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Mclean, Virginia
The Director kept the “Mojave Incident” before the staff of the National Counterterrorism Center. There was no relief. Staff worked evenings, overnight, and weekends. The roadside sensors were checked, double checked, and then checked again for any report of the transport of radiological materials north or south of Las Vegas on I-15.
“We spend a goddamned fortune year in and year out on installing those sensors, maintaining their 24-7 operation, and you’re telling me they have absolutely nothing to report?” His face was flushed, he pounded the table, and if looks could kill, a mass homicide was looming. “How do we explain this failure to the Secretary, the President, and let’s not forget the U.S. Congress? How do we explain what some will call the greatest single intelligence failure in the Homeland? And make no mistake about it, ladies and gentlemen, our executives will want to know. Our President will surely god damned want to know. And those jackals in the U.S. Congress will see to it that the chairs around this table are filled with fresh, new, and capable faces—people who can do the god damned job!”
One of the section leaders had enough. “Mr. Director, these sensors were not designed to pick-up a signature on small quantities of everyday radiological stuff. Spent materials from medical diagnostic equipment is a good example, but far from the only one. In hindsight, maybe the sensors need to be more sensitive—“
“You think so? Do you?” the Director thundered. He was standing now, towering over the group.
“Actually, no I don’t. If the sensors were that sensitive, we’d be responding to hundreds of reports each day. Most of those reports would ‘blow the whistle’ on everyday commerce that has absolutely nothing to do with a dirty bomb.”
“Okay, let’s discuss that. If the sensors functioned at this level what would we know right now, here today, right in this room? What would we know that today we don’t? Tell me.”
The point was made.
“So going forward what do we have to do? We must replace all the sensors on the interstate highway system, major bridges, and our urban areas with new sensors. We’ll need new reporting systems. We’ll need to operate both smart and diligently every day. But that’s a topic for another time. And make no mistake, we will have that conversation as well.”
There was complete silence around the large table positioned prominently in the middle of the cavernous room. Every intelligence analyst sitting at consoles and workspaces around the elevated periphery of the room focused on the work in front of them. No one wanted to be dragged into this drama.
Breathing like an exhausted prize fighter at the end of the last round, the Director took his seat. Looking at each person seated around the table, he took extra care to slowly clean each of the lenses in his stylish glasses. No one said anything. The large room had never been fully staffed and so quiet.
“What does the NRO have to say?” Those sitting around the table had to lean in to hear. He was now speaking just above a whisper. The Director was the consummate passive-aggressive personality. “With all of those cameras in the sky they must have seen something.”
One of the few women at the table stood, placed her palms on the table, and leaned in to the group. “Mr. Director, I’ve spent the last several days at the National Reconnaissance Office camping out while looking over hours of flyover video.”
“Ms. Laurence, we thank you for your dedication. Don’t make it sound like you traveled hundreds of miles and sat in a trailer without air conditioning. The NRO is only several miles down the road in Chantilly—not far from where you live, if I’m not mistaken.”
Taking a deep breath while she trained her attention to the wood grained table top. She summoned the strength and will to deliver a presentation she spent several hours rehearsing. Now pacing around the table, she briefed the Director while the video projectors replayed a series of video clips.
Each frame contained the overhead view of a four-wheel drive vehicle navigating the Lake Mead watershed north and west of the lake. The last set of video images, the ones of greatest import, displayed a “before” and “after” view in a remote valley. Clearly, a device was detonated between the images, but the detonation itself wasn’t captured.
The Director offered a summary. “So now we know two people in a four-wheel drive vehicle drove a healthy distance east of I-15, north, northwest of Lake Mead and detonated a device which we suspect was a dirty bomb.”
“Better than that, Mr. Director. We now have a good fix on the date and time at which the detonation took place.”
“What do we know about the people coming in and out of Las Vegas during that window?”