The Eclectic Pen - The Patriot Hunt Club


By: Bill O. (actionwriter)  
Date Submitted: 2/1/2011
Genre: Gay & Lesbian » Literature & Fiction
Words: 17,595
Rating:


  AUTHORS NOTE
The Patriot Hunt Club was inspired by real events, speculation that surrounded them and in no way is intended to be a possible scenario for the future. I have used several geographical locations and names but also suggest the reader understand this is explicitly and unambiguously a work of fiction. While writing as a novelist, I have used my imagination to establish a very different ,hypothetical inquiry: “What if…?”


The Patriot Hunt Club
By W. Addison Gast

Prologue
The phone was ringing as he came through the office door. George Kellogg punched the speaker phone button and continued removing his jacket and Bill O’Reilly Patriot ball cap as he moved to his desk.
“Kellogg”
“Still the early bird huh George? I’ll bet you are the first and only one there at this time of day. When the hell you going to retire?” It was Charlie Ball’s deep southern voice.
“As soon as I can collect enough money to buy the yacht to park outside my villa on the Italian coast Charlie. What the hell got you out of bed at,.…..what time is it there? Five AM?”
“0515 to be exact George. I had a hard time sleeping last night. You hear the news and see the TV?”
“You mean about that sonofabitch coming here to address the UN? Yeah, it made me sick. That bastard has no freeking social graces to be polite. To think that he is doing this close to the anniversary date even makes my blood boil even more. I still look back on the meeting we had out at your hunt club and regret not going ahead with that plan.”
“Is anyone else with you there in the office George? I can tell you are on that damn speaker phone.”
“ No,just me-why?”
“I got a call, matter of fact I got quite a few calls yesterday after that story broke. Some old friends want to get together again down at the hunt club and jaw a bit. You want to join us?”
“If the old friends are my old friends from back in 1988—yes, you bet your sweet ass I want to see them again. Name the date.”
“That will be day after tomorrow. You know the location. Let Betty know what flight and time and we’ll have a car there for you.”
“You mean a pickup truck don’t you Charlie? I remember the last time I came into town and your “driver” picked me up. He put my suitcase in the back of the damn truck and forgot to tell me he had been hauling those little pigs you breed on the hunt club—what do you call them? Wart hogs?”
“They are Javelina George. Texas wild pigs and they are fierce little critters.”
“Pigs are pigs Charlie. I had to get rid of the suitcase eventually. People were looking at me funny when I checked in at the baggage counter.”
“We have come up in the world George. We’ll get you in a shiny new SUV. When you get here we’ll have a few jiggers of my new shine and then we’ll get down to business.”
“This meeting? ---is it about the hunt club Charlie or the travel club we didn’t put together the last time?”
“The hunt club George. You might say we won’t have to bother with the travel club any more. The game is moving closed to the blind. We’ll have a better a better position to get the job done right.”

San Antonio Airport 0945 Monday
.George Kellogg came out of the baggage area and onto the street. It was like walking into a sauna. The Texas weather had not changed for August since he was here several years past. Neither had the mass of construction at the terminal. Traffic was moving at a snail’s pace and drivers were stretching their necks looking for their guests. Out of the back of the line of traffic he saw a large silver Ford Expedition flash its lights several times and the driver was waving at George.. It pulled over and double parked in front of two taxi’s releasing passengers. A tall, lean young man in Levis and a plaid shirt climbed out of the driver’s seat and approached George. The driver’s smile was as big as the state George Kellogg was in and as he extended his hand to shake with the new arrival, George noticed that there was not a wrinkle to be seen in his starched shirt and faded Levis. He had probably one of the largest belt buckles holding up those firm fitting Levis George had ever seen He most likely won it at the latest rodeo George thought and was very proud of it because it almost glittered in the hot Texas sun.
“Bill O’Neil Mr. Kellog. Welcome to Texas” The young man now was beside George and as he shook the cowboy’s calloused hand he noticed the military haircut as he removed his Stetson with the bull riders crease.
“That thing air conditioned?” asked George as he pointed at the silver SUV.
“Yes sir. We’ll have you cooled down in no time Sir. I have your bags, hop in.”
“Why you have the windows rolled down if this hunk of Detroit iron has AC?”
“Just a matter of preference Sir. I drive around on the ranch and have to get out a lot. I might as well get used to the heat and not look forward to the cool behind the wheel driving.”
“Ok whatever works. Where the hell is Charlie?”
“He will meet us at the ranch Sir. He is picking up some other guests over at the general aviation side of the airport that came in from California.”
George thought to himself that that the other guests would be Timmy Moore and Bob Box. He had seen Timmy’s picture in people magazine and saw him interviewed only yesterday on CBS evening news. His niece was on Pan Am 103 December 21,1988 returning home from England when it exploded over Lockerbie Scotland. The reporter asked Timmy what his thoughts were about the release of Abdel Basset al-Megrahi the Libyan intelligence agent convicted of planting the bomb. George remembered Tim’s poignant answer.

It’s a sad day for international justice and this event gives solace to every jihadist and terrorist on the globe. To think that oil has become a more important commodity than human life in the eyes of a Scottish court is unthinkable by any standard.

The two pulled out of the airport and on to I35 and headed north. As the SUV pulled onto the interstate, Bill O’Neil reached back with his right hand to behind the seat and pulled a ice cold can of Pearl Lite out and handed it to the smiling George Kellogg..
“You worked for Charlie very long Bill?’
“”Going on three years now. When I got discharged from the Army I spent some time right over there pointing to his right --in that big brick building. Charlie was one of the few people that came by to see how I was doing most every week or so. “
George looked over at the building O’Neil referenced. It was fort Sam Houston medical center. The rehab center for wounded in action servicemen and women
“Desert Storm?”
“I was there for that one but it was an IED in Baghdad three and a half years ago now that sent me home.”
As the cowboy spoke he reached down and pulled his Levis pants leg up far enough to show his prosthesis. “I have two of these-- One for each side.”
“Son of a bitch. No one would ever notice that Bill. You are quite a guy and I think you for your service to our country.”
“Thank you sir. It’s always good to hear folks say that.”

Charlie Ball had made his first fortune in oil and later decided to increase his estate by raising cattle. An avid hunter all his life, he had dedicated fifty six hundred acres to a hunt club for his pleasure and his friends. It was small by some standards but just right as far as Charlie was concerned. He maintained the property and paid the expenses by paid memberships in the club. For a price a member could come to the ranch and hunt his choice of animals, enjoy a great meal every day, lots of fresh air and return home very relaxed. All members were required to use one of the several guides on the ranch in their hunts. No lone hunters wondering around in the vastness of the property to get lost or shoot themselves. Bill O’Neil was the head guide on the ranch.
The SUV pulled up in front of the rambling log building that appeared to be somewhat of a warehouse it was so large. It had two flag poles in the front. One with old glory the size of a cover for a football field when it rained and a Texas Flag about half that size.
“This is the bunk house Mr. Kellogg. Come on in and I’ll show you to your bunk. Grab another Pearl Lite if you want. There is a refrigerator in your room with more plus some hard stuff if you like.”
“I have to ask you something Bill. I’m a guy that needs answers to things that puzzle me.”
“Sure. What’s on your mind Sir?”
“The airport-- We have never met—how did you know that was me from a hundred fifty feet away in that crowd coming out of the baggage area?”
“The ball cap and I had a look at some of the pictures of you and Charlie at the ranch a year or so ago.”
“There were twenty guys on that aircraft with a ball cap on.”
“Right Sir but you were the only one with a Bill O’Reilly Patriot ball cap.” The cowboy smiled at George as he answered the last question.
“Pretty observant buddy. I can see why Charlie has you around.”
“Thank you Sir. I was trained to be alert and observant. Something you don’t forget soon.”
There were several people moving around and about the entrance to the building and they all said hello to Bill as he walked through the area that resembled a lobby. There were three pool tables, three large screens TV and the usual dart boards on the wall. The entire ceiling was festooned with trophy heads of mountain goat, lion, bear, and several African variety animals.
As George Kellog followed the cowboy down the hall and they passed a workout room larger than any gym George had seen in a large city, the thought came to him it looked more like a military barracks than a bunk house.
O’Neil stopped at a beautifully carved Mesquite door and turned the knob. As George entered the room he noticed immediately that it was fifteen degree cooler than the hallway. The room looked like it had been decorated by the same people that did Marriot courtyard or Residence Inns. Complete with double bed, wet bar, giant TV, complete with video and stereo and a Jacuzzi tub in the far corner of the room.
“Christ Bill, who the hell would want to leave this to go outside in that heat and chase animals in the dust and dirt?” George was kidding his new friend.
“Ya know, sometimes it IS a little hard to get the hunters to answer the morning call to leave for the hunt. “ Answered Bill
“Get comfortable Mr. Kellogg. Mr. Ball will be getting together with ya’all for a Bar-B-Que in about two hours. Anything you need, just call on that phone over there. “
“Thanks Bill. I’m fine. See you later.”
George Kellogg unpacked his clothes and took a shower and contemplated sitting in the Jacuzzi and finish reading his book he had bought at the airport. He decided instead to lay down on the bed for a bit.
The knock on the heavy mesquite door was so loud that it took George out of a semi slumber with a start.
“Drop your cock and grab your socks city boy, we got some eating and drinking to do tonight and your late for the party!” The voice rang with the tone of a gunny sergeant. Which it was. It was the voice of Timmy Moore USMC retired.
“Jesus Tim, you never change do you? Come on in, I’m about ready.
“Well, well, well, look here folks, the lean mean Marine has turned into the Pillsbury doughboy or a poster boy for Weight Watchers.” Laughed George as he looked at Tim entering the room.
“Hey asshole, you need a big hammer to drive a big nail don’t ya know?” Moore grabbed George and gave him a bear hug and the two started out of the building to the area where the pit bar b que was to be held.
“Good to see you George. Looks like we are going to finally get a chance to do what we had to drop in the eighties.”
“You know more than I do evidently Tim. I just got in this afternoon. Let’s see what Charlie has in mind.
“Has in mind? What Charlie has in mind? Exploded Tim.
“Hey buddy-boy we are going to get that sombitch for sure this time and if you guys will listen to the plan I have been thinking about, he will never get to set foot on American soil except to bleed a lot.”
It was evident to George now that Tim-- who had his massive arm around George’s neck, that he had been hitting the hard stuff a little early in the day.
“Let’s get with the others Tim and do what we did back in 88. Let’s plan this thing out and this time we want to do it right. I know that you are still looking for a piece of this Libyan hunk of shit for what happened to your niece but we have to make sure we do it right. Ok? Let’s keep with the security we need by not talking about this unless we are in a secure area-ok?”

“Always the organizer, Georgie m’boy . You are right. Play it cool. But I guarantee you, I’m gonna get that sombitch AND that fucking al-Megrahi that planted the bomb before I die for what they did to my Katelynn. Twenty-two years ago last week, Pan Am flight 103 exploded over Lockerbie Scotland buddy. You can’t forget that it killed 270 people, including 188 Americans and my Katelynn. The Scotts lost 11 people on the ground—remember? And then only eight years after they sentenced the sombitch Adel Basset Ali al-Megrahi that asshole Lybian intelligence agent to death, he is released by that dim witted Scott Justice Minister Kenny Mac-Askill and welcomed back in Lybia as a freeking national hero. Said he had prostate cancer. I’ll give him some major prostate problems if I can get close to him.”
“It will happen Tim. Stay cool and let’s work as a team. Ok?”
“Ok George. Now, let’s go do some serious drinking and chow down on some of that good Texas brisket.”
The group had just finished the first keg of beer and starting to dish up their selection of meat for the evening meal when a tall stranger entered the patio. He stood at the edge of the concrete walkway looking out over the group of men drinking and dishing up their choice of roast venison, beef or javelina. No expression on his face could be noticed even if he had not been wearing dark glasses. He stood there in his Khaki pants and Hemmingway style safari jacket. His boots were polished and looked like glass shining in the reflective light of the patio lights. Bill O’Neil had noticed the man since he first opened the sliding glass doors.
“Good evening RJ. You are just in time for the first cut of bar-b-q’d brisket. Come help yourself Sir.”
The first thought that entered George Kellogg’s mind as he overheard Bill was the omission of “Mr.” from the usually rigid military greeting afforded the rest of the guests. He did observe that Bill politely addressed him as “sir.”
Charlie Ball saw the man and after setting down his plate of approximately a pound of roast Javelina and beans, went directly over to the man who retained his rigid stance. The man had not replied to Bill O’Neil’s greeting but immediately turned to observe Charlie Ball’s approach.
The stranger “RJ” spoke to Charlie in a staccato of sharply pronounced words.
“Good evening Charlie. I wanted to let you know I had arrived. You know my number in my quarters and you can contact me there prior to the meeting tomorrow. I have placed some equipment in the secured room adjacent to the meeting room and would appreciate you informing your security people that no one except me is allowed to go there until tomorrow’s gathering. I’ll be there doing a sweep for bugs after I leave here and I want one of your security people posted outside the single door to that room until we use it tomorrow”
“OK RJ. Consider it done. I know you won’t accept our bar hospitality of good ol Jack Daniels or Lone Star, but how about some good ol Texas brisket?”
“0700 sharp tomorrow Charlie in the meeting room. If any of this group is too hung over to be on time, I’ll pack my gear and clear the ranch within thirty minutes-clear?”
“I’ll pass the word RJ. Rest well.”
The man turned and left the patio as Charlie looked over at George Kellog and Bob Box who had overheard the conversation. Charlie raised his glass of JD and made only one comment;
“Hardnosed sombitch. --- Doesn’t drink, Not too sociable and I’ve never seen him with any pussy around but he is the best there is,-you’ll see tomorrow.”

A Texas morning in the hill country at six am is something that your mind will not have a hard time remembering. It will come back to you when you want to think of some relaxing, beautiful moment of your life in order to perhaps relieve stress or just plain brush out the present and cleanse your mind. The sun this time of year usually has a pleasant orange glow as it climbs lazily upward in the eastern horizon. Small finches, meadow larks and thrushes sing short, shrill melodies while scouring the tall deer grass for grain. A lite haze of humidity in patches starts to evaporate in the morning sun and reveals some mule deer heading for the days cover from the heat and possible enemies.
The calm was invaded by George Kellog’s booming voice directed to all seated at the large wooden breakfast table on the patio.
“Damn I love your country Charlie. If it didn’t get so freeking hot later in the day, Texas would rival Hawaii for relaxation…..in my humble opinion.”
“You get used to the heat George. I imagine it’s just like you get used to driving an hour to your office in all that traffic around you.”
“Bring your coffee or whatever you’re drinking with you and lets go into the conference room gentlemen.” Charlie was swinging his arm in a motion like he was the leader of marines taking a hill in Korea.
The room was designed to have a light, airy atmosphere where occupants, usually hunters that had assembled for a safety talk could look out into the patio area and watch the morning change into day as they listened to the safety instructor and guide.
Not this morning. The windows had been covered with solid black cloth covered boards and the tables devoid of tablets, pencils or brochures on the game living in the hunt property. This was a serious, secure presentation area that had been electronically swept for any listening devices or video capture. The comfortable chairs with wheels were the only equipment that remained from the previous day. In the center of the room was a large table with a grey canvas covering some large type of equipment? The cover was neatly attached to the table with Velcro straps that stretched from one end of the table to the other. At the front of the room was a speaker’s podium, a slide projector and a computer. The screen that the slide projector was directed at had a large white dry erase board to the audience’s right. An unusual digital clock was mounted on an easel to the far right of the audience’s view of the presentation equipment. The clock ran continuously and indicated the time in hours, minutes and seconds. Something else that had been added to the presentation area was the speaker phone and headsets by each seat. The man known as “RJ” was standing at the front of the room and observing the entrance of each individual.
The digital clock indicated 06:45:10
“Good morning gentlemen. Please be seated and put on the ear sets with the microphone attached. Adjust it so that it is comfortable and does not obstruct the view of any of the visual aids you see up here. That includes the digital clock you see to the right that indicates we will start this presentation in exactly four minutes and ten seconds.”
All five men lined their seats together and followed the man’s instruction to put on the headgear. The music was soft and very clear and in stereo. Barbara Streisand was softly singing Evergreen as the men sat speechless and sipping their coffee and tea.
The clock indicated 06:59:55,……..06:59:57,…….06:59:59
“This conversation between members of this group, hunt club or whatever you wish to use to refer to this assemblage never took place. It never happened. What we discuss here today and in the future will never be discussed or disclosed to others outside this room. The consequences for disclosure of any information, description of individuals or locations are severe I assure you. We all understand the reason for our gathering here and the need for security. Therefore, I must ask that all of you hand your cell phones to Bill O’Neil as he comes by. They will be returned to you at the end of the day”
“Question here,………RJ…..why can’t we just turn them off? Would that make you happy? Bob Box smiled and looked around at the other four members for approval. His voice came through the ear phones of the others as he spoke.
Immediately, RJ moved over to the front of Box and got so close to his face that Box could feel his breath as the man glared at him and remarked;
“You are not here to make me happy Mr. Box. I don’t give a shit if you are happy or whatever. I just don’t care-- I am here to complete a mission and I will do exactly that without making you happy –you understand? I give the instructions and you listen. If you are asked a question, then you may speak. If I don’t speak to you, you will not interrupt me while I am focusing on what will accomplish our mission and keep you alive---now and in the future.”
Slowly, RJ returned to the front of the room. His voice came over the ear phones clear and in the same staccato scenario as when he first joined the group the night before.
“I’m going to give you people some information you may not be aware of in respect to cell phones. When I explain in detail the workings, nomenclature, design of the equipment we will be involved with, you have any questions; make a mental note of the question to ask at the end of the period. We will not make any notes on paper, on recorders or by any means that can be replayed or electronically transmitted.”
RJ then took a deep breath and looked back at Bob Box intently.
“The cell phone you just handed Bill O’Neil is probably one of the most deceiving devices ever sold publicly in respect to privacy and security. All cell phones use a micro transmitting system that includes many capabilities in addition to the transmission of your communication with your office or girlfriend. With equipment I can purchase at Radio Shack for less than the cost of a decent dinner at Macaroni Grill , complete with the waiters singing—I can establish your immediate location within ten feet. I can also determine if it is you that is using the device or someone else. I can tell you who, where and what time you made calls for the past billing cycle. In addition to all this I can also see what you have taken in the way of photos with the photo capability of your device. Any text messages and who they went to and when are also available to me instantly. All cell phones record voice. With some specialized refined equipment, I can switch programs on your cell phone while it is in your pocket and listen to your conversation here with us in this room. All these functions can be done only when the unit is powered up. This should answer your question Mr. Box why I collect the phones.” RJ returned to the front of the room.
“I have selected to use these ear sets and voice activated microphones in our training as this will help you become accustomed to their operation and mission. The actual equipment you will use in your operation will be much smaller and highly sensitive to your individual requirements and of course encrypted with a frequency that is highly secure.”
Today I am going to describe the intelligence we have on our target and the general consensus of his security from the standpoint of penetration of his organization.
From this point on, the target’s name is no longer Mumar abu Gadaffii. It is simply Tango ---as a matter of fact it is said that there is officially no less than thirty two ways of spelling and pronouncing his name. Tango is much simpler.”
“This guy is not popular with anyone it would appear. In October 1993 there was an attempt on his life by his own members of the Libyan army and several since then but not pertinent to our mission enough to discuss here.”
On the screen, a photograph of tango appeared sitting at the end of a table in the middle of a room surrounded by uniformed……women. R J looked at the reaction of his audience.
“Question here. Starting at the right here with George; do you know who this group is that is sitting at the table in front of tango?”
“Looks like his answer to equal opportunity in recruitment for the Libyan army RJ.” Replied George indicating that he did not have a clue as to the identity of the women.
“Charlie? Asked RJ.
“Well, they are all pretty good size and I can’t tell what’s under the uniform but I’d say tango likes large women.” Charlie Ball then opened his hand in a you-got-me gesture.
“Box?
“All I see is like Charlie observed, they look to all be at least six footers.”
“Anything to add to this Bill” RJ was asking Bill O’Neil.
“Well, I have to be honest with you RJ—I know this group. Actually there is more than what is shown here according to recent intelligence.” O’Neil looked at RJ who showed no reaction to O’Neil’s answer.
“Tell us infidels here who you are describing O’Neil and who we are looking at?” Questioned RJ obviously egger to hear the answer.
“ I count twenty women in that photo you have. When I last saw it It was described as being taken in 2002 at his palace..” All eyes were on O’Neil now. The other five people in the room were waiting on his next statement.
“So? “ Blurted out Bob Box. “Who are they and what relation does this have to what we are here for?”
O’Neil glanced at RJ who was still looking at Box leaning forward and down to the end of the row of seats for O’Neil’s comeback. RJ nodded slightly at the cowboy who all of a sudden started to exhibit the actions of a combat group leader that was attending an after action brief.
“Bodyguards. These women are a part of the forty-- I am told—bodyguards that tango has..”
“Good analysis O’Neil and you are absolutely correct. This is part of what is known as “The Amazonian Guard.” Said RJ.
“Some additional information for all you chauvinistic studs here, they are all virgins. They are graduates of a special academy that teaches martial arts and combat tactics only to that special group of qualified females. Any one of them --–Box-- could slit your throat in midair after doing a go-behind on you before you knew who they were in a crowded airport.”
“Before you ask the question, I’ll give you the intel I have on them relative to our mission. Yes—he will bring a large contingent of them with him to New Jersey. He will have the protection of the US secret service as do all diplomats coming into this country but their involvement will be minimal. These “AG’s” we will call them will do most of the protection detail and coverage during movement.” As we don’t know for sure if the people in New Jersey are going to be successful in keeping him from squatting on the front lawn of the estate that the Libyan embassy bought back in 1982, we have to assume he will pitch his tent (literally) there regardless of the strong protest coming from friends of the some thirty three victims of Lockerbie 103 that lived in New Jersey.”
RJ moved over to the table and requested the group to assemble around the table while he pulled back the canvas cover. Beneath the cover were three long range sniper rifles. Bill O’Neil’s eyes began to show a gleam of absolute amazement as he looked at the .50 caliber Barrett with the Schmidt and Bender scope. There was also a .300 Winchester Magnum and an SR25 semi autos on the table.
“We will discuss these weapons and use them in actual operation tomorrow. For now, I want you to just look at the equipment and prepare yourselves for what I have in store for you in the next three days.”
“RJ—I think it’s time we let these people know what is expected of them and what they are going to be doing. Can we get to that?” George was getting anxious.
The digital clock indicated 11:48:05.
“We have not covered enough of the opposition to really do a good overview of the target plan George but if you think you guys are ready, I’ll go in to it right after chow. Take the headgear off and go to chow. Back here at 1300 sharp.” RJ covered the weapons on the table and left the room. As the group went out the door and into the eating area, the security guard closed and locked the door and then stood in front of it.






Hunt Club Conference Room
Monday 1300

RJ watched as the group returned to the room and took their seats, continuing to chat about sports, politics and the best golf courses in California. Obediently, all replaced the ear sets provided them earlier that morning and again, the soft musical notes faded as RJ began his presentation.
“The counterassault team of the Secret Service or CAT as it is referred to, is critical to providing protection outside the White House. CAT is assigned to protect the president, vice president and foreign heads of state. These are the people that will be responsible for, and assigned to tango while under the protection of the United States Secret Service. These are dedicated people and every one of them are highly trained and a formidable obstacle in getting to the protectee. Code named Hawkeye; CAT takes action as the attack occurs. We do not want to come up against these people. Don’t even think about placing one of them in your scope sight. You might consider these people as the “close-in” protection for the protectee. CAT members are trained in close- range, close- quarter battle. They are trained in motorcade ambush tactics and building defense tactics.”
As RJ spoke, a photo slide series of BDU clad personnel appeared on the screen traveling with the President. The photograph showed the CAT force exiting the C-130 cargo plane along with the presidential limo, several black armored SUV and a series of pallets with what appeared to be communications equipment.
“Notice the men exiting the C-130?” Asked RJ.
“There are usually thirty five to fifty of these people that travel with the POUS or other dignitaries assigned protection. Notice the several individuals carrying the rather long brief cases? These are members of the counter sniper team, also usually dressed in the battle dress utilities (BDU) carrying their best friend and lover—their rifles. These guys are code named Hercules and are never separated from their weapon. They all use the .300 Winchester Magnum-known as Win-Mag rifles which is customized for each shooter. Each Hercules team is equipped with one Stoner SR-25 rifle. These guys are the best of the best. They are required to qualify shooting out to 1,000 yards each month. If they don’t qualify, they don’t work or travel.”
The screen then showed an agent with a dog working a delivery truck at the service entrance to the White House.
“Agents also use the agency’s canine unit for both attack and sniffing explosives. Most are Belgian Malinois cross trained for attack or explosive detection.”
The screen then showed people lined up at an event waiting to be processed through a magnetometer. It was similar to what you see at the airport except that these units were obviously portable design.
“Magnetometers are used in any area that the service considers security sensitive. Most agents think this operation is a joke because the magnetometers are usually turned off before the event starts and there are always late-comers that walk right into the crowd.”
RJ then opened the lap top computer and entered some data and the screen in front of the group was split into two sections. On the left section was the boulevard leading up to the UN building. On the right was a drawing, obviously made for presentation in a video game. It showed the buildings on each side of the boulevard in 3D and the trees, landscaping in detail.
“From what I have shown you so far, you can see that to penetrate this security with those weapons on the table and get close enough for a shot would be impossible if not completely foolhardy and rash.”
RJ’s audience began to look at each other, yet they kept silent. There had to be a plan here. The screen started moving like a video game. Activity started around the front of the UN building. Vehicles of all sorts, taxis, vans, SUV were moving on the boulevard. At the lower part of the screen, police on motorcycles enter the area and the vehicles on the street are directed to side streets and the boulevard becomes empty. The motorcycles stationed at each intersection entering the boulevard draw attention to their positions with flashing lights. The action on the screen stops and RJ, using a laser pointer directs the room’s attention to the landscaper working the center divider. He was working a flowerbed and a tree. The flowerbed had been completely devoid of plants and the dirt neatly piled onto the lawn on a green canvas for replacement when the replanting was completed. There was a maple tree in a planter’s box sitting on the edge of the divider about a foot from the curb. It was a large tree and the box it was in was approximately four foot square.
RJ dimmed the lights and continued his presentation. The video action on the screen started again.
“It’s not a good strategy to consider taking on all the protection of the secret service in order to get this guy.”
The motorcade enters the bottom of the screen moving toward the UN building with motorcycle escort. The three black SUV are proceeding along the planned route and as the second SUV passes the tree box waiting to be planted, a gigantic explosion takes place blowing the middle SUV into a ball of fire and the front SUV is blown over on its side and on fire. The last SUV in the motorcade rises up in the air six feet as the explosion tears off the front of the vehicle. The animated video was so real the explosion made the entire room jump back.
“SO WE TAKE OUT THE VEHICLE HE IS IN WITH OUR OWN VERSION OF AN IED!!!” RJ now, for the first time since the group had met him, smiled from ear to ear.
“I thought that part of the plan had a nice touch. The asshole dies in an explosion.”
The room came alive with whoops and applause.
“I hope that explosion blows his ass into pieces so small that they’ll have to use a spoon to gather his remains to ship back to Libya.” Shouted Tim Moore.
“Bitchin plan RJ!” Shouted Bob Box.
Charlie and George Kellogg looked at each other and did a hi-five.
RJ waited until the group calmed down then continued.
“If that is the plan, you are asking, then why the weapons on the table?”
The video action resumed. As debris and smoke from the blast settled, two figures staggered out of the front SUV and fell on the grass lawn divider. Suddenly, the video showed two red lines coming from the park to the left of the explosion area. The lines ended at the figures on the grass. Then as if the figures were small bombs, they exploded. Arms, a head and other body parts blew into the street. A similar action took place from the third vehicle debris. One lone figure exited the burning SUV and a red line, again coming from the park area takes him out.
“This is all accomplished without any of our personnel at risk.” A confident RJ turned back on the lights.
“I don’t get that part RJ. If none of our personnel are placed at risk, then who is making those shots from that park?—Robots?” Asked George.
“Close Mr. Kellogg. That answer will come tomorrow with the weapons demonstration.”
RJ returned to the front of the room and turned off the slide projector. He then placed a large presentation board on the easel in the front and removed the cover. The photograph was a view of the UN building from the air directly overhead. The view of the building, the UN Plaza and the streets, parks and drives alongside the building were all labeled. The entire eighteen acres of the UN International territory were outlined in red.
“This is the kill zone we will work with gentlemen. As I stated before, I really hesitate to take out any of our guys doing their job protecting this tango so we will wait until the motorcade gets within feet of the territorial boundaries of the UN. As soon as the secret service personnel clear the area and turn the protection duty over to the UN guards, we will initiate action. This is an opportune time because the decision of protection authority will be confusing. Tango will not have any of our guys in the vehicles with his Amazons. He never lets foreign security even talk to these women—which is good for us because they will be as confused as the UN guards when we initiate action. This is the front of the building showing 47th street at First Street. This is the changeover point for the UN guys to accept the protection duty from the secret service. That scenario should not change on this occasion. If it does and he doesn’t stop for the guard changeover, we have an option plan. The changeover point is marked here in yellow. The UN vehicles will converge behind the tango motorcade and our guys will drop off and turn left onto forty-seventh street. The tango motorcade will fall in behind the UN white vehicles and follow them into the underground garage where tango is scheduled to egress his vehicle and enter the general assembly. He won’t make it that far.” RJ removed the presentation board and set another in place. This one was a drawing of the same scene but it had additional colored areas.
“Take a good look at this drawing gentlemen because after we view this, the chart and all data associated will be burned into ashes. You must memorize every detail of this drawing. Each of you will have the responsibility of remembering street names, locations and most importantly, the timeframe of events. I want you to watch two things in the next thirty minutes of my presentation here. One-where I am directing your attention to on the drawing and the running clock on my right over here. The timing of our actions and your precision to that timing is the only thing that will keep this operation secure.”
RJ dimmed the lights only slightly. He then turned on a small light at the edge of the table that was directed at the presentation board. The light emitted an eerie blue, actually ultra violet beam at the board. RJ removed some small toy vehicles from a box on the table and attached two of the toys on the board which obviously magnetized. The vehicles were coming from the south on forty seventh street approaching first avenue , the turnover point.
“At precisely 0915 hours, this motorcade with tango in one of the vehicles will approach the security turnover point at which time, secret service will drop off to the left and turn on first avenue.”
RJ moved the first vehicle over to the side street. He moved the vehicle that had been in the center of the motorcade on straight approaching the UN entrance to the underground entry point. The vehicle now second in the motorcade was moved to the position directly behind the lead vehicle. RJ then added two white toy SUV to the board indicating that they had pulled from the side of the entrance to the underground entry to in front of the two remaining black vehicles.
“Notice the clock gentlemen-- 0921.00”
The secret service escort was now on First Street approximately 125 yards north of forty Seventh Street.
What happened next looked like a real-time video game as the five members of the Patriot Hunt club witnessed the ten yard refuse container that had been positioned on the center divider at an angle of approximately sixty degrees from the front black vehicle, started moving and rolled across the street directly at the two vehicles. As the clock indicated 0925.50 the side of the container exploded. The explosion was illustrated on the presentation board by a series of flashes next to the first black vehicle. The second vehicle was moved by RJ’s hand as if the driver had jammed it in reverse.
“The driver in the second vehicle tries to back out of the kill zone by jamming it into reverse.”
RJ moved the second vehicle back about five inches representing the possible movement. The clock was indicating 0926.50
The evident setting they were watching was as if park employees had started excavation on the side of the divider to plant a large tree that was sitting beside a loader backhoe. The backhoe that had been sitting at ninety degree to the motorcade suddenly moved, without any operator in its seat, across the street blocking the rear movement of the rear vehicle.
At 0927.10 the bottom of the boxed tree exploded as the vehicle, now in reverse came next to it. The explosion again was represented by a series of flashes of the ultraviolet light beam.
0928.00. The vehicles now blown over on their sides and burning start to eject occupants that had survived the blasts. From the green colored area indicated on the drawing, a series of red lines streak across the park and then across the intersection hitting the individuals exiting the burning vehicles. One red line was coming from the north side of the park from a van that was delivering medical equipment. Another red line was coming from the center of the park from what appeared to be a television remote van with transmitting discs on the top. The red line from the van moved to the first black vehicle. A flash in the red line indicated a shot at the disabled black vehicle. The vehicle again exploded but not as emphatically as the first blast that had blown it over on its side. The red line then moved to the second black vehicle and repeated the action.
The clock indicated 0930.00
“Fifteen precise minutes of operation and mission accomplished.” RJ looked around the room as he brought the lights back up.
“Questions?”
As usual, Box was the first to jump into the exchange.
“Where does all this equipment come from that we see on the drawings? How can you shoot a target from all the way across that park without hitting some of the crowd that is sure to be there taking pictures?”
“George?” RJ looked over at George Kellog who was smiling like a fox that had found the chicken he had been hiding and waiting on.
“Let me tell everyone a story here that, even to me didn’t make any sense until I saw the last five minutes of this presentation. Yesterday, my office called me and told me that someone had stolen a Case 580 loader and backhoe from our Manhattan jobsite. They evidently loaded it up in a large trash container and moved off with it. I told the foreman to report it to police but to wait until I look in my lap top to see if it was one I had on loan from a friend of mine in Brooklyn. The trash container was ours and I’d file a claim with our insurance when I returned.”
“Those items are presently being,……..modified for our purpose as we speak and will be delivered to the “jobsite” across from the UN the night before our mission inception.” Added RJ.
Charlie Ball broke into the Q&A period with an announcement.
“Chow time my friends, after that, we will all venture out into this beautiful afternoon and go to the range area. There, we will see how RJ has the equipment assembled and ready for action. . Let’s move it.”

Hunt Club Firing Range
1300 Wednesday afternoon
TE day minus seven

The three large SUVs lumbered out into the Texas hill country over limestone outcroppings and small rocks until they reached a fence area with a gate and cattle guard. A ranch hand opened the gate and allowed the vehicles to enter and then returned to stand by the gate. There would be no additional people entering the range area today.
As the group pulled over a small hill, the road suddenly dropped sharply into a surprising environment—a green area with a stream that was flowing quite rapid. Large oak trees prominently covered the entire landscape with huge canopies of leaves and branches. The trees looked to be well over fifty years old each. As George looked in amazement at an area of the hunt club he had never seen in his twenty years as a member. It became apparent why they had chosen this secluded area for the afternoon’s program. This was not a firing range. This was a simulation of First Street and forty seventh street in Manhattan, New York. The layout was complete with a small park and areas marked “street” and “divider” complete with stop signs and a big frame structure marked “Building entrance.”
RJ was waiting beside the table that had been at the conference room. It still had two of the three weapons on it. Next to that table was a new addition. The second table had several items on it that looked like photography back packs and camera tripods. As the group gathered around the two tables looking again at the weapons and chattering about the weird design of the .300 Winchester and the 7.62 M40A1 with the ten- power Unertyl scope. Both had what looked like a boom box mounted where the telescopic sight usually was.
“Bill O’Neil, if you would come over to the table with me, I want to show you the equipment you will be using.” RJ picked up a camera case and handed it to O’Neil with instructions not to open the case until instructed.
“Have you ever been to New York City and the UN building Bill?” He asked the cowboy.
“Not much call for anything in New York City that I’d care to see Sir—No I haven’t.”
“Well then Mr. O’Neil being as this is your first time to the big apple, you’ll want to take a lot of pictures—right?”
“What do you want me to take a picture of RJ?” The cowboy was a bit jerked at being used as a second—a straight man.
“Look over to the right gentlemen and you will see at approximately 900 yards out there a large black plywood replication of an armored escort vehicle. Very carefully Bill, I want you to remove that camera from your case there and take a snapshot of the vehicle just described as I instruct you.”
O’Neil carefully removed the camera from the carrying case and looked at it. It was somewhat heavy and looked more like a radio than a camera. It was built on a Sony digital camera base but also had a small antenna protruding from the right side.
“Locate the on-off switch.” Instructed RJ
“Got it.”
“Turn the camera on.”
“It’s on, I see the viewing area in the screen here and it has a set of sniper crosshairs superimposed over the view.”
“Without describing to us what you also see in the screen, center that on the vehicle and push the shutter release Bill.”
The cowboy hesitatingly raised the camera to his eye and intuitively turned the focusing
Lens and then moved his finger to the silver button on the top that was the shutter release.
O’Neil pushed the shutter release. What happened next caught every one of the spectators’ off-guard. The black ply board representing a SUV jumped into the air about three feet and fell over in a cloud of dust.
“Take another picture—fast!” Shouted RJ.
Again the shutter was released and the black prop at 900 yards out jumped and a cloud of dust indicated a round had entered at the side where a passenger door would be.
“Sombitch!” Yelled George Kellog.
“Where’d that come from?”
“Not from that dinky camera George. Whatever hit that prop came from out there.” Box was pointing in the direction of the black prop.
O’Neil handed the camera back to RJ and made an observation.
“It came, or was fired from someplace close here guys. That distinctive smell of nitrate and sulphur would indicate a large caliber weapon—the fifty that was missing from the table today I would suspect.”
“Look to our left gentlemen. You all were less than twenty yards from the weapon when it fired directly at the target that “O’Neil sighted. When we go active, that Barrett will be loaded with armor piercing and incendiary rounds. Bill, you will be responsible for that weapon’s operation.” RJ looked at O’Neil who did not reply, simply gave RJ a thumbs up. Box, you get the M40A1. Both of these are considered two of the finest sniper rifles known to mankind. Tim will be our triggerman stationed up the street and let us know when Tango comes into range. He will give the heads-up call REMEMBER 103! The motorcade will be exactly 37 seconds from the kill zone at that moment and the secret service escorts will turn left and leave the motorcade. The white UN security jeeps will fall in and take the lead. We chose those words because when this goes active, the CAT team and everyone else in the company will be tuning in to every radio transmission that emanates from that park area. It will be too late for them to react but it will be a nice touch for the earphones when they are reviewing the transmissions gathered during those twenty or so minutes back at the headquarters.”
RJ continued with the mission plan.
“The fifty will be mounted in the TV van on a hydraulic crane or camera lift to give it the required height to fire over any crowd that gathers to watch the arrival of tango. We don’t want anyone in the line of fire except Libyans. The .300 Winchester will be in the second TV van. We will park the van with the rear pointing across the park accessing the center of the kill zone. Box, that’s your weapon and responsibility. Don’t ask—I know what your question is, you’ll be given target direction and information in the next few days. All the weapons are geared to the electronic controls from the cameras. If for any reason we get interference or anything that gets in the way of the communications to fire after the explosions, you will just have to fire the weapon manually if you have time. George and Charlie will be dressed as park cops and keep nosy people from getting too close to the vehicles we are in and the trash container and tree box as well as the loader backhoe. Tim will be Mr. retired senior citizen onlooker reading his newspaper at a park bench three hundred yards up 47th st. This will give you one minute and ten seconds before the target comes into the kill zone. Let the two white UN security jeeps and the motorcycles pass . All the communications frequencies are encrypted and there should be no problem but we want to be ready for the unexpected.”
Box smiled and looked over at RJ as he asked;
“Nothing personal RJ, but where are you going to be as we are all out there next to these explosions?”
“Me?—I’m going to be watching all this on TV, Box. Real safe and far away.” RJ smiled at George and Charlie who evidently knew where RJ would be at this moment.
“RJ is our back-up plan Box. We don’t need to go into detail but this guy has his ass hanging way out beyond where we are on the limb.-ok?”
Box shrugged and replied sharply; “Fair enough George.”
“OK, this concludes the range demonstration and the tactics. Now, we need to get the equipment together on the target zone and set the trap.” RJ was making notes on a small notebook computer about things he had noticed during the range demonstration.
“George, will you take over the deployment of all these people into NYC by day after tomorrow? Gloria has made reservations for everyone except Tim and me and you. We will be traveling in Tim’s jet.”
“Got it covered RJ”
O’Neil came over to RJ and in a lowered voice so that most of the others could not hear RJ’s answer, asked;
“This is going to require some heavy duty power packs from what I see here RJ, and you know as well as I that the area, now—what?—three days prior to his arrival is being searched, sniffed and probed by security . How are you going to get the C4 or RDX past the eyes and the dogs?”
“Good question Bill. I was waiting on someone to ask about the explosives.”
“So? Trade secret?”
“Kind of, you might say—so far it has worked real well. We cover the smell of the C4 by placing coffee grounds around it. We prefer Starbucks dark roast.” He replied grinning.
“No fooling?”
“Both the trash container and the Loader Backhoe are drenched in the stuff plus we will place some nice fresh vomit in the base of the tree that is supposed to look like it is ready to plant. We’ll put the puke at the bottom of the tree to make it look like some drunk came thru the park and decided to dump in the tree box. Would you care to volunteer to contribute?”
“I’ll leave that part of the plan up to you RJ—you have done an excellent job so far.”
“The biggest security concern is having some snoopy law enforcement come looking in the trucks and see the weapons. That is one of the reasons we’ll have George and Tim in blue uniforms from the local police station.”
That evening the atmosphere at the hunt club bar was jovial and even if there were any thoughts or questions about the coming events, no one discussed their mission. This was to be a security tight group and no lose lips. O’Neil talked to RJ most of the time RJ allowed himself the luxury of relaxation with the group. He promptly left at ten PM and vaporized into the air. No one even saw him sport a suitcase out the door. All the instructions for assembling the equipment in the kill zone had been gone over completely with George, Tim and Charlie. There were no notes taken, no phone numbers scribbled on paper or a single reference made in any lap top word processor. RJ had said that as soon as the mission went active, he completely eliminated any and all phone numbers, photos and computer lap tops by burning most of the items and then completely crushing and pulverizing the lap top he had used during the presentations and observations. George said that he had seen him throw his complete lap top and case into one of the rock crushers being used at the stone quarry at the edge of the hunt club. The huge machinery had reduced the lap top to pieces no larger than a quarter of an inch along with the crushed limestone.
Bob Box and Bill O’Neil left the ranch early the following morning and caught a United flight to New York City. The TSA inspector in San Antonio never looked twice at the microphone and headsets that they had in their carry-on bags. They both were just travelers with a headset to listen to their IPODs with. Tim sat in 1C and Box in the back in 27C. When they arrived at Kennedy, they retrieved their luggage and headed for the hotel. The hotel was the Executive Rest which was a relatively new chain in the area and rooms faced the park and nearby 47th street which led to the front of the UN building. When O’Neil checked into his room he set his bags by the closet and walked over to the window and looked out into the park six floors below. It was the exact same view that RJ had put up on the screen during his presentation and it had every tree, statue and bench that the presentation indicated as there. As O’Neil watched, a large low bed semi pulled into the area and stopped by the north end of the grass meridian. The driver got out, placed a series of traffic cones in front and behind the trailer and walked into the park. O’Neil could not see where the truck driver walked to from his vantage point because the trees covered the area with their huge canopy of leaves.
A knock on O’Neil’s door pulled his attention away from the street scene below.
“I’m settled in cowboy and now its Miller time.” Bob Box wasted no time forgetting their instructions to stay away from the booze until the mission was over.

“You are kidding of course—aren’t you Box? Because if I thought for one brilliant, freeking minute that you were going to start drinking and possibly screw up what we came here for, I’d have no problem giving you a little shove out this window. Come here and look.”
At this point Box got a very serious look on his face and stood glued to the spot he was at when he made the stupid suggestion as soon as he had entered the room.
“Come here, Gomer.” O’Neil said as he motioned with his index finger.
“Poor judgment on my part cowboy. I know what we agreed. No Problem-OK? What is down there you are looking at?”
“Looks like our tree and our loader backhoe have arrived.” Said O’Neil.
Box sheepishly moved over to the window and peered out below.
“Our modified loader backhoe and modified tree you mean cowboy. Looks good from here. Jesus, look at the size of that tree. Must be twenty five feet tall.”
As Box leaned a bit more toward the open window to see what was on the far side of the park where the TV trucks were to be parked, O’Neil placed his hand on Box’s thin shoulder and moved closer to his side.
“You weren’t really thinking of getting a bottle or a six pack to take to your room tonight were you Robert Box?” The cowboy squeezed the man’s shoulder firmly and gave him a very short, quick shove toward the window.
“Jesus Christ O’Neil!!” Box was jumping back from the open window and yelling at the same time. His face drained of all blood and he immediately broke out in a sweat as O’Neil started laughing.
“Let’s get down to the park and do what we need to do this evening. Put on your headset so we can talk to each other from different locations around the trucks.”
“Asshole! I really think you would like to actually shove me out that damn window!”
“Only if I thought you were going to jeopardize the mission Robert. Keep that in mind this evening—ok?”
By the time the two had taken the elevator down to the lobby and crossed over to the park area, the truck driver had carefully unloaded the boxed tree with the loader backhoe and was looking at a piece of paper that instructed where to place the tree and park the loader. Having accomplished his instructions, the driver returned to his truck and left, leaving the traffic cones in the street but with some added black-yellow caution tape encircling the area.
I’m going to go to the far end of the park to check communications came over Box’s earphone loud and clear.
Checking the parking spot where the first TV truck will be parked. Was the response to O’Neil?
The two took the following three hours to scout the park and look at all the viewpoints that would undoubtedly be covered by CAT and others the day after tomorrow. Each had their instructions for their individual part in the mission and as they moved over the area, they each were discussing to themselves the timing and action they were to engage in. When the streetlights came on the park seemed to come alive like ants crawling over a dropped candy bar. The locals of the streets started looking for a place to sleep or just gather and drink whatever they had accumulated that day for the evening’s social hour beneath the trees in the park. Although several peered over the edge of the large dumpster to see if there was any profit in rummaging through the debris, none bothered the loader backhoe. Obviously most of the crowd could read the large sign placed on the operator’s seat; VIDEO SURVELANCE BY SECURITY CAMERAS---VANDALS WILL BE PROSICUTED.
We’re finished on this side and ready to retire. Meet you back at the office. Just in case anyone happened to have a scanner that picked up the transmission, O’Neil made it sound like the security people for the park were changing shifts.
One final measurement for me and I’ll be joining you. Box made one last sighting with the spotters scope from where the truck was to be parked to the centerline on forty-seventh street. Exactly two thousand and forty three feet. The exact same distance that the snipers rifle was positioned at the hunt club range. The rifle had been sighted in and locked for that distance. Nothing was left to chance. As Box returned to the hotel he casually reviewed the approach to the lobby entrance. Not much activity with the exception of an occasional taxi bringing business to the hotel for the night. He thought he would sit on the bench across the street for a short time and see if anything changed.
Interesting observation on the way to my present location partner—you still have ears?
Box recognized O’Neil’s voice. It had a curious tone to it as if he was asking for a second opinion on what he had seen on the way up to his room.
Affirmative. Resting a bit by the sidewalk. You have contact?
Roger. Look to your right by the book store. Anything out of place for this time of day?
Box made a detailed surveillance, foot by foot of the area in question. Small book store, not one of the majors for sure but nothing uncommon about the windows or storefront. All the stores were closed for the evening, including the bookstore. Next to the bookstore was a small tailor’s shop. Also closed and no one close by. The alleyway next to the tailor’s shop was being repaired and there were wooden construction horses blocking each end. There was a van, probably a lunch truck parked halfway down the alley.
A lunch truck? Parked here overnight Box thought to himself.
Took a minute. The lunch truck? I thought they took all those roach coaches back in at the end of the day for restocking and clean-up?
Great minds think alike. See any activity or does it appear if it is occupied?
Engine is off and I can’t hear a generator. The front of the van is all darkened sun shade glass. It’s impossible to see into the thing.
Wait a minute. Box had observed the van gently rock as obviously a person or persons inside moved up to the drivers area.
It’s occupied. It just did a shake rattle and roll from someone inside coming forward.
Don’t be obvious. Hang there on the bench and see if they come out. Don’t approach them-Roger?
Affirmative.
Box remained on the bench pretending to read the newspaper but looking over the top of the page to catch any glimpse of who the occupants of the lunch truck might be.
Securing this location. Let’s talk about this development when I get there. Looks like somebody else is watching the park.
Yeah. Looks to me like we’re not the only game in town.
Roger. See you in a bit.
Box knocked on O’Neil’s door and entered. Bill had opened two cans of coke and was sitting casually in a chair by the window with his boots up on the sill.
“It’s the best we have at this point in the operation.” He said smiling as he handed Bob the second coke.
“What’s your take cowboy? Think we have company guests parked in the alley taking a early look-see on the turn over point for the G-men?”
“Don’t know—we’ll let them get their rest and when George and Charlie get here tomorrow in their newly pressed new police uniforms, they might want to go ask the occupants some questions.” O’Neal was not about to change the mission plan on his own. This was a joint decision between the leaders of the mission and a lot of considerations needed to be factored into the response to this problem—if it indeed was a problem. Then again there was no sense in tipping their hand if the lunch truck was indeed a secret service observation point. They would let Charlie and George, perhaps along with RJ make the move. It was time to turn in.

TE Minus One Day
United Nations Park, 0600 Hours
George Kellogg could not have been a better model for the character he was to play the following forty-eight hours. His blue police uniform had just the right amount of brass and gold pins to denote years of service and his flowing gray hair--long for an active duty type law enforcement—said that he was an “on –call-cop” or one that was retired but worked details when the workload was too heavy for the local sub-station. Better yet when there was good overtime money available for the increased security from the DHS. Charlie Ball was no less resplendent in his matching uniform. Complete with the polished nightstick, obvious Kelvar vest, shoulder mike and last but not least, the rows of little leather pouches with who could guess what inside attached to his belt. The only difference in their appearance was the two lip mikes and earphones which were not immediately visible to the general close-by public. The weather was just brisk enough to stay relaxed and cool in the heavy uniforms and security padding. It was not apparent to the local shopkeepers opening their doors where the two patrolmen came from. They just seemed to all of a sudden be there on the street. A smile, a nod to the lady taking her dog for the mutt’s early morning duty and a nudge to the guy on the bench sleeping under the papers for cover from the past nights dew. They walked and talked and smiled like any cop that had been in the area for decades. They stopped outside of the small donut shop by the alley and surveyed the area before walking in to the shop and ordering two large coffee with cream and four glazed.
“Clean shop you have here. I always like to eat in a place where you can tell they wash the windows at least once a month.” George started conversation with the confused Vietnamese that was waiting on the two patrolmen. He failed to see the attempted humor in George’s remark but smiled anyway and took their money.
“I thought maybe we were going to get our coffee from the lunch truck parked over there in the alley but looks like they are not open yet. Are they much competition to your business here? The Vietnamese again looked somewhat puzzled at Georges question.
“New arrival. Been here three days but that’s not a lunch truck. I think it belongs to the construction outfit that is getting ready to work on the alley here.” The answer came from a small man sitting at a table by the door reading his book and eating a large apple Danish.
“What are they going to do to the alley?”
“I really don’t know.” Replied the customer.
“The two guys that come and go from there are pretty tight-lipped. Don’t say much-like digging the asphalt up and repairing some busted pipes was some kind of classified project. I’m Stan Johnson. I own the bookstore over there.” Pointing to the third door away from the donut shop and next to the alley.
“Hi Stan. I’m Tom O’Malley and this is Wilbur Deck. We’ll be around for a few days collecting some extra income from the DHS.”
“You’ll probably earn your money officer O’Malley. I understand that that Idiot from Lybia that camped on the lawn of the embassy is coming here tomorrow.” Stan was still holding his paper as he talked around the corner of the comics’ page.
“You know something we don’t or should Stan?” Asked George.
“Just that there are a lot of people that don’t care for the guy and don’t want him in the city.” Stan was wiping his coffee from his white beard and folding the paper as he got up from the chair.
“Well, he’ll be here only for a short time to go into the big building over there, yak for a while and then gone. Wilbur and I are going to Miami to play golf and you can listen to the jackhammers working on your new alley the rest of the week.” George and Charlie followed Stan out of the donut shop. As Stan started to cross the front of the alley, George called to him.
“Hey Stan. What are they going to do to this alley again?” George was now standing ten feet from the front of the mystery van pointing down the alley.
Stan stopped in his tracks and came back to the middle of the alley where George was standing with Charlie.
“Beats me. I don’t know of any problems with the sewage or whatever. The asphalt is only a year old and I can’t see any potholes. Must be another “make-work” project for the city using the governments stimulus money.” Stan turned and continued to his shop. George and Charlie remained in the alley by the wooden barricade drinking their coffee.
Pretty clean and shiny for a construction crew’s work truck. It is not that new but it doesn’t look like it’s been on many jobsites with other equipment banging into it. Believe me, I know how hard it is to keep a fleet vehicle in decent shape. George had switched on his lip mike so that O’Neil and Box and Tim could tune in to the conversation as he looked at the vehicle with Charlie.
The thing has rocked and leaned several times since we came in front of it here George, indicating to me that although we can’t see through those tinted windows, there are several eyes watching us closely. Charlie was smiling as he talked to George and sipping his coffee.
When we made line sightings last night, there was no problem. They are far out of the way from where…………..we are going to be………working. O’Neil’s voice was confident.
Roger. So far I don’t see a problem but we need to keep an eyeball pealed in this direction along with Tim. You guys come on down. The TV vehicles are just pulling up in the park and I want to be there when the drivers leave.
The two residents of the hotel walked out of the lobby and into the street as they did the day previous. The only difference was, they were both wearing work uniforms for WSRTV embroidered on the shoulder and back. They had ball caps with the familiar colored peacock on the front. They stopped at the coffee shop and purchased a supply of donuts and two large coffee from the Vietnamese and continued over to the park where the two patrolmen were standing by the two mobile TV vans. The drivers who brought the trucks had already left the area and when O’Neil and Box climbed into the trucks it appeared to the local crowd that noticed this recent addition to the park that these were just two of the crew that had gone for coffee.
“Everything is inside each vehicle that you need. Go ahead and get lined up and locked in. Take your time and keep your mikes and earphones live so that if need be, we can alert you.” George was talking to O’Neil. Both men had their coffee in hand and it appeared to just be some TV crew yaking with the local blue coats about the time of day and what lousy pay they got for retirement.
The inside of the van that Bill O’Neil climbed into was like something from NASA. To anyone that was nosy enough to snoop through the inside—be that the two drivers that were hired for cash from the local teamsters hall to deliver the trucks or a curious spectator in the crowd, the contents looked like what you would expect. A large telescoping boom on the top of the van with a large camera mounted that turned in several angles, a multitude of cables running to a remote trailer with a generator set and the usual decals denoting the TV station call letters. Bill O’Neil closed the door and with the generator running and the air flowing freely, rolled up the windows. All the windows were tinted and the doors locked. He moved over to the large camera case in the center of the truck that was attached to the boom platform. When the boom was in the lowered position, it came down entirely inside the truck. Doors in the roof closed and the contents were secure. He then opened the side of the camera case and removed it over to the side. Looking at the side of the camera case, there was the usual cable connecters and switches mounted on the side. In addition to the switches and cable junctions, there was also another lock not obvious to the untrained eye. O’Neil pulled the key from his leather tool kit and unlocked the remaining side panel.
There it was. It was beautiful and it had not accumulated even a speck of dust in its lengthy travels. The spotter’s scope was removed from its pocket and the sig scope front lid opened and as O’Neil flipped the switches that brought the sighting lens into action he checked the movement and focus of the spotting scope. Everything worked perfectly. The hand held still camera he would use to sight the 50 caliber onto the target gave a bright, clear and colorful view of the local park. O’Neil had raised the camera just high enough on the boom to see over the truck. What he observed was a clear line of sight to the kill zone.
It was time now to check the rest of the equipment and place the spotting mark. As he climbed out of the truck he removed a small red traffic cone from the holder on the front bumper and took it with him. George and Charlie were placing yellow and black barricade tape around the area of both vehicles. O’Neil walked through the park in a straight line out to the middle of 47th street and sat the cone on the center line just in front of the center divider. As he looked back at the truck he was pleased to see that there indeed was a clear, clean, unobstructed line of sight to a height of over twenty feet. It had not been apparent from looking this direction from the truck but when you looked back at where the truck was positioned, you could see that several of the tree limbs had been trimmed to provide this sight line. O’Neil returned to the truck and unlocked the camera case again and used the spotter’s scope to sight the traffic cone.
Two thousand and forty three feet exactly! This was amazing. Exactly the distance that the 50 was sighted in at the range and what Box had calculated last night. Now to check the hand camera that would be used to fire the weapon in the truck. O’Neil flipped the switches that brought the small hand held camera into life and then the ones necessary to arm the weapon sight system. This was going to be more difficult to keep unobserved as he would have to raise the boom, activate the sighting system and then walk out to the area where he would be stationed to sight in on the arriving black SUVs.
One more trip to check equipment. O’Neil announced to all.
Good time to do just that. Not much action going on here. He recognized Georges voice.
With the boom and camera raised on the truck, O’Neil moved out to the center of the park and raised the camera.
Activating remote equipment.
He turned on the camera and looked on the screen. There it was—the red crosshair and the spotting scope reading in the upper left corner. He moved the lens focusing to bring in a clear picture of the traffic cone sitting in the street.
Item one in focus. Adjusting for ten feet to the right.
Leaving the lens focused where it was on the traffic cone he moved the camera to the right and sighted in on the opposite side of the street. Both Box and O’Neil had made their range cards from the information and exchanged thoughts if anything was missed.
Everything moved as advertised back here. Came George’s voice.
The hand was tapping Bill O’Neil on his shoulder. O’Neil about turned white as he jumped to the side and saw the lady with the camera.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt but I saw you taking pictures of the UN Building and noticed your camera. “
Stay cool. She has been taking pictures all over the park here today. I’m sure she is only a tourist. It was Charlie’s voice.
“Yes, it’s a new model Minolta…………” O’Neil was replying as he was interrupted.
“Tim—hey Tim—station calling and wants you to check the uplink—pronto.”
The Calvary had come over the hill. It was Box yelling from his truck.
“Sorry Lady. I have to run.” He waved at the plump little lady with the camera and the big lens.
Back at the truck O’Neil checked the equipment again and then it was Box’s turn to do the same. Box examined the beautiful M40A1 with the electronically modified scope. He looked at the neatly cleaned twenty-four inch stainless steel barrel. The chamber, the entire bolt assembly and receiver were all recently cleaned with soft patches and cotton swabs. The springs were taut and the Pachmayer recoil pad was new. Why a new recoil pad? This was not going to be against anyone’s shoulder in this operation? Probably there for the sighting in back at the range and left in place so as not to disturb the settings. George and Charlie had thought of everything for sure. His equipment check was accomplished without the interference of the fat lady or anyone else. Next, George and Charlie did their equipment check. George casually moved over to the large trash container and stood beside the front of it as if he was talking into his shoulder mike. He reached into his pocket and removed a key that he inserted into the metal box on the front of the trash container. At this time, Charlie walked up and stood blocking anyone’s view of what George was doing to the metal box. He opened the door, pulled a small T-bar handle and inserted the key again and turned it. The small gas engine coughed once and started. It was no louder than or as loud as a lawnmower engine. George pushed a small button beside the ignition key and as they stood there, the front of the trash container started to raise then stop. The hydraulic pump powered by the small engine was doing its duty—extending the wheels on the front of the container. He immediately pushed another button and the wheels retraced lowering the container back to the ground. He locked the box and both he and Charlie moved over to the backhoe loader.
Hold off on the equipment checking for a moment George. We have movement out of the lunch truck. Take a look.
George and Charlie both changed their direction and moved to the center of the park where they could see the lunch truck and its occupants.
I guess that pretty well answers the first question. Take a look at those burr haircuts and the third guy out of the lunch truck even has whitewalls. O’Neil was in the truck but had the binoculars on the group. He focused in closer on the last guy to exit the truck.
Ok, Number three is wearing a pair of SEAL issue boots and I’d say without much reservation that the bulge in his right side of his trousers is maybe a nine millimeter or a Glock. They are going into the coffee shop. Shall we join for some small talk George?
Negative Bill. I think that would either make them more goosey or completely compromise our project. Let’s just continue to observe. We are only 18 hours from TE. I think it best we check RJ and sit tight.
Roger. Going to lock this up and move back to my home.
Negative Bill. I think we need a change of plan here in only one respect. I want you and Bob to stay in the trucks tonight in case our friends decide to come to take a look inside. Roger?
Roger. I’ll secure my home and return.
O’Neil and Box returned to the hotel and checked out. They carried their things over to the trucks and climbed in.
You and Charlie still in the area?
Affirmative but we are just getting ready to leave for a chat with RJ. Tim is going to join us there and then he is off to his place at the Marriot. What do you need?
Just confirming we are in position as agreed. See you tomorrow.
George and Charlie were no longer in their uniforms when they met with RJ in the Marina onboard the Gallant Lady-a beautiful forty-seven foot sailboat that RJ said “belonged to a good friend.” Charlie had taken photos of the lunch truck with a digital camera but after waiting longer than he should have in front of the truck he was able only to get photos of two of the four occupants. RJ was not as concerned about the lunch truck as George thought he would be. They had Tim keep in eye contact with the lunch truck as much as possible and report any movement. He noted that there was always at least one person in the van at all times. When they left to get something, it was never more than two individuals. One of the three occupants were always in the van.
“What can they do in the fifteen minutes we will be conducting the operation? They will not know where the shots are coming from because both weapons are silenced and using the TV truck as a hide with the weapon on the top of the boom on one and in the disk on the top of the second truck, it will take time to locate the fire source. I’ll have the truck and that area scanned with the camera that I will be watching here. If anything remarkable occurs, I’ll let you guys know. Tim will do the same from his OP. Meantime don’t concern yourself.” RJ moved over to the large desk that was used as a combined computer desk and navigation table and uncovered three lap tops. All three were on and showing a full screen video of the three different parts of the park. As RJ turned the silver shaft that was protruding up from the keyboard on each of the lap tops, the view panned another area.
“There are three cameras-two on O’Neil’s truck and one on Box’s. Battery powered in case we have a power problem in the middle of this. This is why they are on now and odds are that our two guys in the truck have not even found either camera. I have remote control over both weapons from here. If, for some reason anything happens to either of our guys, I can continue firing either weapon from here. I control the movement of the trash can and the loader backhoe from here with these computers. When the target is within range of the blast from the backhoe and the trash container as well as the tree base, I detonate from here. These were all tested this afternoon as you and Charlie were sipping coffee by the trash container. If the little woman that tapped O’Neil on the shoulder had caused a problem, I could have taken her out by firing the 7.62 from the truck. Believe me gentlemen, we have it all covered”
George, Tim and Charlie said good night to RJ and left.
Nine hours to TE time.

TE MINUS THREE HOURS,TEN MINUTES
George was on his second cup of coffee and his last of the half dozen donuts he had purchased from the Vietnamese coffee shop. Charlie was still working on his first cup and a Danish as they causally strolled into the center of the park. Tim was not scheduled to be in position until TE minus one hour so as not to look like a park fixture that had not moved or finished reading his paper. O’Neil was awake and commenting on the intercom that he was glad Box was over in the other truck because he could hear him snoring clear across the park last evening. Charlie’s cell phone rang and it was RJ.
“Good to see no one overslept.”
“We’re not so sure about that. We have not seen Box yet.” Was Charlie’s reply with a grin.
“Equipment check in one hour Charlie. You will only hear from me or contact me if there is anything out of place-OK?” RJ was speaking again in his stoic voice. The guy was unaffected by joy, grief, pleasure or pain. He sounded like Hal the computer.
“Understood.”
Click.
“The sailor in the marina have us all on candid camera Charlie?” This was George’s only question as he smiled calmly at Charlie.
Beautiful day. So far as I can see, everyone is in position to watch this event. Anyone have any problems with their equipment or anything else?
It was O Neil’s voice sounding like one of the TV technicians checking with their cameramen on the scene. Chatter like this was common during sporting events and motorcade parades over several different frequencies.
Just cleaning the lens and waiting boss. Box was checking in.
Not much wind to move the tree branches into the view line . We are good here. Was George’s reply.
Starting to get some tourists and onlookers over here. The barricade tape should do the work of keeping them at a distance. I’ll ask those two cops over there by the trash container to ask them to move if they start getting into the line of our cameras. O’Neil was playing the part of the main camera crew.
We are ten minutes away from the arrival of the first part of the motorcade according to my official government press release to the studio sports fans so lets stay heads-up here. That transmission was from Tim. Everything was a go at TE minus eight minutes.
It looked like the cop was just getting a better angle to watch the approach of the motorcade to most people when he climbed up onto the seat of the backhoe. His partner was standing by the large trash container working with a metal box on the side. The camera boom on the first truck was now rising into position and extending out over the front of the van it was mounted on. The second van was now opening its roof and a smaller camera boom was rising from the interior of that vehicle. The little plump lady that was in the park the day before was back and was about to climb up on the tree box to get a better position to take her pictures when she looked down and around the area and then made a rapid egress from the area. RJ had planned the mission down to the placement of the vomit as he had described.
At TE minus five minutes O’Neil and Box had taken their positions with their hand cameras and were sighting in on the middle of 47th street. As they did, the cameras on both trucks started moving, turning as if focusing in on the same area.
George turned the key and the small gas engine that powered the hydraulic drive wheels on the trash container came to life. The front of the container raised as the wheels extended.
The container is now under remote control. Clear the area. Surprisingly, it was obviously RJ’s voice coming over their intercom sets for the first time.
Charlie had started the diesel engine on the backhoe and raised the loader bucket. The equipment now faced the street. He jumped from the equipment after his earphone crackled with the same voice stating;
The digger is now under remote control. Clear the area.
REMEMBER 103! Came over the intercom followed by; Both UN escorts are distanced in front of the motorcycles. Tango is far enough back the container can cross in front and dump the slick!!
The front of the first black SUV was decorated with American and Libyan flags and rolled into view following four motorcycle escorts. Following within a mere fifteen feet was another black SUV with only Libyan flags. One flag was a picture of a gold royal crown on a blue and red field. Thank you Tango for giving us a clue which vehicle you might be in. We’ll give that one our special attention. Thought O’Neil.
Behind the first motorcycles and SUV was an unexpected addition. It was like an extended Limo made by Hummer. The thing had to be twenty-eight to thirty feet long and low to the ground. That design along with the obvious bullet retarding window glass made it difficult to roll an explosive device under. The design did not take into consideration a large loader backhoe rolling directly at the center of the limo. The motorcycles were entering the kill zone when the trash container rolled down from the curb position and as if a giant hand was placing a toy in a sand box, and across the street blocking the right side of any oncoming traffic including the limo. The first SUV saw the rolling trash container dumping the oil slick and the backhoe and tried to take evasive action by turning a sharp left toward the park area
Good. Just as planned and scheduled
Then, another loud sound echoed through the park but it was from the opposite direction—the alley across the street from the park. It sounded like someone was trying to make a quick get away from the park area behind the TV van. Tires pealed and smoke came out from under what had appeared to be a lunch truck parked in the alley. It came out of the alley and jumped the curb across the street and into the park at a high rate of speed. Box was barely able to jump out of the way as the screaming vehicle stormed through the park knocking over trash cans and scattering debris as it hit benches and a small food cart in its path to the opposite street.
The sound of the oncoming van through the park surprised George as he moved to the area in front of where the 50 was going to fire. His duty now that he had started the backhoe and got it underway was to keep bystanders out of in front of the line of fire from the 50. As it passed him and charged into the street, George saw the doors of the van had been slid wide open and the three men inside were wearing full armor gear and carrying automatic weapons.
The street was now in a state of absolute chaos. The motorcycles had dumped each of their riders after they had hit the slick surface area of the street where the trash container had opened up the rear doors dumping gallons of slick crude oil onto the street. They were incapable of returning to where the explosions were now occurring because they could not stand up or gain footing even to draw their weapons. The first explosion was from the trash container just as two of the SUV screamed to a halt on each side of the obstacle. The explosion tossed one SUV directly toward the park sliding on its side and burning. The SUV that had been on the opposite side had tilted over on two wheels but was still moving in a forward direction. It appeared as the driver had some experience driving in a jalopy derby and was putting it to good use. When it turned to miss the backhoe, it slammed down again on all four wheels just in time to absorb the full explosion force from the RDX in the front bucket of the loader backhoe. The vehicle jumped into the air burning and landed upside down this time in the middle of the burning oil that covered the street. The SUV that carried the gold flag was still on all four wheels and attempting to get traction out of the burning oil on the street when the bottom of the tree base exploded not five feet from the side of the doomed vehicle.
Heads up gang. The guys in the van are armed and moving into the kill zone! It was George reporting what he had seen.
Stay focused on the targets!! Tango is trying to get out of the burning SUV at three o’clock. Open fire with both weapons—NOW! It was RJ making an observation as if he was watching Green Bay telegraph an end around run for the end zone.
More people were trying to exit the burning vehicles in the street. The limo had been blown sideways and the windows blown out but it was remarkably still intact. Injured people were exiting it and falling on the ground in firing positions looking for targets.
The 50 from the TV van now was firing on full auto. O’Neil had sighted the SUV with the gold flag and was pouring a steady stream of death from atop the camera boom. Box had zeroed in on the Limo and was taking more accurate, single targets out one at a time.
The guys in the van are friendlies! They are taking position on the edge of 47th to pick off anyone jumping out of the black SUVs. Jesus Christ!! They have two RPG aimed at the limo!! Heads up you guys, don’t target the van—they are friendlies—repeat-FRIENDLIES!
The occupants of the van had fired two rounds from their RPG at the limo personnel still trying to get out of the line of fire. The limo was riddled with rounds from the 50 and took two more hits from the RPG before the gas tank exploded in a ball of fire that mushroomed up over the park like a dooms day cloud.
The three individuals in the van were walking around the burning vehicles firing at anything still moving. Unseen by the three friendlies out in the street and only visible by Tim who was up the street where the motorcade first entered the area, a figure behind the bullet riddled limo was pulling the pin on a grenade.
Behind the limo!! Grenade about to be thrown—BOX!! Fire UNDER the back of the limo and take that gomer out!!
It was not a quick enough reaction to get the amazon before she tossed the grenade at the three in the street. The grenade landed about ten feet from the group and rolled up between all three. The smoke and explosion tossed two of the three friendlies that had been in the van into the air. They hit the ground and lay there motionless. Box’s field of fire skipped under the limo and cut the legs out from under the amazon.
Extraction!! Move it. Mission completed!
We have two down in the middle of the street!
Negative! I repeat Negative not our team. EXTRACT-NOW!
Moving out to the kill zone to confirm Tango is eliminated. Will rendezvous as planned for extraction when I confirm this.
It was O’Neil’s voice and the last person you would expect to change the mission tactics.
Negative!! Dammit Mission accomplished for Christ’s sakes. Let’s get out of here!
RJ was obviously in no mood to debate the logic of O’Neil confirming his kill. The booms came down on the TV vans and the roof closed just as three black choppers came overhead looking for whomever, whatever had ambushed the dignitary on their way to the UN building.
O’Neil ran up to the SUV that carried the gold flag and looked inside. There were only three occupants that remained strapped in their seats obviously taken out by the initial explosion. One of the burned corpuses had a large gold ring and a gold bracelet on its arm and hand—not something a bodyguard or secret service would wear. The other two were burned but it was possible to make out the leather military holster and large belt. Satisfied with his quick, unauthorized recon, O’Neil broke out in a dead Mogadishu mile pace to the departing TV van. He ran as if he never had two legs blown off and was wearing prosthesis on both legs
The TV vans left the area just as the first responders were racing the opposite direction to the scene of the ambush. This was sure to tweak the curiosity of one of the chopper pilots why the TV vans were going in the opposite direction—away from the news event. Tim was driving and George and Charlie were removing their cops uniforms. O’Neil jumped into the second van with Box and followed the trio in front into the construction site next to an area that was being cleared for urban development and HUD homes. At the rear of the site the crews had left for the day . The vans drove up to the two deep ditches directly adjacent to the area where the crews were laying a concrete floor for what looked like it would be a warehouse. Everyone got out of the vans and pushed the two vehicles down into the ditches. O’Neil jumped onto a loader backhoe that was parked next to the large pile of dirt and began covering the two vans. In less than 45 minutes, he had both vans completely covered in their burial plots and was compacting the soil over the area. Tomorrow, the crews would pour concrete over this section of the new floor for the building and the vans would be history-along with any evidence of the weapons used in the assault. The group wasted no time moving into the nine passenger van after removing their rubber gloves that they had worn during the previous event. The uniforms from George and Charlie were traded for Dockers and polo shirts and Nike tennis shoes.
George’s cell phone rang.
“We just left and are on our way to New Jersey.” They were obviously not headed for New Jersey but in case anyone was taping into cell transmissions, it would be a good distraction.
That information also told RJ that they were clear of the two TV vans.
They were on the expressway and headed for the airport and Tim’s waiting executive jet that would return the hunt club to their home ground.
Mission accomplished.



That evening at the hunt club recreation room.
There had not been much discussion on Tim’s plane on the return trip to San Antonio. The two onboard TV sets were detailing the news of the assault and the aftermath but there were no loud cheers or shouts of excitement from the passengers. So far as the pilot and copilot of Tim’s jet knew of the afternoon, they had brought Tim and his friends to the big apple for a rod and real show put on by a large Texas camping outfit. Tim wanted to keep it that way.
Later that evening at the small bar in the corner of the recreation room, the group exchanged smiles and did several thumbs up as the announcer described the assignation of the Libyan leader. There were no guests at the club that evening and at the moment the group was alone, serving themselves with no club domestic personnel around.
It was then that the announcer broke in with the news that the FBI had captured three suspects at the scene of the assault and was about to make a press announcement. The group was immediately silent. Then Charlie Ball was the first to speak.
“Looks like the two that went down in that explosion will make it. We need to see if we can get some help to those men without being too obvious. They all got a good look at us and could ID us I’m sure so we want to watch what they do with them real close. Those guys made a lot of hits on that limo tank thing and it could have been a problem for us if they had not taken it out with those RPG.”
The announcer was cutting to the FBI press conference being held at the scene in the park. The agent in charge was taking questions after a brief statement indicating that all participants in the assault had been apprehended.
“They’re going to pin this all on those three guys!” At that, Charlie banged his fist on the table.
The talking head on the TV continued with the news analysis; FBI agent Sean Parvis stated that the deadly assault was well planned down to the use of explosives to initiate the first attack on the motorcade. No secret service personnel were involved or injured as they were in the escort vehicles that, as is operational procedure when escorting foreign dignitaries to the United Nations, turned off just prior to approaching the UN facility. Two UN security vehicles and the personnel in them were also spared the onslaught as they were far enough in front of the official motorcade that they were out of the area of the explosions that took place. Authorities commented that the attack was obviously well planned so as not to involve US or UN personnel-only the foreign dignitary and the security detachment guarding him. Preliminary investigation into the backgrounds of the attackers indicate a possible connection to a white supremacy organization based in Idaho. Of the three suspects arrested, two remain in the hospital in guarded condition and the third is being held in an undisclosed location by the FBI.
“There is not much we can do for those guys at this time gentlemen. To come forward with any kind of support for their defense would be asking for an immediate investigation as to our motivation. Not a good idea at this time.” George was speaking in a low voice and it was obvious that it was heavy on his mind that these three suspect were taking the fall.
Tim Moore made the following comment that got the attention of the relaxed group.
“One down and one to go.”
“One to go? From this report, it looks like the mission was accomplished Tim. What do you mean?”
“Abdel Basset al-Megrahi--- the Libyan intelligence agent. He is still on the list as far as I’m concerned.” Tim was looking at the group with an expression on his face that the others seldom saw in Tim Moore. He was angered and obviously thinking, planning and making an oath to avenge his daughter Katelyn’s death.
“It shall happen Tim. It will surely happen if this club and the patriots in it remain together.” Said George.
End.



The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by Bill O. (actionwriter)

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