Читать книгу A Patriotic Nightmare - Don E. Post - Страница 11

5

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Friday, February 14

FBI Agent Carlson prepared for the morning’s domestic terrorism meeting unaware that Russian arms were headed for the U.S. Although the unit had been set up prior to the World Trade Center destruction, after that date the group found itself the centerpiece of the new Homeland Security Agency. More money had been allocated and it had become an elite task force with a primary goal of sniffing out and eliminating all terrorists. The unit regularly met on Fridays to review the week’s activities and revise its strategy for the ensuing week. Members represented the various law enforcement agencies and coordinated agency efforts. The FBI’s Lenora Carlson reviewed and organized the incoming surveillance reports from agents across the nation and around the world each morning.

An attorney and twelve-year veteran with the Bureau, Agent Carlson served as the director of the agency’s counter-intelligence unit under the administrative hand of Deputy-Director of the FBI, Sam Wade. Wade had been with the bureau thirty-eight years.

On this particular Friday morning Carlson prepared for the meeting by working through the field reports that arrived during the night and adding news that enhanced the composite. History had often punished the bureau’s failure to identify the fine nuances that often clarify complex social issues. Once the command group studied her summary and made amendments, the results were transmitted to all field agents as a public strategy called ANSIR (Awareness of National Security Issues).

Carlson had worked out of the Sacramento field office for eight years before being transferred to the newly created terrorism task force. She assumed task force command when Deputy-Director Wade was absent. In California she had managed the bureau’s western surveillance of domestic extremists and led the investigation of the Amtrak derailment case (code name, Splitrail) in Arizona.

The task force met in a subterranean conference room. Each of the nine agents—excluding Wade and Carlson—in addition to monitoring foreign terrorist activity had recently been assigned responsibility for observing segments of the growing extremist movement within the U.S. One agent had the task of monitoring the groups under the Christian Identity umbrella, another the separatist groups, another the KKK, the U.S. Taxpayers League, the skinheads and other less visible groups. Each of these organizations used strident, anti-government rhetoric and had members with violent records.

Agent Carlson opened the morning meeting by noting that a staff member from the National Security Council (NSC) had been assigned to work with the task force.

“Must be the guy who attended that meeting of super kooks with Blaylock at Bellingham,” an agent said.

“Yep, I’ll bet he’s the one,” Sam Lockney added, one of the bureau’s most experienced field agents. “He seems to be an all right guy.” Lockney, seated at the far end of the oval table, then turned to an agent on his right and asked, “What’d you do to get this assignment?”

“Wha’d’ ya mean?”

Smiling, Lockney said, “Oh, I figured each agency assigned their worst nightmare!” Both men laughed quietly.

“Naw, maybe not. Sam, one of the things that bother me is that there are some well meaning souls among all those super patriots. This could end up being a real tar baby.”

“Maybe, but shit, we ought to round the son-of-a-bitches up and ship them over to Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia or wherever the Al-Qaida bunch is holed up now. They deserve each other!”

Then, from the head of the table they heard Carlson say, “Okay, let’s listen up. What’s your reaction to these reports?”

“Well, I’ve got to admit that the activity between these groups does seem to be intensifying,” ATF’s Carrasco said softly. “The hardcore, covert movement is in the West, especially centered in the activities of Chapmann up in Washington, the Montana militia, the folks holed up in the Davis Mountains, old Reverend Chubby down in Texas, and that TV preacher, Petz.”

“Petsch,” Carlson corrected, with a slight grin.

“Whatever,” Carrasco said, with a smirk and a nonchalant wave of his right hand. Everyone smiled. He continued, “How do we know this isn’t some political posturing?”

“Yeah, my thoughts as well,” another offered.

“Well, there may be some of that,” Christine Wheeler responded. Wheeler, an Afro-American ATF agent, continued. “But there’s some serious stuff going on out there. A Colonel Arlo White, retired Army, has been in Texas training folks to set up the New Texas Republic and dozens of other wild-eyed groups who claim to have no interest in the separatist movement, but hate the government.”

“Ah, those are guys who love to play cowboys and Indians,” Lockney said. “There have always been those type of guys. I think every macho male in the West mouths anti-government stuff. They think it’s manly. But there’s no reason to take ‘em seriously.”

“This is different, Sam,” Wheeler replied, as she leaned forward and stared down the table toward Sam. “We suspect White and Chapmann are directly linked to dozens of armored car robberies, the printing of counterfeit money, bank robberies and much, much more.”

“You really believe these so-called patriots actually pose a serious threat to America, as opposed to the Muslim fundamentalists?” Lockney countered in a tone of disbelief.

“Now I do,” Wheeler said, staring Lockney down. Lockney shook his head and rolled his eyes to underscore his chagrin.

“Christine,” interrupted Wade, “Why can’t we get our hands on some of these guys?”

“They protect each other,” Christine said.

“Rumors are floating around Aryan Nation’s groups that we tore up Chapmann’s home,” Lockney offered with a smile.

“Aw baloney!” Carlson exclaimed agitatedly. “State and local officials have jumped us about that incident. It’s just not true. Sam, you were busy with Chapmann and White the night that raid supposedly took place. And two others agents were monitoring his brother and brother-in-law’s homes farther down the mountain. No one else was in the area, and our guys didn’t go near his place.”

“It was probably disgruntled members of his own bunch, a related extremist group, or some of the local law enforcement that had an axe to grind or wanted to add to the myth that we’re a bunch of Gestapos,” clicked off Christine. “That whole ranch is booby-trapped. So whoever trashed his place had to know the layout.”

“I agree,” another agent said. “Whoever laid out Chapmann’s security system did a very professional job. We fixed one spot so we could come and go without attracting attention, but that took real labor.”

“Hell, I’d have trashed the place if it had been me!” Lockney smirked. Laughter rippled around the table.” As the laughter ebbed, Lockney added, “Jeez, if they’re a threat, then we ought’a take’em out and worry about the consequences later, just like in Afghanistan.”

“Lockney, thank God we know you better,” Christine said.

“It seems to me that the state should accept responsibility for the Chapmanns. If they let’em get away with such acts, then let them suffer the consequence,” Carrasco said. “Why should they eat up our time and budget?”

A silence fell over the group. Finally, Wade looked up and said, “Okay people, let’s stay with this for a little longer. Good points have been made by all. If all this patriotic activity is no more than innocent posturing by a bunch of testosterone-loaded nuts, then let’s find out. But this administration wants action.”

A U.S. Marshall broke in to say, “I must admit that in the light of the foreign terrorist threats, I haven’t taken all these people very seriously, but I’m changing my mind. Our people have picked up rumors from local law enforcement that some of these people are storing caches of weapons. Even surface to air missiles. We’ve done some checking and believe there’s a flow of arms from National Guard units to these various groups. My agents would like to coordinate efforts with FBI and DOD to confirm the size of this loss and take these back. While we’ve been focusing on foreign terrorists, a homegrown brood seems to have hatched in our own backyard.”

“Good, let’s try to get an inventory of what weaponry they have on hand,” Wade said. “Agent Carlson, arrange to pool resources on that issue. Anyone else getting reports of arms build up?”

Carlson replied, “Yes, Darren Hopkins of the National Security Council, received a report from friends in Thailand that some of our super patriots met with Mideast terrorists and evidently arranged to buy some weapons. I put his report in the stack of material in front of each of you. Study it carefully. Share any additional information your agency receives with the rest of us.”

“Agents Lockney and Wheeler, anything further to add?” Wade asked.

“Sir, we’re getting increased covert movement among core members of the Christian Identity groups, but we’ve heard nothing about a weapons build up,” Christine offered. “The leaders, including a number of these TV media preachers, have been seen in coffee clutches with key members of the KKK and various militia leaders around the country.” She went on to explain how the super patriots had organized into two-person units called phantom cells. Each cell decides its own activity so others cannot be named as accomplices.”

“They learned that from the Al-Qaida terrorists,” Lockney said.

Wheeler looked at Lockney and nodded, then continued, saying, “And, by the way, their main targets are federal law enforcement employees.”

Carlson broke in to say, “And blacks, Jews, Asians, gays and anyone else that’s different. The real kooky wing of the extremists is getting more coordinated, and we better get a lid on that or we’re all in deep trouble. Isn’t it interesting how some of our national religious TV personalities sound like Muslim clerics?”

“Yeah,” Wheeler nodded, “Extreme fundamentalists of any religion believe their world view should be imposed on everyone else. They all believe their way is God’s way.”

“Yeah, and if others won’t accept my religious vision, then let’s kill the sons-a-bitches,” Lockney said, as he raised his right fist and slammed it down on the table.

The others laughed, shook their heads in wonder at Lockney’s brashness, and then started leaving the meeting. Agent Carrasco almost reached the door when he turned, cocked a puzzled look at Carlson and Wade, and asked, “By the way, why is it that we plant bugs and see them disappear overnight?” The others stopped dead in their tracks at this observation. Carrasco continued, “Or, we can set a trap to serve an arrest warrant to some turkey who’s been printing bogus money, sending out bogus liens or who hasn’t filed an income tax for ten years, and we find the guy has flown the coop. And he hadn’t changed his daily living pattern for months.”

Lockney, sauntering by, said, “Someone’s leaking information!”

“I don’t know,” Wade sighed, as he shrugged his shoulders. Then he yelled, “Meetings adjourned.” Agent Wade caught Lockney outside the meeting room. “Sam, got a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Lockney moved to the side of the hall so others could pass, set his briefcase down and leaned against the wall.

In a whispered voice Wade said, “I heard you previewed those new stealth helicopters. What’s your impression?”

“Whew, they’re awesome!” Lockney said, as his eyes lit up and a big smile erupted across his face.

“No one seems to want to talk about them,” Wade said. “What can you tell me?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ve learned, but you better not tell anyone that you got this from me. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Well, it’s amazing that no one on the ground can see or hear that bird.”

“How so?” Wade asked.

“I mean you can hover fifty feet above someone, and they can’t hear you or see you,” Lockney explained, as he quickly lowered his voice and glanced up and down the hallway.

“Really?”

“True. Real stealth. I saw one guy we flew past look up and around trying to figure out where the sudden winds came from. He sensed something but never saw us. And we could hear and see everything White and Chapmann said and did in their plane.”

“That’s amazing. How fast will it go?”

“I don’t know, but the night we tailed White and Chapmann we flew around their Cessna Two-Ten like it stood still. And I am convinced that the pilot didn’t have it opened up,” Lockney said.

“I didn’t know they had solved the problem of speed on helicopters,” Wade said. “Heretofore one-hundred-fifty knots was tops.”

“Oh, this baby far exceeded that. I don’t know how it works. The crew wouldn’t tell me. But it seemed to be using jet propulsion somehow. It sure puts the Longbow Apache in the shade.”

“Is it like the new Osprey?” asked Wade.

“No. I couldn’t even tell if there were blades moving. In fact, when it was over I couldn’t remember seeing any blades. The body looked like a ‘copter and that’s what I assumed we were in, so I didn’t look too hard upon entering the craft. But when we took off we just quietly went swoosh,” said Lockney, as his right hand rose and cut through the air. “I never heard any of the sounds we’re used to hearing when flying. It felt like we had just cut gravity and were floating.”

“God, I can’t imagine,” Wade exclaimed. “Do you think the Russians can keep up with it?” Wade asked, as the two men walked to the building’s entrance deeply engrossed in their discussion unaware that, once again, the life of every American was about to be radically altered once again.