DHS–Domestic Terrorism
Annex
Washington, DC
February 23, 2018
The courier was obviously new. He had two large sealed cartons about twenty-four inches square that he said were to be personally delivered to the fourth floor, and he needed to have the recipients sign for them. Exasperated with his insistence and unfamiliarity with delivery processes, the receptionist finally told the man she would call the mail clerk to assist him. Minutes later, Alvin appeared in the lobby and spotted the courier. He waved to the receptionist and approached the man.
"Hey, good morning. I'm Alvin from the mailroom. How can I help you?"
"I have some packages here for floor four and need signatures." The broken English caught Alvin off guard.
"Where's Dave? He's usually the one who delivers to this building."
The man shrugged his shoulders.
Alvin replied, "I can sign for the boxes and will deliver them this morning."
The man shook his head and repeated that he had to deliver them in person and get signatures.
Alvin replied, "OK, who are the addressees? I'll see if they are here to accept them."
The man extended his electronic tablet and showed Alvin the names of Admiral James Wright and Dan Steele.
"Fine," said Alvin, "Please wait here, and I'll be back in a few minutes."
Thirty seconds later, Alvin appeared at Dan's door, winded. He took a couple of deep breaths and then spoke.
"Dan, there's a guy downstairs trying to deliver a couple of large boxes to the Admiral and you and claims you have to sign for them. This is no delivery man. He looks like a cage fighter. Tough as nails, broken English and an accent I can't recognize as anything I've ever heard. And the uniform he's wearing doesn't fit. The guy is stuffed into it. I interviewed with the same company years ago, and they always make sure that their employees' uniforms fit."
"How big are the packages?"
Alvin replied, extending his arms: "About this big. Square and all taped up."
Dan didn't hesitate, "OK, Alvin, I want you to take charge and evacuate the building. Get the folks out of here. Exit through the rear doors only and tell them to move a block away. I'll call the bomb squad and will head down and meet the guy in five minutes. Maybe I can buy some time but get moving now."
"Good morning 911, how may I direct your call?"
"Bomb squad." Dan quickly relayed the information. He left the building with other employees and circled back to the coffee shop on the opposite side of the street from the main entrance. He ordered a large black coffee and walked up the building's front steps. He approached the man in the ill-fitting uniform and could immediately see the signs Alvin picked up along with a few others. The man's neck was corded with muscle visible under the shirt. His ears were badly cauliflowered and several white scars were visible on his scalp.
"Excuse me," said Dan as he watched the man turn and assume a combat stance. "Alvin said you have some packages for the fourth floor." Dan continued over to the collapsible hand truck to see if there was an address or office code on the cartons. There was none.
"Who's the sender?" Dan asked.
The man shrugged and then asked Dan to sign the electronic tablet in his hand. "Does the tracking number indicate where these came from?"
Dan maneuvered next to the man and tried to look at the tablet. The screen was blank. What did catch Dan's eye was the tattoo on the man's thick wrist—the double eagle.
Dan went back to the boxes. How long had it been five minutes? Eight minutes?
He looked back at the man and said, "If you don't mind, I think I'll open these up and make sure this material is for us." He noted the involuntary widening of the man's eyes. This was no suicide bomber. This was a survivor. Dan reasoned that opening the packages would cause the detonation or a touch on the tablet's screen would trigger a timer set to allow the delivery man to leave the building prior to a detonation.
Dan faced the giant and asked for his identification, triggering an instantaneous reaction. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a telescoping ceramic rod that could cause instant incapacitation when wielded in the right hands. And these hands were obviously well-practiced. He backed up as the giant charged.
Dan threw the hot coffee into the assailant's face hoping it might slow down the assault, but the man apparently never felt it. The baton whizzed past his head as he side-stepped the first slash. A lunge followed jabbing him sharply in the sternum as he backed away from the attacker.
Wheeling to his left, Dan ducked through the metal detector portal and hurdled the turnstile, frantically searching for anything that could help him defend himself. He pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall, pulled the pin and aimed the hose at the enraged fighter. A small puff of CO2 like the pressure from a house plant mister exited the discharge hose. Dan held the empty bottle to parry the next vicious slice of the baton then threw the metal cylinder at the killing machine. He brushed it away like a bothersome fly. Why hadn't he thought about grabbing something other than coffee before this confrontation? The administrative station he entered now appeared like a semi-circular cage, and Dan was no cage fighter.
The giant stalked his prey into the reception area with a crooked smile on his face. He had the advantage and swept in for the kill. Now face to face once again, Dan dodged the baton making a short arc and shattering the Formica desk top in a violent explosion. There was nowhere to run. One solid blow from the baton would likely leave him unconscious. Then, the man would simply activate the timers and leave the building. Cornered, and with no maneuvering room, Dan started a nervous bob and weave as the man approached, baton held high over his right shoulder ready to deliver a crushing blow. Dan crouched and pushed off the bottom of the counter as a last ditch effort to hit the man with a low tackle and get him on the ground. The man adjusted and avoided the impact of a direct tackle. Now on the floor, Dan had run out of any offensive moves. He was an easy target. The large man towering above him staggered with the first shot, but the baton continued downward to split Dan's head. A second shot filled the room and caused a rose to suddenly blossom on the scarred face as he fell heavily on top of Dan's outstretched body as he crumpled to the floor.
Dan pushed the giant off his body and slowly got up from the floor. He craned his neck over the desk and saw a compact uniformed police woman in the distance with a 9 mm pistol extending from her outstretched arms. Calmly, she spoke into her shoulder microphone, "all clear."
He stared at the expanding pool of blood and the ceramic wand still tightly gripped in the man's hand. Lucky again, he thought.
The police officer came through the portal and exclaimed, "Talk about meeting old shipmates in strange places. Dan, I can't believe it's you!" It took him a minute to recover.
The two had seen each other last when Dan's Seal Platoon embarked in a Navy destroyer operating in the Mediterranean Sea. Assigned as the ship's Operations Officer, Lieutenant Cass Thomas coordinated a clandestine surveillance mission into Libya. Conditions on the ground were far different than the intelligence reports described. The team found a well-armed and alert cadre of fighters with an effective perimeter patrol. Her quick thinking during the messy extraction prevented the team being overtaken by several light trucks fitted with fifty caliber machine guns that could have disabled their Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats (RHIB) and left them high and dry on an open beach. The ship was patrolling slowly off-shore about five miles from the beach. Acting as the ship's Tactical Action Officer, she ordered an unplanned Naval Gunfire Support Mission that first turned the dark beach into daylight with a pair of illumination rounds and then directed a lay down of some rapid fire high explosive five inch rounds between the Seals and the pursuing trucks. This effective cover fire enabled the team to beat a hasty and safe retreat. Short and simple, she'd saved the Team.
Unfortunately, her reward was a formal reprimand from a mean-spirited Commanding Officer effectively ending her career. She took the initiative to engage the enemy on her own, and the CO didn't arrive in the ship's Combat Direction Center until the five inch rounds were slamming into the beach. Dan tried to intervene with the skipper on Cass's behalf without success. An odd duck, he took a special delight in setting little "traps" for his junior officers to make sure he had something on all of them. After listening to his request for leniency, the Captain enjoyed reminding him that no one had the right to question his authority or decisions. He summarily dismissed Dan. Cass stayed in her stateroom for a few days and then quietly left the ship at the next scheduled port call. Bitter and confused, she broke off contact with her former shipmates altogether.
"You saved my skin for a second time! I had visions of my head being mounted on that guy's trophy wall."
"Well I didn't have any problem recognizing the bad guy this time," she laughed.
Within seconds, the bomb squad waddled into the foyer, their bodies thickened with heavy blast-proof protective clothing and faces covered with clear shields. Cass intercepted the team and pointed to the cartons on the hand truck while Dan told them on how they might be detonated. They were both shooed from the foyer. Cass decided she needed to reassure the hundreds of shocked employees still shivering in the cold, wondering why they'd been evacuated.
She shook her head, "This is going to be a mess. By the way, I'm ready to collect the steak dinner you promised me years ago and never delivered. I'll call you, OK?"
Cass pushed through the glass entryway doors and headed towards the crowd. By this time the usual collection of police cars, ambulances, EMT trucks and SWAT teams had descended on the area and condoned off a perimeter two full blocks from the building.
Dan needed a drink but resisted the temptation. He grabbed a fresh coffee across the street and walked towards the Metro Center, oblivious to the cold.