I want you close enough to provide an effective point unit, but far enough away that we won’t be able to hear your engine. We don’t want to go and ruin the man’s wilderness experience.”
Special Agent Desiante inserted the fresh battery, and as she depressed the two-way’s transmit button to ensure that it was operational, the rest of the Vice President’s motorcade pulled into the campground. An excited murmur rose from the crowd, and Vince hurried over to the barricade. The VP loved to interact with the public, and even though the president hated to share the media spotlight with him, once he spotted the television news crew, there’d be no stopping him.
Chapter 4
One hundred and fifteen miles to the northeast of the Eleven Point’s Greer access site, Thomas Kellogg greeted the morning from a town square that could easily belong to another era. Except for the modern vehicles and the clothing worn by the pedestrians, the courthouse he had just emerged from and the classic square that surrounded it were more reminiscent of America at the turn of the century.
Thomas had seen very little of Union when he arrived here in the wee hours of the morning. It had taken him the better part of an hour to get here from the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms office in St. Louis. A good portion of the drive followed Old Route 66, with Union lying to the southwest of St. Louis, at the gateway to the Missouri Ozarks.
Thomas had originally been called to St. Louis in early June, when several local Planned Parenthood clinics began receiving threatening letters and phone calls. Three weeks ago, the threats turned violent, when an Improvised Explosive Device exploded inside a clinic reception area. Fortunately, the timer malfunctioned, and the device detonated less than an hour before the clinic would have been filled with patients.
Their luck ran out four days later, after an IED exploded inside a Planned Parenthood laboratory. A technician was partially blinded by the blast, which was repeated the very next day in the adjoining clinic, injuring seven including three patients.
Thomas had spent the rest of the month gathering evidence and running down leads. Because such cases usually took a good deal of time to solve, he was hoping he’d be able to squeeze out a couple of days to join Vince and his family in Branson. It would be a rare opportunity for them to get together outside Washington.
An understanding boss and a fortunate set of circumstances had sent Vince packing for southern Missouri. And with Thomas close by in St. Louis, a Kellogg family reunion never looked so promising.
Just when it seemed as if he’d be able to spare the time, another IED detonated inside a dumpster behind the Planned Parenthood clinic in Ballwin, Missouri, a St. Louis suburb. This incident occurred three days ago, and though no one was hurt, an adjoining supermarket was damaged when falling debris set its roof on fire.
Thomas arrived on the scene within sixty minutes of the blast.
He was there while the fire department put out the blaze, and was the first one to brave the smoke and climb into the dumpster.
His efforts uncovered the most promising piece of evidence so far. It was a still-smoldering, fire-scarred section of cardboard box, originally designed to hold electric detonators.
That very day, Thomas sent the evidence sample to the aTF’s National Tracing Center in Falling Water, West Virginia. Experts working there for the Explosives Technology Branch were able to determine that the cardboard container had indeed been part of the IED. By using a laser scanner, they were also able to find out who manufactured the original detonators, along with the all-important date shift code. This alphanumeric series indicated the exact date and plant where the detonators were produced, and provided the vital information needed to complete the trace.
A check of the manufacturer’s shipping records indicated that a box of fifty electric detonators had been sent via FedEx to an address in Labadie, Missouri. They were sent on May 28, only a few days before the first threats were issued, with the special-use permit stating that the detonators were to be used for agricultural purposes only.
The small town of Labadie was in Franklin County, only a few miles from the St. Louis County line. A title search showed that the address in question was indeed a farm. Yet when Thomas contacted the owner, he learned that the farmer had long since retired, and had subsequently leased his property to his nephew.
It was as Thomas began investigating this nephew that he knew they had hit pay dirt. Conrad Whitten had a rap sheet longer than Gussie Busch’s tax return. A convicted felon and former leader of the Satan’s Outlaw motorcycle gang, Whitten appeared to be their man.
With the assistance of the Franklin County Sheriff’s Department and the Missouri Highway Patrol, the farmhouse was placed under twenty-four-hour observation. An operations center had just been set up in the Franklin County courthouse, thus necessitating Thomas’s trip to Union this morning.
Before they could move in and make an arrest, the aTF had to know exactly what they were up against and who was involved.
Was Whitten the bomber, or was he just making the IEDs for someone with an extreme social agenda? The botched raid on the Branch Davidian compound outside Waco, Texas, had taught the aTF many an invaluable lesson in the importance of accumulating proper intelligence, and Thomas found himself preaching this dictum all morning.
After a quick stroll around the square, he was ready to return to the courthouse and complete the stakeout schedule. An aTF forward observer team was presently providing clandestine surveillance.
They would need to be relieved shortly, and Thomas decided to accept the Sheriff’s offer to replace them with two members of his elite SWAT team.
Even at this relatively early hour, the temperature was well into the eighties, and his forehead had a light sheen of perspiration on it as he headed inside. Halfway down the brick walkway, he passed a ground crew busy putting up a red, white, and blue banner for the upcoming Fourth of July holiday. A lawn mower growled to a start nearby, and Thomas looked up as the door to the courthouse suddenly swung open. Quick to exit was the Sheriff, with two uniformed highway patrolmen on his heels.
“We’ve got company down at the site!” he shouted.
“One of my deputies just reported seeing three bikers in full colors turn into the driveway leading to the farmhouse, with a large Ryder rental truck following close behind.”
Though he would have liked to call in an ATP Special Response Team, Thomas knew they didn’t have the time. The Ryder truck most likely meant that Whitten was about to be on the move, and could indicate that the next IED was going to be substantially larger.
“Make certain that your men don’t move in until we get there,” warned Thomas while they sprinted over to the nearby parking lot.
“As planned, we’ll meet at the turnoff to the power plant to consolidate our forces.”
Thomas accepted a thumbsup from the Sheriff and climbed behind the wheel of his own car, a well-broken-in aTF Chrysler.
With the Sheriff’s vehicle leading the way, siren wailing, Thomas stepped on the accelerator to follow him. They had a fifteen minute drive ahead of them, most of which was on well-paved, two-lane highways.
Once Union was behind them, the road began traversing a series of rolling hills. For the most part, this was farming country.
Corn and soybeans were the major crops; an occasional pasture was filled with grazing cattle, pigs, or horses.