stop for prayers and give thanks to Allah.
Two hours after the 737 crashed, another message was sent.
“To the owner of Atlantic Airlines,
Greetings again from the Apostles of Islam. Your airplane is shot down as promised. Your police will find the missile launcher in the car garage at 133 Central Park Drive in Hapeville. You will now know that we are serious about our mission. You are instructed to be ready for transfer of $100 millions dollars by electronic transfer tomorrow at 1200 hours. You will receive bank transfer information only at 1145, so you must have everything arranged. If you do not transfer the money, then we will shoot down your airplanes until you do. You must acknowledge your agreement by return email to this address no later than 1600 today”
The Atlanta FBI office had been informed of the threat against Atlantic earlier in the day. Benny Hopps sent a copy of the second message to them immediately then headed toward Adler’s office.
The FBI forwarded the second message to their laboratory in Washington DC, where it was further distributed to NSA and the CIA. It was also distributed to the Army Intelligence Command at Ft. Meade. The first message was received six hours earlier. The source of the email was identified as a web-based site somewhere in the Middle East. By using email service through a website, it lost its origin address, concealing the sender. The only way to identify the sender was through cooperation with the website provider, which was difficult with “friendly” countries and impossible in hostile areas.
Shortly after the second message was received, two Special Agents of the FBI were dispatched to the address. En route, they requested support from the Hakeville town constable. Arriving there half an hour later, they found most of the houses on the block derelict and unoccupied. The garage door on Central Drive was unlocked. Inside, as described, the SA-18 launcher was found. It was left untouched for forensic examination. The senior agent made a radio call to the SAC to describe the scene.
Special Agent Julie Bishop used her cellphone to call Benny Hopps, but he didn’t answer. His Executive Assistant took a message that they were en route to see him. When they arrived, Benny’s assistant escorted them to Adler’s office.
After introductions, Agent Bishop explained “Gentlemen, we want to tell you what we know so far.”
Benny said “Now, Julie, we want everyone to know how seriously we are taking this. Mr. Adler and I were just considering our next action.”
“Fine, Benny, you and I have known each other quite a while, so let’s get right to it. We believe the threats you have received are genuine. Several days ago, we believe a shipment of Russian SAM missiles was smuggled into Florida. We haven’t been able to find them, and they could be anywhere in the country by now. We just came from a garage by the airport and found a missile launcher as described in the second message.”
Adler scowled, “Hum, SA-18s are nasty little things. We had SAMs fired at us in Vietnam, I lost s,everal buddies to them. So, you think this creep is serious?”
Julie responded, “Sir, we believe he, or they, are dead serious and have the means to carry out their threats. One of the reasons we’re here is to inform you that we’ll be sending alert messages to all U.S. law enforcement and intelligence agencies, as well as the airlines. There’ll undoubtedly be some kind of public notification.”
Adler said, “That’s to be expected. What would you recommend we do?”
“Sir, that’s not up to us. I suspect TSA (Transportation Safety Administration) will issue directives.”
Adler responded, “Including shutting my airline down! How long do I have before you catch these guys?”
Benny interrupted, ”Gerry, they don’t know that.”
Adler yelled, “It doesn’t matter! Atlantic will be screwed anyway. What do you think, Special Agent? Should we pay the ransom?”
Benny said, “She can’t advise you, Gerry, you know that. Thank you, Julia. We’ll take it from here.”
The FBI agents stood, shook hands with the executives and met Benny’s assistant again for escort out.
Adler spoke to Benny, “Okay, I need to call an emergency conference with the Board.”
South of the Border
It was nearing four o’clock in the afternoon when Majiid and his accomplices turned off I-95 into South Carolina’s famous “South of the Border” convenience center in Dillon, S.C., a 350-acre roadside attraction with shops, restaurants, and concrete statues with a Mexican theme. They were hungry and searched for a restaurant with Internet service. After filling their trays cafeteria style, they sat at a table away from other travelers.
Majiid used his laptop, checking for email. He had one message forwarded from outside the country.
From Benjamin Hopps, Senior Vice President for aircraft security, Atlantic Airlines. We agree to transfer $100 million dollars, to secure the safety of our passengers and crews against further attacks by the group calling itself “Apostles of Islam.” We will have our bankers ready to execute wire transfer of funds upon receipt of your instructions at 1145 tomorrow EST. Please provide transfer information to my email address with this message….
While he could barely contain his excitement, he could not divulge any information to his companions. Neither of them spoke or read English, and they believed the mission was to kill Americans. Instead, under the brilliant planning and financing by his leader, they were building the financial means for a much larger campaign against the Americans. Oh, the wisdom.
He wrote one more email to a private address:
My dear beloved Leader, Your vision is surely from God. The Infidels have agreed to pay the first ransom tomorrow! Kindly provide bank transfer information to me. Allah is surely proud - Insha'Allah!
Peter and Rachael Reunited
Peter had cleaned out his desk and apartment even before his orders arrived. He felt excitement mixed with apprehension. He met Rachael under unnatural circumstances and kept their relationship going through distant communiqués. He loved her, but wasn’t sure about how it would be living close, under normal conditions.
He had made some good friends in a short time with the Illinois NGB, particularly Stokes and his family, and would miss them. Without waiting for official release from his duties, he packed his old Explorer and began the fourteen-hour drive to Washington. It was barely after four in the morning when he left Springfield and the weather was clear. By sunrise, he was on the beltway around Indianapolis where he stopped for gas and a quick breakfast. The anticipation of being with Rachael again, was exhilarating. He didn’t think about the missiles.
He drove through the day above the posted speed limits. He could almost sense her presence as he motored eastward throughout the day. He could find the Washington beltway and Georgetown easily enough. Once there, he would use the Waze application to find her townhouse. Once in the Capitol region, he left the I-and began navigating the one-way streets near her place. He never liked city driving, but it didn’t dampen his excitement one bit. She was near.
Rachael left work early to make a special dinner for Peter. She stopped in the underground mall for groceries and bought two steaks. She had a small cooking repertoire, but Peter could handle grilling duties when he arrived. At seven o’clock the early summer sky was losing its color, aiding the mode created with candle light at the table. She turned on her favorite jazz music. Then there was a knock on the door and she ran, throwing it open. “Peter!”
He smiled and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, lifting her out through the doorway onto the front stoop. They kissed and he ran his fingers through her silky hair. He loved the smell of her hair. He loved everything about her. Not a word had been spoken, but they were communicating. His dreams of her could never replace reality. He loved her and from all indications, she loved him.
That night, they dined and talked until midnight. He should have been exhausted from the long drive, but his fatigue evaporated near her. When dinner ended, he helped do the dishes and selected some mus
ic, while she poured more wine. When she carried the glasses into the living room, they took off their shoes and slow danced to Celine Dion. Almost no words were spoken. They had talked every day since she left Chicago all those months earlier. Now it was time to embrace. Eventually, they went upstairs to the bedroom, and nothing about the missiles had been discussed. That could wait until morning.
Washington Emergency Meeting
When Rachael got to the office early the next morning, she had a message that the Justice Department was calling a meeting at 10:00AM in the Reagan Building, Conference Room 132. The subject was a SAM Missile Threat inside the US--NOFORN—no foreign citizens) allowed. The list included more than one hundred people from all federal law enforcement and intelligence agencies. She cleared her calendar and sat down to answer email messages before heading to the meeting. It was only a fifteen-minute metro ride from Pentagon Station, but she needed ten more minutes to clear security and find the conference room in the enormous building.
She left her office at 9:15AM and walked to the underground Pentagon station. The Yellow Line train was just arriving and she took it to Metro Center where she transferred to the Red Line. It was two stops before she exited below Reagan. She was early, so she went down to the food court below. She