Friday, May 11, 2018 (Alanday, Sagittarius 25, 0031)<\/p>\n
Captain Steven Thomas and two of the men under his command, Williams and Bentley, were swiftly lowered on ropes from the helicopter, as it hovered almost silently, above the rooftop observation deck of Marina City’s southwest tower, in the heart of Chicago. Barely a sliver of a moon would have been visible, had it not been cloaked by an overcast sky, and it was just a bit past 01:00 hours. After touching down and disconnecting their harnesses from the floating ropes, Steve and his Armored Tactical Assault Command (ATAC) team rigged rappelling ropes and prepared to drop over the south side of the tower, overlooking the river, flowing nearly 200 meters below.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile, on the twenty-first floor, the lowest of the residential floors, situated directly above the parking decks, Fahid stood up and stretched, as if trying to touch the ceiling with the palms of both hands. “Abu, this movie is very good, but I’m getting exhausted,” he yawned. Abu crossed the living room for the door to the balcony, tapping an unlit cigarette on the breach of the Uzi slung around his neck.<\/p>\n
“You should get some sleep. Tomorrow, we have a busy day at the Sears Tower. Or, you can take my watch and I’ll get a nap,” Abu offered. Fahid corrected, “Willis Tower, now.” Abu smiled snidely, revealing a gold-capped tooth, “Soon, it won’t matter what it is called.”<\/p>\n
“And, no thank you. You keep your guard duty. I’m just going to get a glass of water and turn in,” Fahid replied as he wandered into the kitchen. Abu stepped out onto the balcony, raising the cigarette to his lips. As he lowered his head, bringing the match up to meet the cigarette, a .223 hollow-point went zipping through the top of his forehead, exiting the base of his skull through a hole the size of a golf ball, before shattering the living room window with a loud crash. ‘I guess he didn’t read the Surgeon General’s warning,’ the sniper thought as he removed his infrared headgear and prepared to descend from his perch atop the Renaissance Hotel.<\/p>\n
In the kitchen, Fahid dropped the glass he had just pulled from the cupboard, grabbed the 9mm Parabellum from the back of his waistband and dashed into the living room. At that same moment, four other cell members, who had been sleeping in the bedroom on the far side of the living room, met him there. As Fahid turned toward the gaping hole that was once the window, Captain Thomas’ assault team swung inward and set down over the rail of the balcony. Gunshots exploded with a Pop! Pop! Bang! Pop! Fahid aimed his weapon toward the first two men on his left, fired, and hit them both squarely in their chests. The force of the impact pushed the two back over the rail. The third shot, discharged by Captain Thomas, successfully struck and killed Jamal who, freshly awakened, had brought his gun up to the ready. The fourth shot, issued again by Fahid, sent Captain Thomas flailing backward over the rail, following his teammates.<\/p>\n
Fahid and the remaining three terrorists spent the next several minutes scurrying around, gathering the rest of the weapons in the apartment. As they were about to exit the condominium, Ayman al-Masri, the cell leader, turned to Fahid, ordered him to lay low for the next four hours and then meet at the primary cell hide-out, at 9423 South Lafayette, near the 95th St. Greyhound Sub-Station. Fahid repeated the address back to Ayman, to be sure he had heard it correctly, “ninety-four twenty-three South Lafayette. I have it. Salaam.”<\/p>\n
“Nine four two three South Lafayette, check,” Captain Thomas parroted. He and his team were already wringing out their black fatigues in the pick-up boat, slowly and stealthily maneuvering upriver. Their attention was focused on the conversation being picked up by the transmitter Fahid had planted a few hours prior to the firefight, just under the edge of the cocktail table, in the middle of the living room. Fahid had been firing the well-aimed, special low-velocity rounds, designed to leave no more than minor bruising behind the team’s flak jackets.<\/p>\n
This had been a most successful seven-man operation, including: Captain Steven Thomas, Jake Williams and Howard Bentley, along with the chopper pilot (Charlie Cook), the sniper (Harvey Hawkeye Hawkins), the boat pilot (George Shay), and their comrade under deep cover, Fahid, better known as Jesus Gonzalez. His Hispanic characteristics were ideal to allow him to blend in as a member of the Middle Eastern terrorist cell.<\/p>\n
From: Steven Thomas
\nSubject: Stuck at work
\nDate: May 11, 2018 6:02 a.m.
\nTo: Dr. Valerie Thomas<\/p>\n
Communications Lag Time (CLT): Zero, pre-launch, no delay.<\/p>\n
Dear sweet Val,<\/p>\n
I know you’re busy with launch preparations and won’t see this right away, but I wanted to let you know how sorry I am that I won’t be able to make it to the launch to see you off, as I had hoped. It’s a hair past 6 a.m. and I’m still at work. : ( Been at it all night, but we’re finally wrapping up the loose ends. As usual, I can’t go into any detail, but I can say the launch this morning won’t be the only story making the 6 o’clock news tonight. LOL<\/p>\n
It’s been a long night and I’ve still got a report to write. Hoping to get to bed by about 10 this morning, but if the launch looks like it will get off on schedule, I’ll stay up awhile longer to catch it on the tube.<\/p>\n
I’m sure going to miss you, babe. Give me till about 10 p.m. and Facetime me if you can. I’ll be all rested up by then and look forward to seeing you, sweetheart.<\/p>\n
I love you, so much. Steve<\/p>\n
< \u2261 \u2642 \u2261 ><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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