“Daria is ready. The van is fueled, and we’ve checked everything: headlights, taillights, and blinkers. There should be nothing that draws attention to the vehicle by law enforcement. She’ll get you to the safe house,” Mikhail replied, annoyed at being questioned for probably the fifth or sixth time in the last two days.
Artem nodded. “Mikhail, I only ask about these details because these are the issues that often lead to people being stopped. This is perhaps the most dangerous mission my team has embarked upon. We need to do our best to make sure we survive so we can carry out future attacks as directed. There are not many direct-action units left in America, so the ones that are still alive and operating need to make sure we do what we can to keep carrying out missions for the Motherland.”
Mikhail nodded, then changed the subject by pulling up the news report. The assassination of President Gates was all anyone had been talking about the past couple of days. Apparently, the shooter was still at large, despite the authorities having released his picture and name the same day the President had been shot. There was a massive manhunt underway across the country.
“How long do you think it will take them to find the President’s shooter?” inquired Mikhail.
Thinking about that for a second, Artem replied, “A couple more days, tops. I’m not aware of the shooter being a part of any of our teams, and I don’t believe Moscow would have sanctioned an action like that. From what the media is saying, the shooter appears to be a leader with the American antifascist group.” Chuckling for a second, he added, “I find it funny that he was ultimately killed by a PhD student, an academic.” He shook his head in disbelief.
Mikhail untied the last line that had been keeping the boat tied to the slip before turning on the engine. With a half dozen fishing poles hanging off the side of the cabin, the twin 300-horsepower engines purred softly as the boat cut gently through the water, leading them to the Hudson River, toward the Arthur Kill Inlet and their primary target.
An hour went by as the four of them drove the boat down the Hudson until they came to the inlet. The sun was fully up at that point, and it had turned into a beautiful morning, with the sun glistening off the skyscrapers of Manhattan to their left and the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island to their right. When they turned to head closer to their target, two of the Spetsnaz soldiers went below to the galley and began to get their weapon of choice for this operation ready.
“We are almost to the target now, if you want to see it,” Mikhail said to the two men who were getting the Kornet-EM missile ready. One of the soldiers brought the tripod launcher up to the front of the boat to set it up, while the other brought the tube with the missile. The two Spetsnaz soldiers got the antitank missile system configured deftly, like practiced professionals. Unlike the Sagger missile systems of old, the Kornets were true fire-and-forget missiles. The specific version they would be using for this attack was the EM Thermobaric, which packed a 10-kilogram high-explosive warhead, perfect for what they wanted to blow up.
As they got the missile set up on the bow of the ship, the soldiers looked at the Kinder Morgan Terminal and smiled as they saw the 37 fuel tanks, which housed roughly 2,900,000 barrels of gasoline.
Letting out a soft whistle, Artem turned to Mikhail. “I fully understand why you said this target had to be destroyed with a Kornet-EM,” he said. “If we tried to use an RPG, we’d all be killed when that place goes up.” He obviously had a new appreciation for the work the GRU agent had done ahead of time.
Mikhail smiled, happy to have his efforts recognized. “I’m going to get us roughly 8,000 meters from the terminal,” he explained. “Once the missile hits, I’m going to floor it down the inlet to try and get as much distance between us and the terminal as possible. Even still, I can’t say with certainty that we won’t be consumed in the blast if that entire place goes up at once. If that tanker farm is full, then it can hold nearly three million barrels of petrol. I can’t even imagine how big of a bang that place will set off.”
He brought the boat speed down to just a couple miles per hour, enough to steer and hold it in position. One of the Russian soldiers turned the missile seeker on and identified its target. “I sure hope you calculated this out, Mikhail,” Artem said nervously. “If not, we’re going to die in a fiery blast.” With that, he nodded toward the soldier who was going to fire the missile.
Pop. Whoosh!
The Kornet-EM ignited and shot off the bow of the boat, headed right for one of the fuel tanks. As soon as the missile had cleared the boat, Mikhail gunned the engine, racing down the rest of the inlet, doing his best to place as much distance between them and the fuel farm as humanly possible. The 1,400-horsepower engine roared as the boat picked up speed. Mikhail snuck a peek over his shoulder and spotted the missile completing the last leg of its journey as it slammed into one of the fuel tanks, causing a small explosion. The initial blast suddenly ballooned as the petrol caught fire, causing the entire tank to explode. Seconds later, more tanks blew up, adding their own mayhem to the growing conflagration, until the entire terminal detonated in one gigantic cauldron of fire that rapidly expanded beyond the terminal, engulfing a second oil wholesaler terminal across the inlet. That terminal, which housed an additional twenty fuel tanks, also exploded, adding to the growing firestorm. Fires began spreading across fuel pipelines to the other tank terminals nearby.
While Mikhail was doing his best to race down the inlet and maintain control of the speedboat, he felt the concussion of the blast. The heatwave rippled across his body and the boat, and he almost lost control when a large wave nearly pushed them into the bank of the inlet. Turning to look back one last time, he saw the fireball had grown enormous as it reached for the heavens.
“I knew those terminals were all connected,” he thought smugly, satisfied with his work. After years of covert effort, now all that was left to do was escape.
“We did it, Mikhail,” said Artem with glee. “How long until we reach the marina?”
“A few more minutes,” Mikhail responded. “Daria is waiting for us with a vehicle once we get there. She’ll drive us to the next drop vehicle at a park maybe three miles away. From there, we’ll largely stay on country roads as we drive to the cabin we’ll be using as a safe house.”
Nodding in approval, Artem just smiled. Mikhail knew exactly what he was thinking. They had just destroyed a major part of the Northeast’s fuel supply and storage terminals. This would surely hurt the Americans.
The weather was dreary. As President Foss stared out through the bulletproof windows of the Oval Office, rain suddenly started pouring down. In the distance, he could still see people gathered outside the perimeter fence, holding vigil for the deceased President Gates. The formal funeral had taken place earlier that day, with the President’s body having been brought from the capital building to lie in repose at Arlington Cemetery, where the other bodies of assassinated presidents had been laid to rest.
Knock, knock.
The sudden noise pierced his inner thoughts, pulling him back to reality. Turning, he saw his personal assistant standing in the doorway. “The Director of the FBI, Homeland and the National Security Advisor are ready. Shall I send them in?” the aide asked.