“What do you want me to do?” Britney asked.
“Stay out of the way,” Mike replied, then held up a hand to forestall a reply. “I know, I’ve been dragging you around into nasty incidents all day. Why stop now? Because my teams have this covered and I don’t want you to get hurt. It stopped being a game back there on I-4. So… Head back to the hotel. Please.”
“Okay,” Britney said.
“Just that?” Mike asked. “ ’Okay?’ ”
“How about, ‘I’m really tired of being shot at and being around poison gas,’ ” Britney replied with a grin. “I’m fine with sitting this one out. I’ll go catch a ride.” With that she headed for the employee entrance.
“Smart girl,” Fisher said.
“Smarter than me,” Mike admitted. “Say, I don’t suppose Disney has a fantastic car rebuilding shop?”
“The studio guys do,” Fisher replied. “Want me to talk to them?”
“Please. And ask them if they could redo it in black and silver. Maybe with a tiger face on the hood?”
“… asking that everyone keep an especial lookout for any unusual activity,” the sheriff for Orange County said to the room full of reporters. “I would now like to introduce Lieutenant Bob Dunn, head of the Orange County Anti-Terrorism Task Force. Lieutenant Dunn?”
“Thank you, sir,” Dunn said, stepping up to the podium and blinking at the bright lights. “I’ve got a short statement about the events that have just occurred. Two major weapons of mass destruction attacks occurred in the Orlando-Orange County area. The first was by use of a stolen spray truck. The intent appeared to be to drive down the north end of International Drive. There was a short release near Sand Lake that, unfortunately, caused several deaths. That area is now closed off and we don’t have a full casualty list as yet. Due to the nature of the attack, we are having to approach the area cautiously. When we do, and next-of-kin have been informed, we will release the casualty list. Currently there are only five confirmed casualties but, unfortunately, we are certain that there will be more. Two terrorists are among the confirmed dead.
“A second attack was attempted at Wet and Wild. That attack was prevented, fortunately without loss of life.”
He took a breath and, knowing that it would be bad politics to snarl, tried to put a good face on the rest.
“Both of the attacks were stopped with the assistance of a special operations team working through the U.S. Army Special Operations Command. As you are all aware, the federal government has been providing support during this crisis under the War Powers Act. Federal agents from the FBI as well as military personnel are involved in this investigation. With their support, both attacks were stopped. I will now take questions.”
“Lieutenant Dunn,” the first reporter said. “There’s a rumor that the special operations team was, in fact, the Georgian commando group called the Mountain Tigers. Could you comment?”
“No,” Dunn said, trying not to snarl but his jaw worked. “I cannot comment on the nature of the special operations team.”
“Lieutenant,” the next reporter said. “About the car chase on I-4. The helicopter that took out the stolen chopper and the Mercedes was a black Hind, just like the one that was seen in the Keys. The U.S. military does not use that type of helicopter. Was it the same helicopter?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Dunn replied. “I am not privy to everything that is going on on the federal side. You might want to ask them.”
“Lieutenant, was the car involved in the chase a Ford GT? Because only one of those has been sold recently in the Orlando area. It was sold to a corporation called Mountain Tiger Beer, Inc. on Friday according to open records. Was that the same GT?”
“I am not able to comment on that,” Dunn said, angrily. “I don’t know when or where the damned car was bought. For all I know the idiot—”
The sheriff stepped forward and nudged Dunn to the side with a nod of thanks.
“All the attractions in the Orlando area, with the exception of Wet and Wild and those in the immediate area of the attacks, remain open. We are not going to let terrorists stop people from having fun. We are going to stop them from doing that. We’re just asking that people keep a sharp eye out for potential threats. Report anything suspicious through the normal 911 center or to a local security person. Thank you for attending, no more questions.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Will Carter sighed when he exited the monorail. The lines to get into the Magic Kingdom were insane.
Will and his wife Dafney had brought their three children, Lindsey 11, Jason 9, and Allison 6, to Disney several times before. It was an annual pilgrimage from their home in Radcliff, Kentucky. Dafney’s mother and father lived in a retirement community near Clermont, a town just west of Orlando. They came down on winter break because, normally, the lines were a bit better than at Christmas.
But not this time. Even though there was a terrorism threat in the Florida area, it seemed as if everyone in the world had descended on Disney.
The press of bodies on the monorail ramp slowly moved forward and he could see why it was so packed: Disney was obviously taking the terrorist threat seriously. Each of the entry points had a security guard on it and they weren’t just checking bags but wanding each person. And “Mouse-trail” lines had been set up stopping about fifty feet back from the actual entry point. It was going to take forever to get through them but he was sort of glad to see that Disney was taking the steps; he didn’t want his kids dying at Disney.
“It doesn’t look bad once we get into the park,” Dafney said, laying a hand on his arm. She knew that her husband got frustrated waiting in line.
“I can see,” Will said. From the top of the monorail ramp you could just see into Main Street and it was apparent there weren’t all that many people on the street. But getting there was going to be a nightmare. “I’ll try to keep my cool.”
Some of the characters were out working the line. Maybe that would keep the kids from getting out of hand…
Mike walked along the line of security booths, watching the bag checkers. Most of them were following Fisher’s orders, carefully checking not only the obvious contents but things that could be disguised. He saw one of the checkers pull out a can of OFF, identical to the one that he’d demonstrated to Fisher, and hand it to the person being checked. Of course, Mike wouldn’t have bothered, given that it was a blonde teenager. But the girl, after a moment’s confusion, sprayed some on her arm.
Mike paused as another person came to a booth near the far right. The man was Middle Eastern in appearance, carrying a new backpack.
“Konstantin,” he said. The communicator was voice activated, so he didn’t even have to press a throat mike. “Booth Four.”
Konstantin Shaynav was already on the target. The man appeared nervous, but a lot of the targets had. He kept the crosshairs on the man’s head, though, dialed back far enough that he could watch general actions.
“Bag’s being checked,” Dzintars, his spotter, said. “Can of spray… Shit.”