Chapter 59 -- IOQUNVXEDJZKDZSKIZ
Walter Kittrell parked his truck a considerable distance from the target. He and
Bob White were both still fairly young
and could still stand a lengthy hike. They were both fifty-four, classmates
who after graduation had gone to work at the same factory. After losing their
jobs in one layoff after another for close to twenty years they had, like
many rural and small-town people, turned to self-employment to have a regular
income. Their small auto repair shop had done quite well, and the amount of
cash under the table usually exceeded the income they paid taxes on.
Nevertheless they were scrupulous about business matters, with all provable
cash intake accounted for.
Each had gone through a couple of wives during the early years, and Bob,
unlucky enough to have a child, was only a few years past the end of confiscatory
child support. Now they had girlfriends, amiable and undemanding, and were
making a good living. In another ten or twelve years they could retire
without worrying about having to get by on Social Security. Life should have
been good, and for the time being it wasn't bad, from a comfort point of view.
But the ever more oppressive taxes and regulations, with the ever more
depressing news of the decaying society they lived in, made them realize that
they were not even going to be allowed a comfortable retirement. They were
unlikely to be able to afford private insurance after they retired - they
could barely afford what they had now, even with enough employees to get a
supposedly more affordable group plan. If they were stuck with Medicare they
would be killed off at the earliest opportunity through the abysmal care even
the insured were getting.
'Gotta stop thinking so much' he thought as he handed Bob the camera case. "I
just get mad and it doesn't fix anything'. The small pocket camera was easier
to use than a phone, at least for his needs. He locked the truck, double
checked them as he walked around to join Bob as they walked toward the railroad.
The railroad was on a high embankment as it ran along Highway 1. When they
reached the railroad they were a good twenty feet higher than the road that
ran parallel to it for miles across the flood plain. As they walked they
constantly watched for trains. Not only could a train approach almost unheard
if one was not paying attention, they did not want to be seen, even by a train
crew. And the maintenance trucks could stop and ask them what they were doing.
They walked a good mile before the trestle they had selected. The embankment
had openings at various places for side roads to the adjacent highway to pass
under. Except where it crossed a major highway and used a concrete overpass
the bridges were supported on large wooden posts, not much larger than utility
poles. In some places the railroad crossed the road in a span supported only
at the ends, in others the road was divided into two lanes as it went under
the railroad, with supporting posts in between.
Walter and Bob had scouted a couple already, and were now checking out a third.
Checking both ways for a train, they descended to the road below. Bob kept a
lookout for cars while Walter took pictures. Then he took out a notebook
while Bob used a laser distance measuring tool to take some measurements. The data
recorded, they climbed back to the railroad track and inspected it. Then they
headed back to their vehicle.
Back at the shop, they went into the office and added the new information to
the plans. The completed diagram showed a section of the railroad
approximately twenty miles long, with the overpasses marked. The three they
had selected were virtually guaranteed to collapse if the vertical supports
were removed, and with additional damage to the horizontal members holding the
roadway the bridge could be out for weeks.
"Well, let's get the crew together and look this over," Walter said. He looked
out at the shop floor, where the last work of the day was being wrapped up and
the workers preparing to leave for the weekend. They were doing well enough
to close on Saturday, and the crew was never late in leaving. They would have
the place to themselves until Monday morning.
He picked up a cheap flip phone and punched a number, while Bob did the same.
After a brief conversation Bob called a second number and spoke briefly before
hanging up.
"OK, they all should be here in a while," Bob said. "It looks like we'll be
ready to go in a few days, if we get the word."
"What did you think about this morning?" Walter asked.
"I'd say it sounds like something big is going on," Bob replied, "but damned if I
know what to believe any more. You get a mass killing in DC, all members of
Congress, forty-something. If that isn't enough, now we got something called
the People's Liberation Army takes credit and say they're declaring war on the
government. And the next day the government essentially admits it's all true.
Where does that leave us?"
"We'll see what Harry says when he gets here. He seems to be somewhat
connected. In fact he seems to know quite a lot. Almost as if he is part of
something big himself."
Walter had not had much contact with political organizations, as Bob had. Bob
had connections with a prepper camp it the foothills of Crawford Ridge.
Walter had visited it with him a few times, usually using the opportunity for
some target practice. More recently Bob and some of his comrades had become
more militant in their attitude, as if preparing more for war than more
ordinary emergencies.
Walter would not have thought much about it, although he was worried about the
future as the situation deteriorated, and wondered what he would do if the gun
confiscations that some predicted came to pass. To him that would be a sign
that the government had some plans he would not like. But it was not until a
little over a year ago that he was for the first time gripped by the fear of
an imminent danger.
Laura, his kid sister, had married a local guy just after they both graduated
from high school. He was a very religious type, and seemed to be a good kid
and a good husband to Laura. A few year ago they had moved to a religious
commune some distance away, one which was, like the prepper types, concerned
with being prepared for the 'end times'. He visited her there occasionally
and if they seemed a little odd he saw nothing to concern him.
But then, a just over a year earlier, he saw the news of a federal raid on the
community. Over twenty of the members had been killed, including several
children. And Laura. Her husband was one of another two dozen or so who had
been arrested and was still in a federal lockup awaiting trial on a laundry
list of charges.
Walter had investigated, talking with people who lived in the are
and had known them. None gave any indication of knowing or even suspecting
them of the alleged crimes. As he and Bob discussed it he became aware of the
dark underbelly of the increasingly oppressive federal government. Bob and
his associates were among those who refused to accept the increasingly absurd
accounts of the news media, and had contacts with others like them around the
country.
When all the recent incidents, which did not attract much attention
individually, were laid out with the dots connected, it became apparent that
something was very wrong. As he became more immersed in the activities of Bob's
associates, he became more and more frightened about the future. Harry, who
was coming to the meeting, was one of the contacts Bob's community had
recently made. Shortly after the election he had approached them with a
proposal.
Tim and George, two of Bob's other prepper associates, arrived and they waited
for Harry, who showed up shortly afterward. His arrival gave Walter the idea
that he had been watching them, waiting for them all to arrive before making
his entry. He was a mysterious type, 'not from around here' as people said.
He had the look of perhaps an ex-military type, perhaps a career man from whom
certain mannerisms never faded. He looked to be in his late forties, so he
might be a retired soldier.
"Evening, gentlemen," he said as he entered. "Everything go well?"
"Fine," Bob replied, turning the diagram for him to see. "The pics are on the
computer."
Harry examined the drawing, clicked through the pictures.
"Good detail, there," he said. "Just what we needed. The other two teams are
ready. Are these the measurements for the verticals?"
"Yeah, we measured just over four feet around on about five or six of them"
Bob said. "They're all roughly the same."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's going to be sixteen inches in diameter. The
drills we'll be using can bore a hole two inches in diameter and twelve inches
deep in a couple of minutes. You can get the charges in fairly quickly, two sticks
per post to be safe - one would do it. And when those posts go down, the
bridge will collapse even without ones up under the roadbed. Good work, guys."
"Anything on a timetable?" Walter asked. "In view of the news the last few days?"
"Yes," Harry replied. "The gloves are off, as we expected they would be. By the time
you get the charges set, we'll be ready to use them."
"These things look so top-heavy, they look like they shouldn't be possible."
Carl commented as they looked up at the enormous framework atop the enormous
four-legged tower, the vertical members holding the 750,000 volt lines
extending out further than the width of the base.
"Yeah," said Wayne. "You can to amazing things with steel. Too bad
there's always a weak spot somewhere." He knelt by the large square concrete
base of one of the legs. A large circular plate was fastened to it by a row
of large bolts embedded in the concrete pier. The enormous piers, over thirty
feet deep, counterbalanced the weight of the huge tower.
"Amazing how you can take one of these down so easily," said Carl.
"Yeah well, you do have to invest in a large quantity of thermite," Wayne
said. "Just to melt the bolts on one plate will take a few bricks. And we
want to be sure. So it's all four."
Loosening one of the legs certainly could cause problems, two would likely
cause the tower to fall over. But there was no tolerance for risk on this
operation. The failure had to be guaranteed. Out here the towers were always
under some stress from the winds on the vast prairie. Taking down one would
put tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of homes without power. It would put
that transmission line out of commission for weeks at least.
The target had been chosen for its heavy dependence on that one line.
Additional power, probably enough to restore service completely, but it would
have to come from somewhere, and multiple failures would cripple the already
fragile grid. Already deliberate blackouts had to be implemented in places
like California even without the electrical failures, and previous winters had
caused them in other parts of the country. Add a little sabotage to that,
Carl thought, and a lot of people would be angry.
After he photographed the base plates, they walked out across the plain some
distance, looking at the line of towers eventually vanishing in the distance.
It would be fun, he thought, to take down a long line of them, if they had the
materials and the time. But one break in the chain was enough, and there were
other chains that needed breaking. He turned and walked back toward the road
where they had parked the truck.
In a rented house in suburban Alexandria, Virginia two men worked quietly on a
workbench with fluorescent shop lights hanging overhead. Five shallow circular trays,
each about six inches deep, were filled with a thick light grey paste,
filling the trays about halfway. As the paste began to congeal, a process
that happened quickly, a fine reddish-brown powder was poured over the top.
Each of the six holes around the rim of each tray contained an electric blasting cap,
wired to the receiver on top. Each assembly was placed inside a shrink-wrap
bag and heated a heat gun until it was tightly sealed. Finally each
device went into a large flat box bearing the logo of a popular pizza
restaurant with locations in every city with a population of over 30,000 or so.
"OK, Chris, here you go," one of them said. He placed a small black box with
a small trailing wire on top of each box. "Let's see how many of these we can
score with."
His partner helped him carry the boxes out to the garage, where they placed
two boxes into one of the cars, and three in the other. They locked the car
doors, then went outside to a car parked outside the garage. After a final
check of the doors, they got in the car and drove away.