End Days Super Boxset (35 page)

Ghazi twisted and turned in agony, but couldn’t break free from the restraints.

“Let’s move up farther,” Patterson said, raising his cane.

“Wait!” Ghazi cried out.

“What was that?” Craig asked as he leaned closer.

“I said stop!”

Patterson slowly lowered his cane, but still held it out while balancing against the bed.

“Tell us what we want to know about the water plant. And no bullshit!” Craig said.

“I-I will talk. Just no more…” His voice began to drift. Craig began to hope that they hadn’t gone overboard and killed him.

“It’s in Lincoln, Nebraska,” Ghazi said, moaning.

“I know that much. We have Ma’mun’s laptop, remember? I found an ocean of documents on it. What I want to know is what we’re dealing with. How many men? What do we face? What artillery do they have?”

Ghazi struggled to speak between his rapid breaths. “You will never make it past the gate.”

“Why’s that?” Craig asked.

“At least a hundred men. All heavily armed. Twenty-four hours a day. Lookout posts that extend a mile from the plant.”

“When are they expected to make shipment of the poison water supply? Where is it going?” Patterson asked, cutting in.

Ghazi’s eyes opened wider. He looked at Patterson with genuine surprise. “How did you know about that?”

“It’s all on the laptop,” Craig answered.

Ghazi said something in Arabic under his breath, no doubt cursing.

“Answer the question!” Patterson shouted. He lost his balance for a moment and nearly fell over. Craig caught him.

“It’s okay. Take it easy.” He pushed Patterson up and left him leaning on his cane as he pulled the chair over for his partner to sit. They both looked at Ghazi after hearing faint laughter. The man was smiling. His eyes were closed as if he were experiencing some delirious fantasy—lost in his own world.

“What’s so funny, Mr. Ghazi?” Craig asked.

The laughter continued. “You…you think you can stop this?” He paused and winced as the laughter increased the pain in his sides. “It is too late…the shipments are well on their way… Five hundred FEMA sites all around the country. Military installations. Emergency shelters. You name it. By the time they realize something is in the water… The panic… The fear… It will be beautiful.”

Ghazi continued to laugh despite the pain as Craig looked at Patterson with deadly seriousness. “We have to get moving now.”

Patterson nodded. “I know. Let’s make those calls.”

Craig wasted no time helping his partner up from the chair and moving him out the door without saying another word to Ghazi. They breezed past the guards, thanking them. Once out of sight, one of the guards peeked in on Ghazi, only to see their restrained prisoner laughing to himself in an empty room.

Monday, July 11, 2016

The state capital of Lincoln, Nebraska, had seen much economic and manufacturing growth over the years. And it was within this city where the Hudson Valley Natural Spring Water manufacturing plant resided, on the outskirts of the city and largely isolated and secured.

Lookout posts had been established miles from the plant to alert them of approaching visitors: county inspectors, law enforcement, or just people lost on the dirt roads that led to the plant. They fully expected a confrontation with the government after phase two, and security had been increased tenfold to guard and watch the perimeter of the fifty-thousand square foot bottling plant.

The factory was largely considered an enigma around town. No one was sure who owned it. Hiring policies were strict and selective. The entire operation was very low-key. Supplies and packaging materials would come in through the loading docks and bottled water would come out all throughout the week. The plant had been in operation for decades, but was recently purchased by investors from Dubai.

The sleeper cell operation had been active for a little over a year. Rather than undergoing the difficulty of poisoning the nation’s water supply at various utility companies, ISIS would manufacture their own lethal dose and distribute it to FEMA camps and other emergency sites. Most of what the FBI had discovered on Ma’mun’s laptop was true. The only question was, how far along was the production schedule? How many cases had been shipped, when and where?

***

That afternoon, Omar was in a secret meeting room below the factory production floor discussing the coming launch of phase three. Fifty thousand bottles were palletized and ready to go, and they were close to finishing their first mass shipment of VX-tainted water. Their overall goal was to distribute ten million bottles nationally. The shipments would be making it to the several different emergency centers, and once the initial fatalities began, ISIS counted on the source being discovered. Their goal wasn’t mass casualties, but to spread more panic and fear. And they would increase production from there.

Omar Allawi was very close. Surrounded by a team of high-ranking men, including his most trusted guards, Usaamah and Hamid, he began their meeting. As pleased as he was with the success of phase two, taking over the president’s address, and the nearing of phase three, something else was eating away at him—an unresolved issue involving an American FBI agent.

“I have heard nothing from Ghazi and the others. Nothing from the team watching the FBI agent’s house. Nothing about Ma’mun’s laptop.”

Omar’s voice was calm, as always, but the men around the table noticed his tone rising in anger just before he slammed his fist on the table, startling everyone.

“This is unacceptable!” He paused for a moment, looking around the room. “How is it that we can bring the government of this country to its knees, but we can’t find one man and his family and slaughter them like the pigs they are? Someone tell me, please.”

No one wanted to answer. Fareed, the eldest in the group, and one of the few who did not fear Omar, decided to interject.

“My Commander, if you will. We’ve seen much success so far, but we still have a way to go in establishing our caliphate. Can you see how the endless pursuit of this man could, in fact, distract us from our ultimate goal?”

Omar stared at Fareed, thinking. He crossed his arms and nodded. “Old Fareed, the voice of reason in troubling times. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He then signaled to Hamid, the bigger of his two guards. Hamid walked behind Fareed, grabbed his arm and pulled it back.

“Hey!” Fareed said, struggling.

In quick, violent jerks, Hamid twisted his arm and snapped it. Fareed screamed out in pain as his arm broke in several places in a series of pops. Hamid slammed Fareed’s twisted arm onto the table, pulled a long knife from his side, and slashed his palm open. Fareed screamed as blood poured out of the cut onto the table. Hamid pushed Fareed and walked back to where he had been standing in the corner.

The room remained quiet amidst Fareed’s wailing cries. The old man hunched over, clutching his crippled arm. Omar observed him without pity and simply tossed a rag to him. Fareed took the rag and tied it around his fresh, deep wound. He said no more to Omar or anyone else. As he rose from his chair Omar demanded that he stay.

“We’re not done yet.”

Fareed slid back in his chair whimpering like a wounded animal.

Omar looked around the table again upon the stoic faces of his men.

“I welcome constructive criticism, but what I will not condone is ignorance. Finding the FBI agent is every bit as important as anything else. He
has
Ma’mun’s laptop, which means he has our plans. The military could be on its way here as we speak. Why am I the only one to see this? I want production increased and streamlined. I want our chemicals used to the last drop. And I want mass shipment of our product to commence immediately. Once this happens, we will abandon this factory and reduce it to ash in an explosion that this city will never forget.”

Omar leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “Are we all on the same page now?”

The room erupted in agreement as clapping followed.

“
Allahu Akbar
!” one man shouted, standing up.

The group shouted out in unison.

Omar slowly rose from his chair as the room quieted. “We are soldiers in Allah’s army. Every one of us. Now is the time to embrace your destiny. And our time is fleeting. Move out!”

***

The eighteen-hour drive had been long and tiring, but Craig and his team managed to make it to Nebraska in under a day. By Monday afternoon he was driving through Lincoln in a white FBI van with both Thomas and Keagan, whom he had convinced to join the cause.

They had left the DC bunker on a supposed fact-finding mission, and Craig was able to get Ma’mun’s laptop without too much difficulty. The operations rooms had turned into a center of disarray. The president’s cabinet had expressed interest in the findings of the water plant, but was tied up dealing with other leads and threats. Military force against ISIS had not been authorized yet. Emergency services along the Gulf Coast were preparing for a hurricane to hit the gulf within the next day or two. And the wall-to-wall coverage of the terrorist attacks had nearly brought the country to a halt.

Before leaving DC, Patterson had explained to Thomas and Keagan the importance of accompanying Craig. They all knew the possibility of the mission failing, of them dying, or, at best, losing their badges, but they were certain the survival of the country was at stake.

The plan made sense: stop the terrorists before they unleashed another devastating blow. And since air travel had been shut down, they had even less time to mobilize. They were supposed to meet the mercenary team on the outskirts of Lincoln, near the Hudson Valley Water plant, but not too close to bring attention to themselves. It was a risky gamble—all of it—but Craig felt it to be their only choice.

Rachael and Nick knew none of what he was doing. He had arranged a temporary room for them to stay within the government bunker. His superiors, Walker and Calderon, were told of a local investigation to round up more sleeper cell suspects for interrogation. They were suspicious of Craig’s intentions, but too preoccupied to object.

When everything was in place, Craig left with the only two agents he trusted, just enough time before Homeland or the CIA could discover the beating they’d given of Ghazi and the plan to infiltrate the water plant. Patterson went back to the hospital with Kathleen but stayed in contact with Craig through a pair of secure satellite phones they “borrowed” from the FBI.

Under the nearly cloudless blue sky, Thomas drove the van up a hill in a shady, wooded area where they were supposed to meet the rest of their team. They had all heard of the “Patriot Riders” before, but weren’t sure of the militia group’s strength. In the past, the FBI had monitored hundreds of similar groups who the feds monitored due to their “subversive and anti-government views.”

The Patriot Riders were among the most notorious on the government’s list. What did they want? Their mission statement described them as a “reactionary military force, organized and trained to respond to immediate threats to the United States of America in a capable, timely manner.” Craig had heard of them and only hoped they were ready for a dangerous and difficult assault on the water plant.

“Is this the place?” Thomas asked, circling the top of the hill overlooking much of the area.

Holding a map of the area, Craig looked down and ran a finger across their route. “Looks about right?”

Keagan called out from the back. He was holding his phone up. “Coordinates match my GPS.”

Craig turned his head. “I wouldn’t put your absolute trust in that. Cell phone towers have been going haywire the past few days.”

Thomas laughed and then looked at Keagan in the rearview mirror. “What Agent Davis doesn’t want to tell you is that he keeps his cell phone off so he wife doesn’t call and bitch him out.”

“Wrong, Agent Thomas,” Craig said. “First of all, it’s my wife’s phone. Second, I’m only turning it on for emergencies.”

Thomas found a spot under a tree and rolled the van to a stop. “But you know as well as I do that the FBI is going to start calling us soon. Once they speak to Ghazi.”

Keagan quietly shut off his cell phone. He didn’t want to deal with an agency meltdown. It was best to ignore them and keep pushing forward.

“I expect them to find out,” Craig said. “But when they do, we’ll have this plant under control and all their chemicals seized. The bureau can thank us later.”

“I knew you were crazy, Davis. I just didn’t think I’d be the one going along with it,” Thomas said.

After he put the van into park and turned off the engine, they waited. The tree branches around them moved gently in a slight breeze. Everything was quiet and undisturbed, and it was hard to believe that only a few miles away there was a water plant where people were in the preparation of delivering nerve agents to an unsuspecting population. Craig looked at his watch then at the map again.

He ran the terrorist timeline through his head. They had launched the port attacks on the seventh of July—a Thursday. The power plant attacks followed, two days later, the evening of July ninth—a Saturday. ISIS was using a slow-burn, trickle-down method in spreading its terror. It was Monday the eleventh, two days after phase two, and there wasn’t much time left of the day. It was now or never.

The back of the van was stockpiled with rifles, grenade launchers, ammunition, vests, helmets, and anything else they could get their hands on. Once the militia arrived, Craig was ready to storm the water plant by any means necessary. He could feel Omar’s presence, and was certain that the battle ahead would be difficult… and dangerous.

“Where are these guys?” Keagan asked, with a hint of uncertainty to his voice.

Thomas glanced in the rearview mirror again. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

“I don’t know,” Keagan said, shaking his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Thomas looked frustrated. “Just keep it together, Agent Keagan. We need you on this.” He stroked his mustache with one hand while looking out the driver-side mirror for any signs of their expected arrivals.

Growing impatient, Craig pulled out his satellite phone to dial Patterson. After talking to most of the Patriot Riders, they had agreed to arrive at the disclosed meeting place by 4:00 p.m.

“I guess they’re not that big on punctuality,” Thomas said, tossing a pistachio into his mouth.

The phone rang and rang, before Patterson finally picked it up on the other end.
“Yeah.”

“We made it,” Craig said. “Where are these guys? It’s past four now.”

“Relax, they’ll be there soon. Patriot Riders don’t mess around.”

“So you say. But in a few minutes, I have to take action. Omar could be making the shipments as we speak. Speaking of which, did you alert FEMA?”

“Yes, I did,”
Patterson said.
“The FBI issued an alert about possible bottled water contamination to all the other agencies. Every shipment coming in is being tested for toxic substances.”

“Good. But if they’re not here within the next five minutes…” Craig paused as he heard engines coming up the hill.

“Craig? You there? What is it?”
Patterson asked.

He glanced in his mirror and then turned around. Keagan shrugged. Thomas opened his door slowly. The sound was getting louder—multiple engines coming up the hill.

Craig continued. “I was saying, if they’re not here, I’m going to have to call this one in. Tell headquarters everything.”

“That won’t be necessary,”
Patterson said.
“Just promise me that you’ll watch your back out there, and stay low to the ground.”

Craig hopped out and could see a line of motorcycles, cars and trucks approaching, kicking up a thick trail of dust on the dirt road.

“I gotta go, Patterson. We’ll be fine. You get better. I’ll let you know as soon as we stop this thing.” He hung up the phone as Keagan and Thomas exited the van and met up at the rear.