Eric is shocked hearing that a two-megaton nuclear explosion, centered midway between Baltimore and Washington D.C., had gone off only an hour before. The resulting carnage exceeded anything he had ever. In a state of mild panic himself, he found the banks closed, supermarkets jammed, gasoline lines stretching for blocks, all ATMs out of cash, and a host of unforeseen consequences so far from the eastern seaboard. Tiffany calls, wanting to know if it was a Musket operation. The aftermath of the explosion portrayed in this segment, and particularly in the next, should be reflected upon by all Americans, particularly those in Washington.
In this segment, Colonel Simmons, who experienced the dilemma of the bombing of Ft. Benning along with Potts, makes his reappearance.
“He’s remained continuously unconscious since they brought him in.” said the nurse. “His wife, Kaye, has been with him constantly. She sleeps in the room. I see her leave only to visit the cafeteria.”
“I must speak with her,” Agent Tibbits replied, “to ask her a few questions. We’re at a loss for leads and it’s possible she may know something that would be helpful.”
“She’s with him now . . . Room 143R.”
Tibbits wanted desperately to debrief Colonel Simmons when and if he regained consciousness. As far as anyone knew, Simmons was the only living person who might be able to provide extensive information pertaining to the actual series of events leading up to 4/23 and the historic nuclear obliteration of the national Capitol on 7/29. The media, national and international, now referred to 9/11, 4/23, and 7/29 as the Triad of Terror.
The only thing certain was that Simmons had Afghans with him, and he had actually facilitated their entry onto Fort Benning. But America had occupied Afghanistan since the first operations to destroy Al Qaeda following 9/11 while Bush was president. The United States couldn’t attack an unidentified target hidden somewhere within a country it occupied, that was an ally if in name only, and yet who’s involvement couldn’t be denied; yet the Joker in the deck was that the plutonium radiation signature was definitely that of Israel, America’s most prozaic and faithful ally. Clearly, something horrible was amiss and the country was desperate for answers. Afghanistan, whose president proclaimed it had to have been stolen and smuggled from Israel, perhaps with the collaboration of disenchanted Israeli scientists, was outraged that Afghanistan had been accused of complicity in 7/29. Members of Al Queda hiding in the mountain crannies and caves seemed incapable of such an attack. Too much complex preparation had been involved.
The administration had been checkmated. There was no one to attack, the ultimate humiliation for the most powerful nation on earth. Tibbits knew that as Simmons had taught others intelligence techniques, he would have noted everything significant surrounding his near-death experience if he recovered consciousness.
After first chatting with the MP’s and Marine guards stationed outside the door of 143R, he stepped inside Simmons’ room. Under president McKay’s direct orders, the Army was taking no chance of someone eliminating the Colonel. He was the only present hope for discovering who was behind the horrific events of the last few months. He found Kaye reading to her husband.
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