The guy had pulled into the VIP parking at the Guest Arrival area in a GT. So either he really was rich as fuck or that was a cover. And he hadn’t said much, just shaken hands and said he wanted to see the Magic Kingdom.
Fisher had bypassed the lines at the monorail and gotten him a front compartment. The guy didn’t seem to care much about the view from there even though it was spectacular. The lieutenant with him hadn’t been so reserved, she’d been glued to the window.
The monorail had a great view of the guest arrival area and then the sweeping panorama of the pine trees and palmettos that still covered most of the Disney area. It swept through the Contemporary Hotel which, given some of the resorts out in Vegas, was sort of outdated but still very cool. The guy still didn’t seem to care.
When they got to the park entrance, though, he started looking around. He paused at the back of the crowd, then walked to one of the shorter lines. The gate buzzed when he walked through but Fisher waved to the gate checker; he figured the guy was carrying at least one piece. She was going to let Jenkins through without checking his bag but he handed it over voluntarily.
The checker — obviously feeling this was some sort of test given that the head of security was here — pawed through it carefully. But there wasn’t anything wrong with the contents.
The guy took his bag back with a nod of thanks, then walked through the entrance area to Main Street.
Fisher was getting tired of the silence so he touched him on the arm.
“I can answer any questions you’d like to ask,” he said.
“I’m forming them,” the guy said but then turned. “I’d like to go behind the façade to somewhere nobody is going to wander through.”
“Okay,” Fisher said, leading him to one of the small gates behind Main Street with “Official Cast Only!” on it and a big Mickey waving a finger no for the kids too young, or stupid, to read.
There was a scrubby lot and the guy looked around, walking to a corner at the very back. Finally he seemed to find what he was looking for.
“Could you come here, Mr. Fisher?” the man asked politely. “I have something to show you.”
“It’s a grasshopper,” Fisher said as the guy reached in his bag.
“Yes,” he said. “You might want to back up about ten feet.” He had a can of OFF in his hand.
“Okay,” Fisher said, backing away.
The guy extended his arm as far forward as possible and sprayed the insect. Instead of the normal spray it came out as a stream. The insect barely gave a hop, just dropping to the ground.
“You might want to tape off this area,” the guy said, carefully placing the bug in a Ziploc. “What you just saw was a demonstration of Sarin nerve gas. It will dissipate and degrade in about four hours. Until then, anyone touching it will die.”
“Motherfucker!” Fisher snarled. “I can’t believe you—”
“I just brought enough Sarin through your security to kill several hundred people” the guy said, turning and taking off his glasses. “What does that tell you, Mr. Fisher?”
Charles paused, then shook his head.
“I’m not stupid,” he said. “It tells me that you just smuggled Sarin into the park. Despite a very careful check. Anything else?”
“Oh, some plastique,” the guy continued, pulling out a soap container. “Detonator,” he continued, pulling out a multicolor pen, opening it and sliding out what was clearly a detonator. “A timer…” A Mickey Mouse watch. He pulled out two bottles of what looked like soda in two different colors. The labels weren’t a brand Fisher recognized, but they looked legit. Something European. “Binary explosives.”
“Okay, you got me,” Fisher said, nodding.
“If the terrorists get you, you’re fucked,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Containers like this… Well, I’ve seen them before. And this is a very technically sophisticated attack. I can think of several methods of attacking the park. I would actually put this as a secondary or even tertiary attack. If you have an attack, you’re going to move a lot of people into the tunnels, right?”
“How do you… ?” The entire Magic Kingdom was built on top of a massive tunnel that was more or less circular. It was a loop that looked something like a “male” sign, with the arm going up under Adventureland. The base of the loop was the only major entrance, a cavernous opening on the employee parking lot. The tunnels were why you rarely saw anyone in “costume” moving around the park unless they were crowd management or characters. All of the concessions and rides had back entrances to the tunnels, permitting supplies and personnel to move without disturbing the guests. Their secondary purpose, however, had a more sinister side.
Disney World was constructed at the height of the Cold War. Given the imminent threat of nuclear war that seemed to always be in the air, Walt Disney, personally, insisted that the entire facility be capable of keeping the guests and cast alive in the event that nearby McCoy Air Force Base was struck by the Soviets. The gates on the main tunnel entrance were heavy-duty blast doors as strong as those at Cheyenne Mountain, the concrete walls were nearly eight feet thick, the pumps to keep the facility dry were connected to interior generators, the entire facility could be sealed or vented by central controls and each of the surface accesses could function as an air lock.
The tunnels, while not a secret, were little known. Their design and original function was even less well known, including by current senior management.
“I did my homework,” Jenkins said. “So, you have an attack. Doesn’t matter what type. And you start evacuating people through the tunnels. Then some ‘martyrs’ start spraying VX or set off suicide bombs. Pleasant scenario, Mr. Fisher? All the blast doors in the world won’t help in that situation, will they?”
“No,” Fisher admitted.
“So the idea is to stop them before they come in the park, Mr. Fisher,” Jenkins said. “Here’s how you do that. You have anyone wearing a jacket,” he said, opening his own and revealing tubes that could have been explosives as well as the pistol that had set of the metal detector, “open their jacket. These things are normally triggered chemically; a metal detector will not pick them up. Everyone has to take a sip of every drink. Every container of spray has to be sprayed on the person. You set up a method to keep people from approaching the turnstiles, your security area. Keep the lines back thirty feet or so. It’s a massive fucking headache, I know. But those are just the baby steps. Because you’re going to fucking love the rest of it…”
“That’s not going to be the only target,” Britney said.
They were driving up I-4 towards Orlando with Mike carefully obeying the speed limit. The GT was going to be a cop magnet.
“They’ve got six barrels,” she pointed out.
“I know,” Mike said, pulling off of I-4 onto Sand Creek. “The problem is effective distribution. The cans are only going to get a few people. Sure, that’s terrorizing, but they’re going to want something that is going to horrify.”
“Aerial?” Britney said. “There’s a combat air patrol. Anything flying unrestrictedly will get shot down.”
“Will it?” Mike said. “That’s never been tested. That’s why the Keldara are going to be enjoying the wonders of the Magic Kingdom while I try to figure out what the other targets are.”
“Why do you have to do it all?” Britney asked as the car turned onto International Drive.
The GT, especially with Britney in the passenger seat, drew plenty of stares but Mike was ignoring them.
“Because I get lucky,” Mike said, frowning. “But I don’t feel fucking lucky about this op. I feel that it’s fucked to the max. They’re going to get through. Somewhere. We’ve got over three hundred gallons of that shit in play. Inside. Right here. Somewhere.”