CHAPTER 3:
The mail, Aumm later decided, should be delivered to their targets through more unconventional means. With some difficulty, Jerrizaa retrieved the letter from the mailbox, once again donning latex gloves: 'The real gloves or crooks'. He brought the letter back to the air- controlled room, were Muhammad Aumm was waiting.
"Where are the others?", asked Laddbin.
"Out."
'When will they be back?" Aumm's muscles tensed, and he reached for his gun...
"Maybe when they..." The gun came out in an instant, so fast that Jerrizaa had no time to react. Aumm squeezed off one round.
He tried to move. It was as if he were underwater, very deep underwater. By the time Laddbin realized that Aumm was going to shoot him, the bullet was already heading for his chest.
Kiev knew that he was on his way to death, and a very painful death it would be.. Kredivich had tried to reach the hospital twice, but both times he had fallen, and could not continue his journey. Now, the drink was his only real comfort. He had no idea that this bottle was contributing to his death, for two reasons. One: The alcohol was defeating most of the body's attempts to fight against the foreign invader, and that this bottle, as the last four had been, contained a small amount of military- grade Anthrax ( it's deadliest form). From the time that Roranov had first felt the symptoms, he was a corpse that had not yet been given his death certificate.
The bullets hit Jerrizaa with a thud! The 9mm rounds blew right through his body , exiting , it's final resting place the wall. Laddbin looked at Aumm, unbelieving look in his eyes, for a few long seconds before falling on to the ground with another thud! Muhammad Aumm started the process immediately.
Aumm dismembered the body with no grief. the hardest part had been, he reflected, killing his friend. Just as hard had been killing his other teammates, but it was nessacary.
Aumm had shot Jerrizaa three times, although the first had proved fatal enough. But, it had been his direct order to shoot three times: twice in the chest, and one final shot delivered to the temple of the forehead.
Every part of this process involved blood. Contrary to Hollywood movies, chest wounds created only a small amount. But, a shot to the head had turned his fellow terrorist's face into a pink mass. There was plastic covering on the floor, just to make the clean up easier.
Next came the actual dismemberment. He cut up the parts skillfully, and placed those in a plastic bag. he next made sure that there were no traces of his existence.
He snuck out of the window, and drove the car onto the rugged back road. He drove for about an hour, until he found the gorge.
There it is. He drove it until it was near the edge, then carefully got out. He pushed it over the edge, and watched it tumble down the gorge's side, until it hit the water with a noise that even Aumm could here, 100 ft. overhead. He then walked away from the gorge, which now contained the body of one Jerrizaa Laddbin.
Adrenaline rushed through Ryan's body at a fast rate, and his mind instantly began to examine the situation. He pushed one guard aside, then turned to a Marine standing by.
"Is it going to crash?"
"What are you talking about, Mr. President?"
"The damned plane!" That's when Trent Easton headed towards him, followed as Ryan was by the guards.
"Mr. President, you'll enter Area 51 shortly." It was coming closer now, heading directly for him, Trent and the others.
"He have to move, NOW!!!" Everything he said was that of the Marine he had once been.
The Director of the National Security Agency is one of the most powerful people in government. Though Hollywood often depicts the CIA as the ultimate security agency, it was a little known fact that the NSA had more manpower, authority, and funding. Of course, all of their agents still spent most of their time listening to phone calls.
None the less, Easton felt he had the merit to laugh in the face of the president of the most powerful country in the world.
"What is it, goddammit!" POTUS felt as if he was about to die, and no one gave a shit.
Jack, get out of there, now. Now! He was about to when Easton spoke.
"Mr. President, there is a hidden runway a little northwest of here. That aircraft is flying in employees, and it also taxis the Pegisis, the new aircraft we're testing. It works well. Anyway, we couldn't have 100 or so cars suddenly drive out of a place that doesn't exist. You can thank Carter for that."
"You said that nobody since Eisenhower..."
"You got it, Doctor, but many a president has make a decision that they don't know about to change something here. it's the way we work."
"President Fowler, or Durling? What about George Bush?" Jack knew that the question would be avoided.
"Classified, even for you. Sorry, Jack." With that, Easton led Ryan into the entrance of present- day Area 51.
Aumm knew that the conventional American postal system, set up by Benjamin Franklin over two hundred years ago, would not suit his current mission. There was too much of a risk of a postal worker being contaminated, which would shift the public's eye away from his main target. He knew that the Taliban's operation in Russia was almost complete, and that his would be soon to follow.
He decided on a tactic that could be very dangerous, but would have great rewards. Buying a convincing mailman's uniform from a local costume shop, he donned the usual U.S. postal service's baseball cap, and walked towards the government district of Washington, District of Columbia. He pondered on the meaning of the name as he walked.
"Stupid Americans", he muttered to himself, but this time he grinned also.
After September 11, security in most places heightened, especially if that place was in the area of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
But, no one had considered mailmen. Out of all the pre- arranged plans and drills, no one had figured in a postman that would dare to enter a building of government. But, Muhammad Aumm had quite an excuse.
When the Secret Service agents stopped him at the entrance to the Senate building, the Arab- looking man filled out the proper forms, and explained that normal mail delivering were temporarily banned after the Attacks on America. They verified this, and let the supposed mailman find his way through the building to the receivers of his mail.
One was a combined letter to senators Allen Trent and Samuel Fellows. The other was named Tom Daschle, who planned to run in the next election, which would be shortly. Whereas neither Fellows or Trent really knew Tom Daschle, Al and Sam were a team. This surprised all who learned, for the simple fact that Trent was a homosexual and Fellows a dedicated Mormon.
Luckily for Aumm, the two members of Congress were in Trent's office, discussing the political ramifications of the 9 - 1 - 1 ( as they were now being called by the media) attacks.
"Yes?" Sam's head turned when the two heard a knock at the door.
'I am a postal worker. I have mail." Aumm went on to explain, in detail, the false story. Congressman Trent opened the door, and took the letter.
'Thank you", said Al. He took a look at the letter, and passed it to Fellows.
"It's for you."
"Really?" The return address was 'The 4th grade'. "What the hell? Now grammar school kids are sending me shit?" Sam shook his head. "Put that in the trash, will you, Al?"
"Sure." Al took the letter band threw it into the trash can.
Outside the room, Muhammad Aumm had given an identical letter to Tom Daschle.
When he opened the letter, he found a card. It read: 'Enjoy the gift, PIG!' He opened the card, and white powder spilled onto the floor.
"Senator, please remain calm".
What the FUCK can I remain calm about when I'm holding Anthrax?!
"I just got a letter... there's white powder inside..." There were some things that Daschle knew it was not, plain flour or cocaine.
If this isn't a prank, I'm dead!
"how did you receive the mail?" the secretary asked, alarm flooding into her voice. She had also received a letter.
"A postman, I think he was wearing gloves..."
"A postman?" She pressed another button on her phone, the one that sent a signal to the USSS force present in the building.
"We have a possible contamination of the Senate building. Respond immediately. Evacuate."
"Understood." As the Secret Service agent heard the message in his ear piece, he saw what appeared to be a postal worker, who was walking casually out of the building.
"Son of a bitch!" Although the agent had not heard that a mailman was behind the delivery, the man had enough sense to notice that men of that sort were not common in the Senate building.
"Stop, sir!" He would of said 'freeze', but he wasn't a cop.
'Yes?", Aumm responded in his best possible American accent. It was not good enough.
"What are you doing here?" As the USSS agent asked this, he whispered into his clip- on mike that a man had to be apprehended at the front entrance. Muhammad Aumm noticed this, and caressed the handgun in his U.S. mail toke bag.
"Sir, I am placing you under federal arrest..." Surprisingly, Aumm could quick- draw faster than the agent. In one smooth motion, the firearm came out of his bag.
The first shot missed, as was to be expected. Contrary to just about every Western movie ever made, very few men could quickly draw their gun, and at ten feet of distance, shoot. The primitive design of the 19th century pistol didn't help.
But, Aumm was using an upgraded 9mm, known to leave the "big holes in yer head". His second shot, aimed at the chin, hit the spot with perfect accuracy. The bullet ripped through the lower chin, blowing the face apart, as with the recently deceased Jerrizaa Laddbin.
I hope I make it, Aumm thought as he raced out of the building.
The other Service agents did not jump at the noise. Trained to handle just about every situation, the 16 agents in earshot ran towards the area of the Bang!
What they found was a fellow agent, he head missing altogether.
"Get a medic!" one yelled hopelessly.
Despite the times, Ezekiel Sean Thames was not exactly a busy Vice President. But, he did have to cover Ryan's ass while he was away, flying saucers.
"What is the president's current condition?" This came from ABC's Barbara Snider.
"Well", said Zeke, "he was checked over by his doctor yesterday, and the doc determined that the president has the flu. He too sick to do... well, just about anything" Zeke lied with grace.
"Will you take over his duties for the time being? asked NBC's Jacob Sipco
Dammit, I should of stayed in Raccoon Police.
"He hasn't died, Jake. He's sick, but he'll probably be fine in a couple of days."
"Mr. Thames, what about reports that President Ryan is not ill, that he..."
Many things combined to what happened next.
First, no one seemed to care that he was new at the post, only four weeks as the second most powerful man in the world.
Second, he was stressed, as a result of many things. One was the failing relationship with his wife of six years, Jill Valentine/ Thames.
Third, he didn't know what to say about Jack at that moment. Thames had a hard time fabricating answers on the spot. Anger flowed through his whole body, and under the makeup his face turned red. He balled his fist.
"Goddammit!" The V- POTUS pounded his hand onto the podium, and he felt his arm come loose.
Oh shit!
No man who held office as president or vice president, since Franklin Roosevelt, had been a cripple. Some would argue that Reagan qualified, simply because of his battle with oltimer's. No one in the press knew of Thame's condition.
Eleven months before, America had been attacked, but in a much different way. A suicide bomber had flown into the Capitol area, killing the president, and many others. But not many knew of Zeke's role.
Thames had been there, as most of Ryan's friends had, to watch Jack become Vice President of the United States.
As the plane had crashed, Ryan had been quickly taken to safety, whereas President Durling, and others, hadn't been so lucky.
For Thames, most of it had been that nobody had really worried about a small town police officer. So, running to save Roger Durling, Thames had been crushed by a falling piece of concrete, which had severed his arm ( the right one, to be precise).
The mail, Aumm later decided, should be delivered to their targets through more unconventional means. With some difficulty, Jerrizaa retrieved the letter from the mailbox, once again donning latex gloves: 'The real gloves or crooks'. He brought the letter back to the air- controlled room, were Muhammad Aumm was waiting.
"Where are the others?", asked Laddbin.
"Out."
'When will they be back?" Aumm's muscles tensed, and he reached for his gun...
"Maybe when they..." The gun came out in an instant, so fast that Jerrizaa had no time to react. Aumm squeezed off one round.
He tried to move. It was as if he were underwater, very deep underwater. By the time Laddbin realized that Aumm was going to shoot him, the bullet was already heading for his chest.
Kiev knew that he was on his way to death, and a very painful death it would be.. Kredivich had tried to reach the hospital twice, but both times he had fallen, and could not continue his journey. Now, the drink was his only real comfort. He had no idea that this bottle was contributing to his death, for two reasons. One: The alcohol was defeating most of the body's attempts to fight against the foreign invader, and that this bottle, as the last four had been, contained a small amount of military- grade Anthrax ( it's deadliest form). From the time that Roranov had first felt the symptoms, he was a corpse that had not yet been given his death certificate.
The bullets hit Jerrizaa with a thud! The 9mm rounds blew right through his body , exiting , it's final resting place the wall. Laddbin looked at Aumm, unbelieving look in his eyes, for a few long seconds before falling on to the ground with another thud! Muhammad Aumm started the process immediately.
Aumm dismembered the body with no grief. the hardest part had been, he reflected, killing his friend. Just as hard had been killing his other teammates, but it was nessacary.
Aumm had shot Jerrizaa three times, although the first had proved fatal enough. But, it had been his direct order to shoot three times: twice in the chest, and one final shot delivered to the temple of the forehead.
Every part of this process involved blood. Contrary to Hollywood movies, chest wounds created only a small amount. But, a shot to the head had turned his fellow terrorist's face into a pink mass. There was plastic covering on the floor, just to make the clean up easier.
Next came the actual dismemberment. He cut up the parts skillfully, and placed those in a plastic bag. he next made sure that there were no traces of his existence.
He snuck out of the window, and drove the car onto the rugged back road. He drove for about an hour, until he found the gorge.
There it is. He drove it until it was near the edge, then carefully got out. He pushed it over the edge, and watched it tumble down the gorge's side, until it hit the water with a noise that even Aumm could here, 100 ft. overhead. He then walked away from the gorge, which now contained the body of one Jerrizaa Laddbin.
Adrenaline rushed through Ryan's body at a fast rate, and his mind instantly began to examine the situation. He pushed one guard aside, then turned to a Marine standing by.
"Is it going to crash?"
"What are you talking about, Mr. President?"
"The damned plane!" That's when Trent Easton headed towards him, followed as Ryan was by the guards.
"Mr. President, you'll enter Area 51 shortly." It was coming closer now, heading directly for him, Trent and the others.
"He have to move, NOW!!!" Everything he said was that of the Marine he had once been.
The Director of the National Security Agency is one of the most powerful people in government. Though Hollywood often depicts the CIA as the ultimate security agency, it was a little known fact that the NSA had more manpower, authority, and funding. Of course, all of their agents still spent most of their time listening to phone calls.
None the less, Easton felt he had the merit to laugh in the face of the president of the most powerful country in the world.
"What is it, goddammit!" POTUS felt as if he was about to die, and no one gave a shit.
Jack, get out of there, now. Now! He was about to when Easton spoke.
"Mr. President, there is a hidden runway a little northwest of here. That aircraft is flying in employees, and it also taxis the Pegisis, the new aircraft we're testing. It works well. Anyway, we couldn't have 100 or so cars suddenly drive out of a place that doesn't exist. You can thank Carter for that."
"You said that nobody since Eisenhower..."
"You got it, Doctor, but many a president has make a decision that they don't know about to change something here. it's the way we work."
"President Fowler, or Durling? What about George Bush?" Jack knew that the question would be avoided.
"Classified, even for you. Sorry, Jack." With that, Easton led Ryan into the entrance of present- day Area 51.
Aumm knew that the conventional American postal system, set up by Benjamin Franklin over two hundred years ago, would not suit his current mission. There was too much of a risk of a postal worker being contaminated, which would shift the public's eye away from his main target. He knew that the Taliban's operation in Russia was almost complete, and that his would be soon to follow.
He decided on a tactic that could be very dangerous, but would have great rewards. Buying a convincing mailman's uniform from a local costume shop, he donned the usual U.S. postal service's baseball cap, and walked towards the government district of Washington, District of Columbia. He pondered on the meaning of the name as he walked.
"Stupid Americans", he muttered to himself, but this time he grinned also.
After September 11, security in most places heightened, especially if that place was in the area of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
But, no one had considered mailmen. Out of all the pre- arranged plans and drills, no one had figured in a postman that would dare to enter a building of government. But, Muhammad Aumm had quite an excuse.
When the Secret Service agents stopped him at the entrance to the Senate building, the Arab- looking man filled out the proper forms, and explained that normal mail delivering were temporarily banned after the Attacks on America. They verified this, and let the supposed mailman find his way through the building to the receivers of his mail.
One was a combined letter to senators Allen Trent and Samuel Fellows. The other was named Tom Daschle, who planned to run in the next election, which would be shortly. Whereas neither Fellows or Trent really knew Tom Daschle, Al and Sam were a team. This surprised all who learned, for the simple fact that Trent was a homosexual and Fellows a dedicated Mormon.
Luckily for Aumm, the two members of Congress were in Trent's office, discussing the political ramifications of the 9 - 1 - 1 ( as they were now being called by the media) attacks.
"Yes?" Sam's head turned when the two heard a knock at the door.
'I am a postal worker. I have mail." Aumm went on to explain, in detail, the false story. Congressman Trent opened the door, and took the letter.
'Thank you", said Al. He took a look at the letter, and passed it to Fellows.
"It's for you."
"Really?" The return address was 'The 4th grade'. "What the hell? Now grammar school kids are sending me shit?" Sam shook his head. "Put that in the trash, will you, Al?"
"Sure." Al took the letter band threw it into the trash can.
Outside the room, Muhammad Aumm had given an identical letter to Tom Daschle.
When he opened the letter, he found a card. It read: 'Enjoy the gift, PIG!' He opened the card, and white powder spilled onto the floor.
"Senator, please remain calm".
What the FUCK can I remain calm about when I'm holding Anthrax?!
"I just got a letter... there's white powder inside..." There were some things that Daschle knew it was not, plain flour or cocaine.
If this isn't a prank, I'm dead!
"how did you receive the mail?" the secretary asked, alarm flooding into her voice. She had also received a letter.
"A postman, I think he was wearing gloves..."
"A postman?" She pressed another button on her phone, the one that sent a signal to the USSS force present in the building.
"We have a possible contamination of the Senate building. Respond immediately. Evacuate."
"Understood." As the Secret Service agent heard the message in his ear piece, he saw what appeared to be a postal worker, who was walking casually out of the building.
"Son of a bitch!" Although the agent had not heard that a mailman was behind the delivery, the man had enough sense to notice that men of that sort were not common in the Senate building.
"Stop, sir!" He would of said 'freeze', but he wasn't a cop.
'Yes?", Aumm responded in his best possible American accent. It was not good enough.
"What are you doing here?" As the USSS agent asked this, he whispered into his clip- on mike that a man had to be apprehended at the front entrance. Muhammad Aumm noticed this, and caressed the handgun in his U.S. mail toke bag.
"Sir, I am placing you under federal arrest..." Surprisingly, Aumm could quick- draw faster than the agent. In one smooth motion, the firearm came out of his bag.
The first shot missed, as was to be expected. Contrary to just about every Western movie ever made, very few men could quickly draw their gun, and at ten feet of distance, shoot. The primitive design of the 19th century pistol didn't help.
But, Aumm was using an upgraded 9mm, known to leave the "big holes in yer head". His second shot, aimed at the chin, hit the spot with perfect accuracy. The bullet ripped through the lower chin, blowing the face apart, as with the recently deceased Jerrizaa Laddbin.
I hope I make it, Aumm thought as he raced out of the building.
The other Service agents did not jump at the noise. Trained to handle just about every situation, the 16 agents in earshot ran towards the area of the Bang!
What they found was a fellow agent, he head missing altogether.
"Get a medic!" one yelled hopelessly.
Despite the times, Ezekiel Sean Thames was not exactly a busy Vice President. But, he did have to cover Ryan's ass while he was away, flying saucers.
"What is the president's current condition?" This came from ABC's Barbara Snider.
"Well", said Zeke, "he was checked over by his doctor yesterday, and the doc determined that the president has the flu. He too sick to do... well, just about anything" Zeke lied with grace.
"Will you take over his duties for the time being? asked NBC's Jacob Sipco
Dammit, I should of stayed in Raccoon Police.
"He hasn't died, Jake. He's sick, but he'll probably be fine in a couple of days."
"Mr. Thames, what about reports that President Ryan is not ill, that he..."
Many things combined to what happened next.
First, no one seemed to care that he was new at the post, only four weeks as the second most powerful man in the world.
Second, he was stressed, as a result of many things. One was the failing relationship with his wife of six years, Jill Valentine/ Thames.
Third, he didn't know what to say about Jack at that moment. Thames had a hard time fabricating answers on the spot. Anger flowed through his whole body, and under the makeup his face turned red. He balled his fist.
"Goddammit!" The V- POTUS pounded his hand onto the podium, and he felt his arm come loose.
Oh shit!
No man who held office as president or vice president, since Franklin Roosevelt, had been a cripple. Some would argue that Reagan qualified, simply because of his battle with oltimer's. No one in the press knew of Thame's condition.
Eleven months before, America had been attacked, but in a much different way. A suicide bomber had flown into the Capitol area, killing the president, and many others. But not many knew of Zeke's role.
Thames had been there, as most of Ryan's friends had, to watch Jack become Vice President of the United States.
As the plane had crashed, Ryan had been quickly taken to safety, whereas President Durling, and others, hadn't been so lucky.
For Thames, most of it had been that nobody had really worried about a small town police officer. So, running to save Roger Durling, Thames had been crushed by a falling piece of concrete, which had severed his arm ( the right one, to be precise).