Praying for His Eternal Soul
To protect his person, Frank Wosniac had been helped into Armor Technology Corporation’s Survivor Series Body Armor. Made with Spectra Fiber, it was ten times stronger than steel. It was comprised of thousands of unidirectional polyethylene fiber bundles in two separate layers that are cross piled and pressed into a thin polyethylene plastic film. It was better living through plastic that could stop a .44 Magnum or a 9mm bullet as well as lesser ballistic threats.
Because they were easily available from a nearby knife collector, he was given an Ek Pig Sticker with 440-A blade steel and a 6 1/4” blade. Because the Special Ops guys had them on them, he was also issued a Spec War, a chisel ground combat knife by Timberline Knives. It had an ATS 34 steel blade, with an Rc hardness of 60, blade length of 6”, and overall length of 11 7/8”.
For backup he had been outfitted with a “Credit Card,” by ToolLogic that, in a credit card sized piece of plastic, had an emergency can and bottle opener, a screwdriver, an 8x power magnifying lens, a compass, a lanyard hole, a razor share 2” serrated blade with mirror finish, tweezers, and toothpick. All this fit in his wallet like another credit card.
Frank Wosniac sat holding a Ruger Mini 14 with 30 rounds and an MZ bullpup stock in his hands. He was also issued two Colt Detective Specials: .357 Magnum/.38 Specials with a two inch barrel and a five round capacity. Easily concealed, it was decided by those who had issued them to him that what they lacked in power they made up for in conceivability. Wosniac knew how to neither aim nor shoot of them.
Like many Americans that day, he was getting an intense course in firearm use and safety in a matter of minutes. Debates about gun control, that had once seemed so pressing, now took a back seat to securing the right firearms to protect self, family, and friends. It was 1776 all over again.
He sat in the middle of a metro car that had been retrofitted with bullet-proof metal plates and bulletproof windows taken right from the CIA’s front building in Langley. It, and the FBI building, were two of the few buildings that held. (This was fortunate, because both buildings had enormous stockpiles of weapons that were now used to fight the Jihadi’s instead of being used by them to kill Americans.)
In the 1950’s a former director of the agency had ringed the buildings with enough bunkers, machine gun nests, weapons and barriers that when Abdullah’s men could not penetrate its security cordon.
In addition, he was smart enough to locate Langley in a valley in the middle of the rolling hills of Northern Virginia. Only one public road led to the facility, and that was quickly intercepted.
The difference between the Agency and other areas of the defense establishment of this country is that the Agency wanted as many as possible taken alive. They realized how invaluable they would be to exposing Jihadi’s nests in this nation and worldwide.
To accomplish this end, they used bulldozers. It was a theory worked out in the sixties in case they had to defend themselves against antiwar protesters. Planners then worked out every attack scenario -- contingency planning for which Company people were famous -- from terrorist expert attack to attacks by any kind of protesters. They had to avoid hurting or killing protesters, but they also had to prevent them from entering the building and doing any damage.
So, in a brainstorming session, one analyst, a guy who grew up on a farm in Nebraska, proposed using bulldozers. Although his immediate superiors dismissed it, the Agency had a policy at the time that ideas, no matter how bizarre, had to be floated up through three units before being dismissed.
After the assault of a Pakistani trained by the CIA in Afghanistan who returned to spray his former colleagues with AK-47 fire at the entrance, formerly unorthodox ideas found a more ready audience at the Agency.
Fortunately, this idea flew with two and it was put in place. Oncoming cars with hostile intentions would be intercepted on the George Washington Memorial Parkway long before they reached Langley.
In the case of Adbullah’s Jihadi’s, once they were intercepted they were taken to the scenic cliffs that overlook the Potomac and Georgetown, hung over the sides and tickled and threatened until they revealed where their comrades were hiding. after this initial debriefing, they were loaded into armored vans and constantly interrogated in those vans and in Lorton Prison where they were temporarily housed.
It was actions like this that allowed agents like Ned Smith to do their job, which right now included grilling Tommy Wosniac for any glimmer of data that would help achieve the freeing of the President.
“Think, Wosniac. I’ve been in these hostage release situations dozens of times in Latin America. The whole reason we were so insistent about bringing you along is that there are subtle things about any terrorist leader that will often give you an advantage in these situations. Can you think of any personal peccadilloes of Abdullah’s that would help McKenna?”
Wosniac thought for a minute and said, “I don’t know. He likes little boys.”
“This isn’t a joke, Wosniac. I’ll remind you that the President’s life depends on your answers right now. So...get serious, real fast!”
“Smith, I’m telling you what I know about him. In their culture, because women are not available to them before marriage, they practice that kind of thing. My info on the guy is that he prefers men to women. He also likes expensive French wines. As a student he was known as a fierce agitator. He has a nervous habit of biting his nails...”
“Say that again!” Smith leaned closer as they passed by the George Washington University metro stop.
“What? Oh...the guy bites his nails. He’s sought medical attention for it it’s so bad.”
“Smith got excited with that news. “Make sure you tell McKenna that. First, he’s a sniper and he knows the opportunity your little factoid presents.”
Wosniac smirked. “Smith, the guy bits his nails. Lots of people bite their nails. What’s the big?”
“Think about it, Wosniac.” Smith replied. “If he has to bite his nails he has to remove his hands from his weapon in order to do so. That split second to a guy like McKenna is all the opening he need to plant a bullet in Abdullah’s head. You make sure you tell McKenna about the nail biting and he’ll know what to do with the information.”
“He’ll also need to know Abdullah’s height, weight, build, eye color...everything. He must be absolutely certain who he is shooting. Here is a file we have with pictures, critical data...everything. You read it and then give it to McKenna. He’ll only have a minute or so to inhale this information so your his encyclopedia on Abdullah if he needs to know anything else. I don’t give a rat’s ass...”
Suddenly the train was awash in small arms fire. They were approaching Metro Center in hopes of connecting with Mckenna’s group when a band of Iranian and Syrian Jihadi’s who just yesterday drove cabs in the city. They opened up with small arms fire on what they quickly judged to be American military or security personnel if they were willing to risk riding the metro that day.
Ned Smith signaled his men. In unison, they laid down a curtain of fire into the oncoming fire in a concentrated burst of .50 caliber and less of weapons. Within thirty seconds twenty-two Jihadi’s and three Americans lay dead.
As soon as the battle ended, Smith and several others led Wosniac out the door and down a tunnel. The fighting had attracted a number of Special Ops and Marines. After confirming who they were, Smith stated: “This is it for me, Wosniac. I have to get back to coordinate White House attack units.
I know that complex fairly well so they want me to help coordinate the retake. Do me a favor and help McKenna any way you can. He has a hell of a job to do right now. Really, the success of everything else depends on his succeeding. Give him what he needs. Maybe we can toss one down when this is all done.”
That said, Smith quickly boarded a Metro car that had just pulled up. As quickly, Wosniac found himself surrounded by dozens of young Special Ops and Marines.
They escorted him past the dead Jihadi’s into a tunnel that smelled of gunpowder and death. He looked ahead and prayed quietly that Sister Anne was still praying for his eternal soul.