Joshua Maynard was haunted by Robert Garcia. Suspects had evaded him before, but this was the first time that no trace had been left behind. Usually there was something to follow or some remnant of the old life that drew the suspect back – a family member or a girlfriend. When Joshua learned that Robert owned a dog, he had a hunch this would be the magnet that would draw Robert back to his old life.
Joshua had checked all the dog kennels in Las Vegas until he found one where the owner had apparently abandoned the dog, but left a large deposit to cover an extended stay – in cash. Joshua questioned the manager of the kennel about the dog’s fate.
“Can I see the dog?”
“Sure.”
The manager led Joshua to the kennels, where he was introduced to a big, dumb looking mutt with droopy ears. Joshua knelt in front of the cage and talked to him.
“Hey, boy. Where’s your owner?”
The dog reacted by wagging his tail and whining. Joshua stood up and addressed the manager.
“What happens if the owner doesn’t claim the dog when the deposit runs out?’
“Well, we wait the required time and then we take the dog to the pound.”
Joshua thought a moment. “In addition to telling me if the owner comes back for him, please keep my card in case he never comes back. In that case, I’ll take the dog.”
The manager looked at Joshua in surprise, then nodded and smiled. “Will do.”
***
Robert went back to his alter-ego life of a mountain hermit, but retained the Malik persona. He thought and dreamed only in Arabic. He surfed the Net of the caliphate religiously, searching for his call to action on a daily basis. There was no gym in the outback, but he worked out, running in the forest and doing hundreds of pull-ups from the branches of trees. He practiced his shooting in remote parts of the forest, both with his handgun and the hunting rifle, putting himself through his own basic training routine. Day by day, Robert roughed it like a survivalist, fishing and living off venison meat and edible forest plants. At night he surfed the caliphate’s pages and chat rooms.
Finally, Robert received the call. He was to be at the same meeting point as before in exactly four days.
***
This time, Robert stayed at the same training camp for three weeks. Each day consisted of basic training, broken up only for prayers. Robert trained with about twenty other men and was given the rank of captain and put in charge of his own squad of seven, all expert marksmen. Robert didn’t recognize any of them, but he knew from observing them in training that they all had extensive military experience. He also knew from observation that, unlike him, they all believed in God and that what they were doing was His will. He vowed then and there that none of them would be allowed to live. Robert had served his country and done unspeakable things in its name. If it was going to be “us” or “them” then Robert would make sure the “us” side would live and take as many of “them” down as he could.
Life in the camp was military style. As an officer, Robert had his own meager quarters but the men bunked together on cots in a common cabin. There was no contact with the outside world allowed or even possible and communication with each other was restricted to discussion of the training program. Robert had to feign prayer, which was perhaps the most difficult thing for him to act out. Five times a day, he lay out his prayer mat facing Mecca, prostate, with his forehead to the ground, and pretended to praise the glory of God and ask his forgiveness. Robert no longer believed in any God. His faith lay only in his own abilities. Since all his activities were monitored, arms were stored in high-security lockup, and the camp had the security of a prison, there would be no sneaking away, no surprise attack from the outside. Robert would have to make his move during the operation itself.
During the second week, the officers were all assembled for a meeting with Badi Hasib Najjar. Finally, the great plans were revealed. In the briefing room, Najjar showed projected satellite and drone surveillance photos of the Indian Point nuclear power plant in New York. Only about 40 miles from New York City, causing a meltdown of any of the three reactors at Indian Point would contaminate everything within a 50-80 mile radius, if the Fukushima experience was any indication. That meant Long Island, Manhattan, and a good chunk of New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Connecticut, just to name a few. A disaster of this proportion would cripple the US economy and bring the infidels to their knees.
Najjar had done all the strategic planning, and showed the officers where their squads would be placed for a commando style attack which would take out the vital equipment serving all three reactors, sabotage spent fuel pools and eliminate personnel, which should result in a complete meltdown of the two active reactors and a fatal nuclear fallout which would kill thousands of non-believers.
Despite the pathetic attempts of the Nuclear Regulatory Commission to prepare nuclear power plants with “force on force” exercises, those drills occurred only every three years and the security teams at the plants were no match for these highly trained commandos. The only thing that was not disclosed was timing. All Najjar said in that respect was that “God will call us to action.”
For the next week, they trained in three teams of seven – one commander in charge of six men. Each were equipped with an AK-47, a 9mm handgun with noise and flash suppression, hand grenades, rocket-propelled grenades, C-4 explosives, gas masks, and flak jackets. Najjar was wise. Each team had their own responsibilities, but he trained every team how to take over the others’ jobs. This was called redundant training which was paramount to accomplishing the mission. If any team failed for any reason, the others could take over and complete the operation.
Team One, headed by Adwan Badat, an Egyptian with dark, wild eyes, was given the task of establishing a perimeter and taking out the guards, which was the first step of the operation. Team Two, Robert’s team, was to breach the facility, gas the occupants, and then destroy the cooling systems for the Indian Point reactor 2. Team Two was to take out the systems for Indian Point reactor 3. Their collective work would cause an unstoppable meltdown of both active reactors. Team Three, under the helm of Nasser Meziani, an Algerian, was to approach from the Hudson River side, commandeer a security boat, take out the rest of the water security team and then blow up the two spent fuel pools, which would cause a massive escape of radioactive material.
Najjar struck Robert as more of a politician than a holy warrior. Even his Islam was political, although he didn’t hesitate to exploit the enthusiasm of his comrades. He didn’t seem to have the fanaticism of his contemporaries, and Robert had the impression that he must have been a Special Forces officer in Iraq or Syria before the Civil War. In Arabic, Hasib meant “noble” and Najjar meant “carpenter.” He wasn’t sure if that was Najjar’s birth name or a nom de guerre. He saw ambition in Najjar, an aspiration to make the Islamic State the most powerful in the modern world. Robert had seen many such “leaders” during his lifetime – men who had no problem sending others to their deaths for their own gain. He knew at that moment that Najjar must not be allowed to live.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
On a crisp, cool fall morning in Upstate New York, Allah called his warriors to action. The three squads moved out in three vans, with a fourth carrying the commanders, for the four-hour drive to Indian Point. Toward the end of the drive, Qurashi left the command van and joined the others. Najjar’s van then sped off to a location that had not been disclosed to any of them. Robert was sure that he would stay close so as not to miss any of the action, but far enough away not to risk being caught. Robert thought of the pleasure it would be to send Najjar to meet his 72 virgins.
When they arrived, the first van calmly stopped at the security checkpoint with the two others behind it. When the guard asked the driver his business, the driver responded by shooting him, and the side door of the van opened with an explosion of automatic fire which killed all the guards at the security checkpoint. The vans smashed through the chain link gates. Team One’s van s
topped at the administration building. Two men breached the building, shot the four security guards stationed to protect it,, donned their gas masks and threw down the gas canisters. They stormed the security control room, while the other four took sniper positions in a perimeter around the power plant complex. On Colonel Fahad Qurashi’s command, they started picking off the guards one by one, and blew up a security Humvee with specially formed RPG in a spectacular explosion.
Robert’s team was supposed to take out the second tier of security and then, simultaneously with the assault called by Qurashi, kill the remaining security guards on patrol and smash into the reactor containment buildings, but they never got that far. He commanded them to march double-time and set up a perimeter around the second security checkpoint. As they moved out, Robert shot the first three in the back of the head and the last two to turn around were shot in the face. Robert split from them immediately and disappeared.
“Captain Abdul – Malik – where are you?”
Hearing no response, Qurashi ordered Team One to the reactors. As they moved out, Robert picked them off one by one from his vantage point, and then breached the chain link security perimeters himself and headed waterside. Robert took some small arms fire from two security guards who had sequestered themselves behind concrete barriers. He threw two grenades behind their barriers, which killed both of them, and kept moving. The guards were standing between Robert and the accomplishment of his mission. They were collateral damage.
Robert reached the river with no resistance just in time to see Team Three unloading and heading toward the spent fuel pools. It was too late to blow up the boat because they were already out of it, and he thought he may need it to make his own getaway, so he silently stalked the team and picked off two of them with shots to the head. The other five took cover positions to engage Robert, but they couldn’t tell where the fatal shots had come from. They had spread out, so Robert picked up an extra RPG-7 grenade launcher from one of the jihadists he had killed, shot it at the two in the middle and, as the other three ran for cover, he eliminated them with automatic fire from his AK-47.
The reactors and spent fuel pools now secure, Robert doubled back to the boat to make his getaway. As he did, he could hear the alarms of the facility finally sounding off. That meant the police were on their way.
Robert swung his equipment over into the boat and leapt into it. He started it and began to power away, when he heard small arms fire coming from the shore. Robert fired back as he punched the accelerator lever for the boat to its maximum, churning up a plume of whitewater in its exit path.
When Robert had almost reached the opposite shore, he could see the New York Naval Militia boat in pursuit. He turned his craft around, pointed it at the pursuing craft to create a diversion for his escape. Robert jammed the accelerator and dived off the back unseen, hoping that his pursuers would assume he was still onboard. As the militia cruiser fired on Robert’s boat, he swam to shore, crossed the road and disappeared in to the forest. He found the van that had been stashed in the forest and opened the unlocked door. The keys were under the visor, as he knew they would be from countless training sessions. He started the van, navigated a small dirt access road and took off up Highway 20, passing oncoming police cars and fire trucks with their lights and sirens blazing.
On this side of the river, Robert’s ride was at least half an hour away, and if he couldn’t get to it he would have to abandon it. He had no money besides the cash he had stashed on the bike and couldn’t risk making a cross-country trip in the third white van, so if he couldn’t get back to his bike, he would put as many miles as he could between him and the plant and then steal a motorcycle to complete the short part of his getaway. He would likely need to repeat that scenario several times on his way back to Colorado.
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
While Robert was speeding away, Colonel Qurashi had barricaded himself in the administration building and was facing an invading unit of the New York State Police SWAT team. A van load of them had pulled up to the admin building and another two at the reactor site. The police had set up a command center in the parking lot of the administration building and ordered the first unit to storm it. Qurashi didn’t have a chance. He didn’t give himself an opportunity to surrender either, and went down with guns blazing. The SWAT team went from floor to floor, securing each room. When they finally found Qurashi on the roof of the building, they wasted no time in firing on him. There would be no more casualties, no chance for surrender. Quarashi attempted to fling a grenade at them, but his body danced like a marionette as it was shredded by the SWAT team’s bullets. The grenade, minus the pin which had already been pulled, fell to the ground and Quarashi’s body crashed down upon it, absorbing the explosion, but Qurashi never felt it. He was already in Jahannam.
***
Most of the action was taking place on the other side of the river, so Robert continued his journey through Bear Mountain State Park unperturbed. When he finally reached the other side of the Bear Mountain Bridge, he pulled the van off the road and to the Hessian Lake. Once at the lake, he placed the car in neutral, loaded down the accelerator pedal with some of the heavy equipment and then shoved the transmission into drive. The van propelled itself into the water and it took about three minutes for it to become completely submerged.
Robert completed the rest of the trip on foot. He located the hiding place where he had stashed his bike, unlocked it and began to roll it out when he was struck on the back from behind.
Robert lost his balance and fell to the ground as the pain singed his spine. He struggled on his knees to get back on his feet and looked up at Najjar, who was red in the face with anger and spittle came out with his words.
“Yes, traitor pig, stand up and die like a man!”
Najjar was holding a two-by-four, and swung at Robert’s head. Robert dodged the swing but the next one connected. Najjar had aimed for his solar plexus, but Robert arched backwards and took the blow in his stomach. He gasped for air as he stumbled.
“You destroyed my operation! Months of planning and organization!”
He swung again, hitting Robert’s leg and knocking him to the ground and, once again, Robert stood up, sizing him up, waiting for an opportunity to strike back. Najjar was furious, which was the only weakness Robert could find to exploit at the time. Robert had learned all too well that there was no place for emotion in business, and anger was like panic – neither had its place in a fight.
“You should have used a gun, Najjar.”
“That would have spared you the painful death you are about to receive.”
Robert charged Najjar, knocking him in the mid-section with his head as Najjar delivered another blow to his hip. Najjar recovered his balance and smashed Robert in the ribs, which he could feel cracking. He wheezed and tried to suck in air. Najjar hit him again, this time in the shoulder, and Robert went down. His vision was blurry and he could feel himself slipping away. Najjar stood over him with the plank raised over his head, calculating the kill shot.
Robert concentrated the last of his strength and swept his leg as hard as he could at Najjar’s ankles, bringing him down, his head hitting the ground near Robert’s outstretched legs. Robert wrapped his legs around Najjar’s neck in a headscissors hold and squeezed with as much pressure as he could, cutting off Najjar’s air supply. Robert kept squeezing and squeezing with all his strength, which he felt was leaving him like a battery that was dying. Then, as Najjar began to turn blue, Robert’s lights went completely out.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Robert’s eyes came into focus on a stinging bright light, which, at first, seemed white hot. Then, the light withdrew and he realized he was in a hospital and that a doctor was looking in his eyes for signs of consciousness. He tried to move, but was restrained by a body cast. Robert could hear the doctor talking to somebody.
“You can have five minutes with him – that’s all.”
A nurse elevated his bed and Robert saw the two
FBI agents who had accosted him in the storage parking lot in Las Vegas standing in front of his bed, along with another man he had never seen. The third man was dressed better than the other two, like an executive who worked for someone like Bryce Williamson.
One of the agents, Wokowski, spoke. “Do you want to explain how you were found next to the body of a dead terrorist?”
Robert’s throat was dry, and the nurse gave him some water. He drank, then answered hoarsely, “Beats me.”
“How did you get these injuries?”
“I fell.”
The executive stood up and brushed Wokowski aside with his hand. “Enough of this bullshit, Garcia. You were found 12 miles from a foiled terrorist operation to blow up the nuclear reactors at Indian Point, next to the number two man of the Islamic State who was dead as a doornail, and you expect us to believe it’s only a coincidence?”
“You can believe whatever you want. I don’t really give a crap.”
“Well maybe this will make you give a crap. At this point, Mr. Garcia, the facts are whatever I say they are. We have you next to Badi Hasib Najjar, the likely mastermind of the nuclear plant attack. He’s dead, you’re alive. You were one of his compatriots who participated in the attack and he died in the process of punishing you for your failure when you dared to fight him back.”
Robert rolled his aching eyes. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“That and the courageous efforts of the trained security team at Indian Point.”