But the really sophisticated components were the detonation systems. Radio-controlled blasting caps, complete with paired transmitter/receiver packets. The dynamite could be detonated from a much greater distance than he had initially thought. This fact alone significantly decreased the chances of detection before detonation could be accomplished.
John had loaded his pickup with three boxes of thirteen-inch dynamite sticks and twenty blasting-cap/remote-control kits, then closed the door to the trailer to avoid any unnecessarily obvious signs of his visit.
In the morning, the owner would find the explosives missing. But he probably wouldn’t report the theft. The surest way to lose your explosives license is to have some really good explosives disappear. The owner would adjust his blasting and inventory records as necessary — much easier than dealing with Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms concerning unaccounted-for dynamite.
As John’s small boat approached the area near the dam, it left the main river channel to wend its way through the various sloughs, marshes and mud lakes that filled most of the three-mile-wide valley between the river bluffs. The main channel by the dam was only about 150 feet wide. There was also a significant side channel, which added another 350 feet to the total width spanned by the concrete Lock and Dam structure.
But John was not headed to the main dam. His targets were the earthen embankments and rock pile dikes that prevented the river water from circumventing the dam and surging through Marsh Lake.
The moon was nearly full and visibility was good. John wore denim shorts with a wetsuit top. He had a scuba mask, regulator and tank on board. Approaching the first earthen dam, he dropped anchor. With the boat floating lazily in the still water, he began his preparations.
He unpacked and organized everything for easy access. Dynamite, blasting caps and seven, one-foot lengths of straightened wire clothes hangers.
He knew from the boat’s transponder reading that the water here was only about four feet deep. Nevertheless, he would be working underwater, so he strapped on the rest of the scuba gear and jumped in, feet first. Even though he could feel his feet sink into the muddy river bed about six inches, he nearly doubled over with pain when he hit the bottom.
After a moment to recover, he found that with a flutter kick he could raise himself high enough to access the contents of the boat, even though it hurt like hell. Reaching into a small canvas bag, he retrieved three white tablets, which he popped into his mouth and swallowed.
Using dynamite was not rocket science. Any kid who had played with cherry bombs had the general idea. The first order of business was drilling some holes in the dam. If an explosive blast isn’t contained or directed, it tends to dissipate quickly, leaving little damage. The blast would be contained inside the holes, resulting in much greater devastation to the dam. John had a long, metal hand drill in the boat for drilling.
He was about to grab the drill and begin placing the explosives when John heard the sound of an outboard boat motor on the main channel. He froze where he was, clinging motionless to the side of the boat.
Presently, the rev of the engine slowed and finally came to an idle. He could hear the boat’s wake rippling onto the shore. They were close to his side of the channel. Then to John’s horror, a searchlight aboard the unknown craft began sweeping the valley.
Shit! Probably the damn Sheriff’s Water Patrol. He hadn’t done anything to warrant their attention. Why would they be looking for him now? They couldn’t find him now!
He thought the beam of light had come to rest on his boat for a few seconds. His heart sank. He remained still. What else could he do? Then the beam moved on, slicing across the mud flats and into the trees. After a short time, the light went out, the boat engine revved up, and the craft turned, heading back down river — the direction from which it had come.
Still clinging to the boat’s side, John breathed a sigh of relief. That had been too close. Now he needed to get back to work before there could be further interruptions.
Suspended in the water alongside his Sylvan, he first grabbed a few of the hanger wires and snapped them into a clip on his left calf. Then grasping the drill at its balance point, he lifted it over the side of the boat, letting himself sink into Marsh Lake.
The waters here were so silted and murky that, when submerged, he couldn’t even see his hands. So everything he did underwater, he did by feel.
In a prone position, legs floating just above the river bed, John drilled the first hole in the dam. About two feet up from the bottom should be right. The drilling was easy in the fine soil. He bored six holes in this section of dam, each about four feet into the compacted earth. Next to every hole, he inserted a wire in the mud to mark his place. The holes were five feet apart, spaced evenly across the entire width of the small dam.
He returned to the boat, placed the drill back on board, and selected six sticks of dynamite and one blasting cap. He re-submerged. After some fumbling, he found the first wire. The dynamite fit nicely into the holes he had drilled. One stick first. Then push the first stick farther into the hole with the second. Same with the third. Then he prodded the third stick into the hole as far as possible using the wire. He moved on to the next hole — much easier to find since he had already established an underwater point of reference.
He repeated this procedure for the remaining five holes, returning to the boat for more dynamite. He also attached a blasting cap to the dynamite in the center hole.
John went through the same routine at a total of twelve separate earthen dam sections. Some of the larger dams required attachment of blasting caps in two locations.
In the rock pile dikes, instead of drilling, he wedged the dynamite between rocks by hand, placing them as deeply into the piles as he could. He spaced the sticks two feet apart and placed only one in each hole.
By the time he had finished, John had compromised a total of sixteen dams and dikes across Marsh Lake. When those structures failed, the entire river would surge through the openings. Very soon the new main channel of the Mississippi would flow through Marsh Lake, bypassing the nuclear plant — and its cooling water intakes — entirely.
John took great satisfaction in what he had accomplished today. His dead mother and father would be proud of their dear son.
CHAPTER 29
Seated at the front porch table on Jefferson Avenue, Beth and I had just finished enjoying our evening meal of grilled walleye pike, new potatoes and sweet peas. We were in the process of finishing off a bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay. Its fruity body and light oak were perfect with the walleye.
"I think I know how they’re going to do it," I said.
"Who and what are we talking about right now?" Beth asked, very logically. Up until that point, our conversation had been about the daily news, our upcoming vacation plans and whether we should get a dog.
"Sorry. I’ve just let this nuke thing consume me. What I meant to say is, I know how the terrorists are going to attack the nuclear plant… sort of."
"What does ‘sort of’ mean?"
"It means I’m pretty sure of the method, but not the exact instrument."
"Well, now that we’ve cleared that up…?"
"The terrorists plan to fly a plane into the spent fuel storage building," I continued. "The plane will contain a large amount of pure potassium metal, submerged in containers of mineral oil, or possibly diesel fuel. They intend to penetrate the building roof with the plane, thereby inserting the potassium into the pool."