. It took a few minutes to raise the temperature to a point of ignition and a small fire followed the leaking liquid. In a way, the bladders were protecting the mix from exploding.

  Diesel fuel and nitrate were continually drizzling into the cabin area, then running onto the elevator floor and the space below the floor. Burning fuel was surrounding Bryan and his lower body was now on fire. The light from the flames made it possible for him to see below the steering wheel. His lap was covered with red flames and he was being cooked alive by the fire. He started to disappear into smoke like the bodies of the murdered prostitutes emitted from the chimney of the crematorium. When enough time had passed and a certain temperature was reached, a rapid chemical reaction took place. The colossal explosion that Bryan craved happened, but he had died a few seconds earlier.

  The elevator shaft design had many of the properties of a cannon barrel. The fire truck and the bladders were like a huge shell. Instead of the force radiating outward and destroying the building, the thick walls of the shaft confined and directed the explosion. Energy was allowed to escape up the shaft. The bladders and the cab stayed stationary. The remainder of the fire truck would be forced up by the expanding gas.

  The facilities above the elevator shaft were primarily administrative offices that had been completely vacated when the alarms had sounded. The explosion lifted the body of fire truck. At an unbelievable velocity it shot up through the shaft and smashed a fifty foot hole through three floors of the administration offices. The concentrated explosion used all of the availa
ble oxygen so there was no fire. The truck became a projectile and traveled almost three miles and landed in a vacant lot. At first glance the damage to the CDC was minimal. There was no loss of life other than Bryan’s. Other areas in downtown Atlanta were not so lucky.

  One plan down starts another

  Separating head from tail

  Keeping up the hardened cover

  Bringing down the shrouded veil

  Chapter 26

  During the flight, Bill and Ivan studied all of the available information that the FBI had collected on the Houston Peace Mosque and their company Well Oil. They needed to find the warehouse that was going to dispatch the vehicle bombs. They landed in Houston and the FBI agent in charge and his local agents met them at a small private Houston airport. The agent had Federal search warrants in his hand. Federal, State, and local law enforcement were standing by. The FBI agent had been told directly by the DFBI that Bill and Ivan were FBI managing consultants in charge of the Houston Peace Mosque investigation.

  Bill was the first off the plane, “We don’t have much time. Somewhere in Houston there’s a warehouse full of big bombs. We need to find it and stop them from delivering those bombs. The company called Well Oil furnished the diesel fuel that was used in the explosives in Topeka, Kansas. The CEO of Well Oil is Dr. Bill Sims. Ivan will take care of Dr. Sims and his employees, and I’ll take the folks at the Houston Peace Mosque.”

  The FBI agents in Houston were professional investigators and were routinely given complex crimes to investigate. They solved those crimes by following well trusted methods. Time after time they delivered suspects to prosecutors that made easy cases. The senior agent became the top agent because he was able to keep his people on the narrow path of these trusted methods. When he met any person for the first time, he memorized them from head to foot. Months later he could recall that person’s name and repeat accurately this first meeting description. The senior agent first quickly inspected Ivan and memorized his description. Ivan is a very large highly conditioned foreigner dressed in a well-tailored blue suit with an appropriate red tie. Ivan and I are about the same height, but Ivan outweighs me by fifty pounds. Ivan’s outfit is almost a perfect match to mine.