I turned on the flashlight again, this time setting it on the floor — which was actually a bomb bay door — to provide general illumination. Pulling gently on the electrical wire, I was pleased to find that the hatchway door rolled easily down to the bottom latching position. There was the same quarter-turn locking mechanism on this side of the hatch.
After closing the latch, I wound the lever repeatedly with the wire so there was no way anyone might be able to enter the hatch from inside the plane — at least not without a can opener. With that accomplished, I settled my derriere on the aft slope of a lower bay door, put the duffle on my lap, and dug into my survival kit.
CHAPTER 48
One of the Al Qaeda military operatives kept constant watch on the airfield. Now that all the plane noise had ceased, using binoculars and a parabolic microphone, he could both see and hear everything happening outside the airport.
It was odd, he thought, that a crewman from the bomber was removing a piece of gear from the cockpit. He looked more closely. It was actually several pieces. The crewman handed each piece to a fellow crew member on the ground.
He turned up the gain on his microphone to hear better.
"Put these in the terminal basement under a bunk bed," one man said.
"What are we doing this for?"
"Never mind. It’s no big deal. Just put them where I asked. I’ll re-attach them first thing in the morning."
"Okay."
The operative knew that this conversation, and the missing equipment, would be important. He crawled back to report to his team.
Besides the wire, the flashlight and the cell phone in my shirt pocket, I had brought in my duffle the following:
– a 16-ounce bottle of water — it might get hot in here for a while
– a roll of duct tape
– a wearable LED head lamp
– a small AM/FM radio with a single ear bud
– a cigarette lighter
– extra batteries for everything (even though I had tested the current batteries before leaving the house)
– three, standard, eight-inch road flares
– a medium-sized multi-tool
– my .40 caliber short barrel Beretta, in its holster
– four extra .40 caliber ammo clips, fully loaded
– a hi-tech parachute I had picked up a couple years ago at an extreme sports shop. It was a much smaller package than a typical chute. This type of parachute was supposed to be good for base jumping — from bridges and the like — but I hoped it would work for my current situation as well.
– several protein bars (just in case I needed nourishment)
I laid all of the above out before me. To this assortment, I added the two plastic bottles of Diet Dew from my pockets. I would almost certainly need them later, if trouble should arise — and again, that was the premise under which I was operating.
I strapped my head lamp on and lit it up. Now I could turn off the other flashlight and save it, just in case. The beam of the head lamp was not particularly bright. But my eyes adjusted quickly and soon I could see rather well in the dim light.
I unpacked and laid out the parachute. I wished I had had the chance to test the chute before now, but it had been an impulse purchase two years ago. I hadn’t actually ever used it. After reading the rather worthless instructions, I re-folded the chute, slipped it over my shoulders and adjusted it to fit.
I made sure I knew exactly where all the straps, latches, adjustments, and most importantly, the rip cord were located. I needed to be able to work the chute in complete darkness, if necessary. And I always assumed all contingencies were necessary.
I examined the road torches to confirm the correct ignition procedure. My gun I placed in an easily accessible position on the floor, making sure to chamber a round. The extra ammo went into my pockets, along with the flares. I tested the cigarette lighter. It worked fine. That went into another pocket. I clipped the multi-tool to my belt.
I probably wouldn’t need all of this stuff. But I couldn’t say which items I might not need. So I had brought them all.
Next to godliness, you know.
I checked my watch — 9:00 p.m. The noises of the crew outside had ceased. I knew there was a deputy out there guarding the plane. I hoped he or she was good at his or her job. Maybe my services wouldn’t be needed.
A worthless assumption. I discarded it.
I called Bull’s cell. He answered on the first ring.
"Yeah."
"Good evening to you as well."
Silence.
"Do you still expect to observe developments from a reasonable proximity, enjoying the peaceful night sky while I sit here in this sweaty sardine can?"
"That’s my plan."
"Will you be available if I should need assistance?"
"Do my best."
"And I will do my best to not require your assistance. Good luck!"
Click. Not a single word wasted.
I settled back against the curvature of the bomb bay door and tried to stay alert for whatever might come.
CHAPTER 49
At 2:30 Monday morning, Farris was on station — kneeling on the aluminum bottom of the small boat, in the darkness, in the middle of the mud lake. The shift change was just occurring at the Prairie River Nuclear Generating Station.
It was about to begin. The plan was swinging into action. Farris prayed to Allah that the Great Satan would suffer at last.
Farris had already organized the transmitters on the wooden boat seat in front of him. John had numbered them in the sequence in which they were to be activated. That was their precise order here, from right to left.
Farris picked up the first transmitter. He checked his watch. 2:30 exactly. He slid the actuator to the ‘On’ position. A red light blinked. He depressed the round ‘Detonate’ button with both thumbs.
At first he heard nothing and thought the dynamite hadn’t worked. But then, in the moonlight, he saw a fountain of water erupt from the mud lake between himself and the ever-glowing lights of the Plant. A second later, the water around him rippled and he heard a muffled thud.
Yes!
He moved on to transmitter number two, slid the actuator, pushed the button. Again the splash was first, followed by the ripples and the thud. Now he moved through the twenty transmitters as rapidly as he was able, no longer waiting to see or hear the explosions.
After the last detonation, he could hear the sound of alarm bells ringing at the Power Plant. Something good had happened, he knew.
His heart pumped in his throat and his mouth went dry. Praise Allah! It is working. It is working.
Just as the 2:30 shift change was taking place at the Prairie River Nuclear Generating Station, a control room alarm went off. The Operator saw the blinking red light and checked the monitor below it. Tiny green ripples traced a jagged line across the screen.
The alarm had been triggered by a seismic event. In other words, sensitive electronic monitors had felt the earth shake, and they were alerting the humans to the anomaly. It was a small blip. Nothing to be concerned about. It happened every once in a while.
The Operator reset the alarm and it was silent. Moments later, the alarm went off again. More ripples on the monitor.
What the hell?
The Operator tried to reset the alarm again, but the ringing wouldn’t stop. He stared at the monitor. A nearly solid line of ripples wriggled its way across the screen. He had never seen anything like this before.