He had to hurry, he could hear the sirens wailing in the distance and evidently heading to the crash scene.
The area of Essington where Peter had placed his rental car contained a mixture of small business’ and town homes. This combination allowed Peter’s car to go unnoticed and not arouse suspicions of the diligent neighbors. Jogging across the street from the park, Peter was able to seek shelter in a vacant storefront as the first police cars arrived on the scene. Watching from his vantage point as the ambulance arrived right behind the police. It was only a matter of minutes before the bystanders would inform the police of his escape from the wreckage.
Seeing his car brought a sigh of relief to Peter, removing the advertisement for a local deli that someone had placed on his windshield before getting in and quickly driving off. Careful to obey the traffic laws, not wanting to be pulled over at a moment such as this, Peter stopped his new vehicle for a stop sign, this allowed the passage of several additional fire fighting vehicles. Peter managed a smile, knowing he was only minutes from the Fort and his end goal.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Another beautiful summer day with the temperature in the low 90’s albeit with high humidity. But it was summer — he could be shoveling snow or battling ice. He didn’t want to rush the seasons. It was the end to a perfect day, thought Tom Giacono, a private security guard working at Fort Mifflin as he waved goodbye to the Forts daytime volunteer staff. Having experienced one of the largest crowds ever for a Sunday, Tom was looking forward to a little “down time” and relaxing down by the Forts south wall, one that ran parallel to the Delaware River.
Tom had placed a cheap wooden rocking chair he had bought at Kmart on top of the forts earthen wall in order to view the ships passing by in front of him, mostly oil tankers and small pleasure craft. He would break the rocker out after the last of the staff had left in order to not disturb the historical surroundings while the tourists still muddled about.
His shift started at noon day and would end at midnight, when he would be relieved by Charlie the midnight-to-noon guard. Until then, Tom would pass the remaining 6 hours by waving to the people passing by in their pleasure boats. Of course since he was the security guard, he would also perform his customary walk around the Forts interior every hour on the hour and check the doors and windows for any sign of break-in. Not that anyone would want to break-in to an old Fort.
Having recently retired from his city job where he had worked for 45 years, Tom approached his 66th birthday in stride, feeling and looking as if he was a robust 56. Sporting a pronounced beer belly on a short frame, salt and pepper graying hair with an accompanying waxed mustache, he looked like a typical grandfather. With his wife, Denise, they planned an around-the-world cruise for the following year. This was the main reason for him taking the weekend security position at the Fort; to earn the drinking and side-trip money with his part time gig. With his children long gone from the house and no grandchildren to speak of as of just yet, they both thought this would be the ideal time to slip away for 4 months and really enjoy themselves.
From his perch, Tom looked over to his right and observed the aircraft taking off and landing at the Philadelphia International Airport.
Life is good, he thought, leaning back in his chair. Life is real good.
The Philadelphia International Airport lay off to his right hand side as Peter’s car exited Highway 95. Soon the president’s jet would join the aerial circus in jostling for prime position. Of course his jet would take precedence over the commercial variety, with the airport virtually shutting down 10 minutes before and after his specially configured 747 appeared in the landing pattern.
It was easy to navigate the back roads that led around the airport and towards his objective, Fort Mifflin, following the historical markers placed conveniently about. Driving past the airports east side, Peter could see the elaborate steps being under taken to guard the various approaches to the airport. The Secret Service types now patrolled the airports fenced perimeter, easy enough to identify by their cheap suits. The local National Guard units were also assisting with vehicles parked every 25 meters or so along the fence line to handle the crowds that would suddenly materialize before the Presidents aircraft would arrive.
Peter drove past the last of the “weekend warriors,” still following the historical markers leading to the Fort.
After 500 meters, he drove through a stately bank of maple trees that occupied both side of the road driving slowly towards the Forts impressive brick and earthen structure. It would be a shame to destroy such an honorable piece of history, thought Peter, parking his car next to the only one left in the gravel lot, most likely the security guards. But such is war. People are killed and places destroyed. Brutal, but of human origin in nature.
With the hour approaching 6:30 in the evening, the sun was still high in the western sky, thus providing Peter with plenty of light for the work he had yet to accomplish. It was perfect timing as he glanced down at his watch. If he could set the weapon for 8:30, he would have the President of the United States in his crosshairs. The president along with the targets the old Soviet Union programmed to be destroyed back in the 70’s; the vast complex of oil refinery’s on both sides of the river, the International airport and the old US Navy base, now since deactivated but 2 mothballed carriers in its lonely port just the same. With close to 500,000 people living in the bombs immediate range, a major catastrophe was in the making. Not as impressive as the Washington DC weapon would have been, eliminating practically the whole government, but this would be just as deadly.
Peter removed a trenching shovel he had bought at an Army/Navy surplus store from his trunk. Boris had informed him that the weapon lay buried only one meter below ground. With this information in hand, he could have the weapon out of its dirt grave in the matter of an hour or so.
Peter gained his bearings from the evening sky before heading towards the Fort.
It was time to get to work.
It was Igor’s turn to traverse the same ground that Peter had undertaken only an hour before, now approaching the Airports east side. As he did, Igor began to encounter heavy traffic, both pedestrian and auto. He also noticed a heavy police presence, this along with military troops stationed along the airports perimeter fence line. His mind raced. What if his rebel had already set the bomb in motion?
Spotting an older couple that was pausing to allow his car to pass, Igor pulled up alongside them, rolling down his window. “Good day sir,” Igor said in his best-polished English. “Could you tell me what this is all about,” gesturing with his hand to indicate the hundreds of people scattered about. “Was there an accident?”
The man removed his pipe from his mouth, exhaling a cherry scented tobacco into the air about him. He paused a few seconds to evaluate Igor in his car before responding. “You must be from out of town.” He tapped his wife with an elbow to the ribs. “The President is flying in here in about 30 minutes. The crowd you refer to is the welcoming committee.” The man placed his pipe back in his mouth, shaking his head at Igor before leading his wife by the hand, trying to get a better vantage point as he moved with the pack.
Igor realized he was on the right track. He was absolutely sure of it. If the roles had been reversed, it’s what he would have done.