Eye Of The Owl

By Dan Allex

The "Eye Of The Owl," detective agency offers their consulting skills to help fortify the security of a Minnesota nuclear power plant.
After one failed attempt by terrorists authorities are led to information about an even more devastating plot that they try desperately to
prevent.
This story is fiction, but it addresses the vulnerability of our disposal of nuclear waste and especially plants that use ponds for storage.
The terrorists have active cells in Minneapolis along with financial backing, explosives, and guns. Their two staged plan is well thought-out and it appears that the Fourth of July will be one that will never be forgotten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Allex
• Release date: Nov 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311154477

Dan Allex

Dan Allex (Dan Kubicek) was born in Austin, Minnesota. I am retired and enjoy exploring the mountains of Colorado after moving here 5 years ago. My hobbies are golf, fly fishing, pheasant hunting, skiing and reading.My wife and I had lived in Las Vegas, Nv. for twenty-five years, and recently relocated to Denver to be closer to our son and his family.I enjoy telling a story, and I hope people get some enjoyment from my books. Visit danallex-com1.webs.com/ for more information about the upcoming mysteries and the author.Books in print are available now at danallex-com1.webs.com where you can order direct for less.Take a look at Chisago Creek, my latest book. It is a Minnesota mystery that is a page-turner. If you visit to Austin, stop in and browse at Sweet Reads, my favorite bookstore.

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Eye Of The Owl

Dan Allex

Copyright 2013 by Dan Kubicek

Published by Dan Allex mysteries

Second Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This is a work of fiction, and all names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

"All good things arrive unto them

that wait-and don’t die in the meantime."

Mark Twain

Prologue

At first light the day appeared to be no different than any other. The loon that glided across the bay left a v-shaped wake that barely disturbed the glassy surface. The dock on German Lake was a window to a world of outdoor experiences that only those that took the time to sit in silence were allowed to enjoy. No cell phone, no i-pad, no laptop. The only modern conveniences Dave Johnson had were a thermo-insulated coffee mug and dark roasted Caribou morning blend, neither of which competed with the sorrowful sound of the crying loon.

To say he missed the lake would be an understatement. He hadn’t thought about it until now, as the sun was rising over his left shoulder and slowly transforming the gray beginning of the morning to colors alive with sparkling accents. Even the loon that was earlier bathed in shadows now took on vibrant black and white contrasts with a shimmering green luster to it’s jet black head. Mornings are the best everywhere, but Dave was comparing this to the ones he had experienced in Las Vegas. There was no comparison.

The day’s beginnings offered no hint of what was to follow. It would be a day that would bring together friends and family and test their resolve. The quiet German Lake community was in for an unusual series of events that could shake it’s very foundation.

Chapter 1

Security at the Mankato construction site wasn’t a priority of it’s owner Bill Hastings. He had started a year ago to lock up anything that contained copper because of the increasing value of the metal. His construction company occasionally had a need for blasting-usually when removing roots of trees, or loosening huge boulders that needed a budge. Dynamite was a necessity, and Bill had kept it locked up from day one. His idea of security was a master padlock from Farm and Fleet, and for ninety-nine percent of the criminals in the area that was enough of a deterrent. This lake community wasn’t a breeding ground for hardened criminals. Most break-ins were done by unruly or drunken teenagers, and involved a liquor store or convenient shop.

Bill Hastings hadn’t even noticed that the case of dynamite was missing until he unlocked the shed and turned on the light that morning.

The lock had never been tampered with and as he looked around the shed, Bill saw the outline of a large hole in the ceiling. The hatch had been neatly replaced after the robbery, which could have happened weeks ago. When he needed more explosives, Bill had priced the dynamite from several of his suppliers and all of them had one thing in common. They preferred to sell a full case rather than break one. Over the previous twenty years he had only used one case and he was sure that he would be retired before he saw the bottom of the new box. When he took the lid off the wooden crate, he stood in horror as he stared at an empty dynamite container.

* * * *

Ahad Al Hamwi,was of Syrian descent and was no stranger to the Mankato Lakes area. His family was wealthy and as a teenager he spent almost two years in the Midwest as a foreign exchange student. He was nicknamed Al and enjoyed his time in Southern Minnesota. Al had always felt he was far superior to the general population in both Minnesota and his country of Syria. It wasn’t until he started associating with radical students in college at Yarmouk University, in Damascus, that his inherent pride was twisted and molded into the demented terrorist he had become.

He was chosen for this mission because of the time he had spent in Minnesota. He was familiar with the people and the geography, which gave him a tremendous advantage over his counterparts. The terrorist’s plan was to strike a blow deep into the heartland of America on a day they celebrated their freedom. This 4th of July would instill fear deep into their very core. Only Al and the leader of the group knew the exact time and locations of the planned explosions. Several people were involved in the modular construction of the bomb components that were shipped from overseas to a rented mailbox in downtown Mankato. The box was in Al’s name, and included with the components was a step by step construction guide that he could follow when assembling and making the bombs operational. While he was an exchange student he had worked part time for Bill Hastings at his construction company and that was when he learned about the location of the dynamite.

Al had an apartment close to the college in Mankato that he shared with his girlfriend Angie. She was of Libyan descent, and they had met at college in Damascus where they both were involved with a radical group that yearned to make a name for itself. It was there that this plan developed. As they put together the components for the first of two bombs, they talked about those earlier days. Fear is what they hoped to bring to America-something that people in their countries lived with every day. Al had talked endlessly about how naive and complacent Americans were-about how they carried on their lives not ever knowing the suffering of others. It was time that changed, and even though it may be a small gesture, the young terrorists had meticulously planned the attacks to maximize the effect of the blasts.

Chapter 2

Dave Johnson heard the dock creak and felt it sway as his old neighbor came walking to the end to join him. Both of them were early risers and had spent many mornings sharing a pot of coffee, the rising sun, and each other’s company. Dave have retired from his Lake County Sheriff’s job, sold his place on German Lake, and relocated to Las Vegas, Nevada, so he and his wife, Jan, could be closer to their son and grandkids. They were visiting Willard Olson at his lake home that was only one house away from their former cottage.

It had been almost two years already since they had moved away and this visit was for business and pleasure. They came to celebrate the 4th of July with Willard and also see what his feelings were about joining Dave and their friend, recently retired FBI agent, Jim Roberts, in a security and investigation company they were in the process of starting. This was an idea they had talked about after all three of them were working on a murder and bank robbery investigation in the lake area a few years ago. It was put on the back burner until agent Roberts retired recently and brought the idea back into the forefront. Jim and his wife had a retirement condo in Las Vegas now and Willard visited the Johnsons there often. It seemed like the natural location to start the detective agency because Nevada had the most user friendly regulations on new business startups. Jim always did like organizing and planning, so he put together a presentation for Will and Dave about his feelings on how, where, and what their business would involve.

Jim and his wife Betty would be flying into Minneapolis from Las Vegas later on in the morning, and Dave and Jan would pick them up. They planned on having a great holiday with Willard hosting most of the eating and refreshments at his place. The Johnsons were staying with Willard and the Roberts had a cabin across the lake at the Beaver Dam Resort.

Willard had made the arrangements after some haggling with George, the resort owner. According to George all his six cabins were rented for the holiday week, but he let it slip that one of the renters was a relative of his.

After some negotiations and a hefty deposit, Willard had secured the cabin and George had grudgingly admitted that his relatives could stay at his house, even thought he hated to think of it. He finally relented when he saw the cash Willard produced, because he knew he’d probably not be able to get any money out of his relatives no matter where they stayed.

The cabins were clean and modest. George boasted about the major improvements he had made over the years in the accommodations, and to him that was the running water and indoor plumbing-not exactly five star.

Dave and Willard finished off their coffee as Jan was coming down the dock with a carafe and a smile.

You old farts need some more coffee?

Dave, replied, You bet. It’s the service with a smile we really need.

Yah, yah. Pass your cups over.

They scooted over and made room for Jan on the dock bench, and all three of them did some reminiscing as they fueled up for the day ahead. When the carafe was empty they knew it was time to think about their trip to the airport. Will lucked out because he had to stay and work on the lunch preparations, so he didn’t have to make the airport run. Dave hated driving there. It wasn’t a long trip, but it was the dread of the latest detours and construction around the area that he wasn’t looking forward to. It was good they couldn’t meet anyone at the gates anymore-just pick them up curbside with no trip through the shops on diversity row.

Jan knew Dave’s feelings and said, Come on Davey, boy. I know you wouldn’t want to miss a trip to the airport, now would you?

She always had a way of reading exactly what was on his mind. How did she do that?

The flight from Salt Lake went well, and the Roberts were looking forward to their reunion with the Johnsons and Willard. Now six months into his retirement, Jim was starting to really enjoy the control he had over his time. It had to be the single greatest pleasure of retirement-not having to do the things you didn’t want to do, and being able to spend time on all the things that you dreamed about doing while you were working.

Betty was glad he had started the detective agency project because although it was nice to have Jim home more, she also had her routine and friends that she had developed over the years. Jim hadn’t had much time for hobbies while he was working for the FBI and this was one of the fears that Betty had when she realized that all her husband’s talk about quitting finally turned to action. She was afraid he would have too much spare time and might drive her nuts. Jim’s first months were spent working on retirement paperwork, medicare, insurance planning, and 401k transfers. He attacked each one and then moved on to the detective agency planning. It started out simple and so far he had maintained that simplicity. What he wanted was an agency that had solid relationships with federal, state and local authorities along with good exposure in the Las Vegas area. With all the empty office buildings in Henderson alone, it wouldn’t be hard to find a low cost office space. He considered running the business out of his home until things started rolling and they built up a client base, but Betty encouraged him to get out of the house.

Without involving his prospective partners, Jim had signed a one year lease on a small but functional office space on Horizon Ridge, East of Eastern Avenue. He had to come up with a business name for the lease, so with Betty’s help the investigation and detective agency was named, Eye of the Owl. Betty loved owls and they had several pictures and statues in their condo of the wise bird, so the choice seemed appropriate. They had taken pictures of the location both inside and out. Jim was like a kid with a new toy and couldn’t wait to talk to his friends about it.

After picking up their bags, it wasn’t long before Jim and Betty were walking down the long row of airport shops that were all staffed with clerks that made them feel like they may have landed in a foreign country. Because of all the traveling Jim did for the FBI, he was at home in most airports. He never could understand why anyone would pay thirty per cent more and buy anything at one of these shops, plus tolerate what was in most cases, rude service. Now he only flew when he wanted to, but air travel wasn’t what it used to be.

At the same time Ahad Ali Hamwi was taking pleasure in his thoughts as he and Angie assembled their first explosive device according to the diagram that was included with the components he received in the mail. This would be the first of two bombs that would be detonated in the heartland on the 4th of July.

The Eye of the Owl detective agency would be operational sooner than anticipated, not by planning or schedule, but by sheer necessity.

* * * *

Willard was deep in thought as he put the finishing touches on his potato salad creation. By the time it was done it included all the main food groups because of the addition of chopped onion, one pound of Hormel thick sliced center cut bacon, hard boiled eggs, sour cream, a touch of cilantro, Red River Red potatoes, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, sugar, pepper, and garlic salt. He had to call in extra help for the menu planning-his good friend and current girlfriend, Helen Ostrander. She knew her way around the kitchen and was employed full time at the New Prague Bakery. It was there that Willard first met her when he wandered in for a Kolache and coffee. It was at that meeting that he fell in love with Helen and her bakery goods.

Helen had been a friend of Willard’s off and on for the last three years and participated in many a Saturday night hot tub party with him at the lake. These parties sometimes were for a dozen or only two. No matter how many, they were observed with fervor by Willard’s nosey neighbor, Mrs. Nelson. The parties were usually low keyed, but occasionally Crown Royal shots would add a new dimension to the party-going. The really out of hand nights started when a bottle of either Tequila or Jagermeister was introduced into the mix. On these rare nights Mrs. Nelson felt it her civic duty to report the partygoers to the Lake County Sheriff Ray Dunning, who took over the job when Dave Johnson retired.

Helen was in her late forties, divorced, and lived alone with her golden lab Snickers. She wasn’t considered to be a wild woman, but Mrs. Nelson did her best to spread rumors of Helen and Willard and their debauchery. The two would fuel Mrs. Nelson’s fire when they knew she was craning her neck out of her window to observe the festivities. According to Mrs.

Nelson’s reports as the partying ramped up Helen’s bikini top disappeared and Willard would make a point of mooning toward her window. Of course when the sheriff would call Willard, he would deny such happenings and remind him that Mrs. Nelson’s eyesight was failing. Will said he really doubted that she could distinguish the difference between Helen topless and her golden lab. The sheriff always reminded Willard that he had to say something to him for