Scorpion Intrusion

By T. MIlton Mayer

Veteran CIA man, Winston Hamilton III, FBI Special Agent, John Crawford, and Jacob Savich, a troubled surgeon from Cincinnati, must push their personal differences aside while combining their talents to become the country's only chance at avoiding disaster. Their first challenge is to identify the elusive enemy before they can stop him. The trai

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Mayer
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736188156

Book preview

1.png

Scorpion Intrusion

"From the beginning men used

God to justify the unjustifiable"

Salman Rushdie

The Satanic Verses

Scorpion Intrusion

a novel

A picture containing shape Description automatically generated

Simon Publisng LLC

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are the result of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright © T. Milton Mayer

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the expressed written permission of the author.

Published by Simon Publishing LLC, Naples, FL ®

Simon Publishing LLC is a registered trademark.

ISBN: 978-1-7361881-4-9 Trade Paperback

ISBN: 978-1-7361881-5-6 Ebook

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021910395

Cover design by Kevin T. Kelly

Edited by Joanne Simon Tailele and Linda Walker

Printed by Ingram Spark in the United States of America

Second Edition 2021

First Edition 2015

1 7 8 3 2 4 7 8 5 4 4 0

For my wife Lisa,

whose patience and

understanding allowed me

to pursue my passion.

One

Norwegian Technologies Corp.

Oslo, Norway

Sven Jorgensen exited the rental SUV and pulled his coat tightly across his chest. When finished, he would call the company and report the vehicle as having been stolen. Other than a few cars belonging to security personnel, the parking lot was empty. Sven knew from his twenty-five years of working for the company that the research facility would be deserted except for the three-night guards. They would all be sharing coffee in the break room for another half hour before they resumed their rounds. That gave him ample time to complete his task, but he had to hurry.

It was the middle of a December night in Oslo. The ice crunched beneath his feet and the cold air burned his nostrils. The wind cut against his face like a thousand razor blades. This is the last day I’m going to have to put up with this damn cold, he muttered to himself as he zipped up his jacket and walked across the dark parking lot. He covered the thirty feet from his car to the side door of the building in seconds.

Sweat beaded up along his upper lip. His hands shook uncontrollably, but not from the cold. He was new at this kind of thing. After a few painful seconds of trying, he successfully inserted his security badge into the key slot and entered his personal ID code into the number pad. The electric lock disengaged, and the door opened. There would be no turning back now. He could offer no reasonable explanation for his presence in this high security research building at three in the morning. Yes, he was taking a chance, but the eight million Norwegian Krona fee made it more than worth the risk. It was the equivalent of over one million U.S. dollars, and he had already received a fourth of the amount in advance.

Sven climbed the metal stairs to the third floor and made his way down the hall toward his laboratory, trying to avoid the security cameras as he went. Even though he was probably being recorded, it wouldn’t make much difference. They wouldn’t discover what had happened until Monday morning. Their senior research physicist was a thief, but by then he would be far away from this godforsaken, freezing country.

As expected, the lab was deserted but he could feel the anxiety creeping up his spine anyway. This was dangerous business. After entering his palm print on the scanner, he again entered his personal ID code, and the electronic lock opened with the same audible click he had heard a thousand times before. The room was pitch-black. Sven turned on his high intensity flashlight and scanned the space. The small beam of light reflected off dozens of pieces of expensive high-tech equipment. In the far corner sat the four-by-five-foot metallic device that he himself had developed several years ago. It was his brainchild, a fully functional electromagnetic pulse generator. The prototype had the potential to halt cars, watercraft, and planes by shutting down all electrical power functions within its range. The EMP generator had been designed for the purpose of thwarting attacks by suicide car bombers in the middle east. In exchange for his creation, he received a paltry annual salary of seventy thousand U.S. dollars. Meanwhile, the company stood to make billions from their contracts with NATO, the United States, and Israel. This morning he planned to take his rightful share.

On a workbench, just to the left of the big device sat a black portable version he had been testing for the past month. It weighed only thirty pounds, in stark contrast to the one-thousand-pound weight of the original. The smaller model didn’t have the same range, but it was still exceedingly effective, and it consistently surpassed all his expectations. He inserted a fresh battery pack and took a second one for backup. With a little difficulty, he carried the machine into the hall, down the steps, and out the same side door he had entered just three minutes earlier.

His heart pounded like a pile driver as he rushed back to his car. Careful now Sven. Don’t panic. He stashed the device next to his suitcase in the SUV’s cargo area and covered everything with a blanket. After closing the hatch, he got behind the wheel and drove away, checking his rear-view mirror, fully expecting to see flashing lights pursuing him. All remained clear, but he had to hurry. He still had a lot of ground to cover over the next eight hours. In a few days he would be hiding in a safe village, on a warm sunny beach, thousands of miles away.

After exiting the parking lot, Sven headed east toward the Swedish border. Then he would continue seven hours to the Arlanda Airport in Stockholm where a private jet would be waiting. By noon on Sunday, he would be in the air and on his way to a comfortable retirement.

That retirement would be short-lived, however. He would never recover the balance of his eight million Krona. He was a liability, and his secret employer didn’t like liabilities. Sven would be dead within the week.

Four thousand miles away in Marietta, Georgia, an employee at the Nordstone-Thorn Corporation snuck into one of the company’s large assembly warehouses. He pushed a dolly with three empty gas cans and headed toward a one-thousand-gallon storage tank filled with black iron-ball paint.

He filled each of the three containers to capacity and wheeled them back to his truck. He earned ten thousand dollars for each five-gallon can of the paint, thirty-thousand dollars in all. It was money that he would never have the opportunity to spend. He had also become a liability.

Two

Stanford University

Stanford, California

Nineteen-year-old William Donaldson sat in front of his laptop for what he knew would be the last time. The paragraph was almost complete. It was the final summation of his manifesto.

By all appearances he was an average young man, average height, average weight, and average looks. In short, he was essentially invisible like almost every other student on the sprawling Stanford University campus. His mind, on the other hand, was exceptional to the point of being tragic. He and his two sisters had been raised in a typical lower middle-class home just outside of Bakersfield, California. His father worked two jobs while his mother served lunch in the local high school cafeteria in order to provide a better life for their children. The parents had tried to protect their children from the negative influences of the modern outside world by instilling in them a solid work ethic based upon a love of God and country. As the youngest of the three children, William received the most attention. He had the greatest God-given intellectual gifts. He walked sooner and learned to talk much earlier than other children. By the age of three he was already reading. His parents had him tested and discovered he had an IQ in excess of 179. Not surprisingly, he excelled in grade school and high school. Unfortunately, as is often the case in the adolescent culture, that academic success came at the price of social ostracism. He was a loner.

William had undergone an extraordinary metamorphosis over his first year at Stanford. His parents were excited about his acceptance into the university with a full academic scholarship. Their son would be the first in the family, after three generations, to graduate from college, and from a prestigious university at that. They were proud, but they didn’t actually know or fully understand their son. Stanford was their dream, not his. He grew tired of their constant prodding to perform well in school, not that it was at all difficult for him. He had always been the most accomplished student in any class in which he enrolled. Having been classified as a genius, he was driven by the personal expectations of a genius mind.

His parents wanted him to become a doctor, but what was the purpose in that? Money? Surely there was more to life than just accumulating wealth. Yes, he excelled in a highly respected pre-med program and acceptance into any medical school was a given. Again, that was his parents’ dream. It wasn’t William’s dream. He never aspired to simply hand out pills for weight loss and high blood pressure to overly indulgent, pampered Americans. He didn’t envision himself holding the hands of emotionally neglected premenopausal women, reassuring them that everything would be fine, all the while pumping them full of antidepressants. He was a genius and should be destined for an appropriate level of greatness, not something as mundane as pushing pills.

He felt emotionally adrift, lacking any great purpose in his life. He never had friends, mostly because he abhorred those around him and could not tolerate their shallow ignorance. He remained essentially alone except for a few loose acquaintances and his family. There was no one to help answer the questions that the voices of doubt inside him posed.

Finally, the purpose of his life began to unfold for him when he found a place that provided the answers; a website that clarified the ambiguities that had confused him for so long. It was all laid out in precise language. His life’s destiny became crystal clear. Had it not been for the accidental discovery of the site, Clarity of Life Through Modern Islam, he would have still been wandering about aimlessly. But now, with the guidance of Allah, his future was mapped out and his legacy would be written. The voices of doubt would be forever quieted.

Several months after engaging in chat room discussions and posting comments on the website, he was contacted. It occurred on a warm sunny afternoon while he sat at an outdoor table at a Starbucks just off campus. While studying the Quran, a raven-haired, dark-complected coed approached his table. She extended her hand, Hello William, may I join you? My name is Adara.

How does she know my name? He accepted her handshake. Uh, sure, he replied. She was one of the most beautiful women William had ever seen. Her dark eyes and her captivating smile were intoxicating. No girl had ever sought out his company before, especially one as beautiful as her. In fact, no one at all had ever sought his company before. He had never been in this type of situation and was uncertain as to what he should say next. Adara…that’s an unusual name. Uh, that is, uh, it’s a very pretty name.

She giggled. Thank you. In my country it means virgin.

William’s mind raced at the reference to something so sexual. A small jolt of adolescent testosterone flushed his face. His brain locked up and he couldn’t think of anything clever to say next. The intervening silence was awkward, but fortunately, she continued the conversation with some typically flirtatious college small talk.

She glanced around to be sure they weren’t attracting undue attention or being monitored. Her face turned more serious, and she leaned closer. I couldn’t help but notice your reading material, William.

He held up the book. Oh, the Quran? Yes, I’ve been reading it now for several months. It’s quite enlightening. His body relaxed now that the conversation had shifted to more familiar waters.

I would agree. It’s a very intriguing book, she said. I’ve read some of the ideas you posted on our website about it. I loved the insight reflected in your comments and I shared them with a few of my associates.

William sat up straight in his chair. You’re with Clarity of Life? You liked my posts?

Absolutely. My colleagues were so impressed by your grasp of the complex issues that face our people, they want to know if you would like to explore the world of Islam in more depth.

William, unable to take his eyes off of her replied, Yes, uh, I would very much like to do that. Especially if you show me.

The young woman reached across the table and took his pale hand in hers, her dark skin, soft and warm. Another tingle of testosterone rushed through his body. As he lost himself in her deep brown eyes, she said, "I want you to enroll in a special class next semester. It’s Professor Jazeer Farouk’s History of Middle Eastern Cultures." At this point, William would have done anything the girl suggested.

She went on to reassure him, I will become one of your classmates to help guide you on your journey. It will be necessary for us to spend a great deal of time studying together side-by-side. She gently squeezed his hand. More excitement, more localized now. I look forward to our journey together. The insinuation of some future intimacy hung in the air along with the scent of her perfume as the two continued to talk for over an hour.

During the course of the following semester, they spent almost every evening together, studying Farouk’s lecture notes, the Quran, and the world of Islam. He was infatuated by her level of intelligence and insight into the root causes of the world’s problems. Her scent was intoxicating, and he drifted into a world of sexual fantasy every time they met. William wanted to take their relationship to a more physical level, but she always deflected his advances in the name of the Quran. I would love to, William, but it’s too soon. We should wait. We don’t want to violate the laws of Allah.

Even after several months of being together almost continuously, intimacy never happened. Much to William’s disappointment, Adara eventually dropped Professor Farouk’s class. For hours every day, he would sit at the same Starbucks where they had first met, waiting for her to return. She never did. He searched for her across the campus, but it was all in vain. Then, on his Islamic Studies midterm exam, he noticed a hand-written note in the margin of his test paper. It gave him hope. The message said he was to meet Dr. Farouk in his office later that afternoon. Maybe she’ll be there. She wasn’t. Only Professor Farouk. William was crushed.

You were probably hoping that Adara would be joining us, said Farouk. She told me to let you know she is sorry about leaving you. Unfortunately, some urgent matters developed that required her immediate attention. But she left instructions that you and I are to work together on your continued instruction.

Where could she have gone? Why hadn’t she at least met him to explain? William wanted to ask the professor, but he remained silent.

The two men met alone several times each week. That’s when William’s true education began. Under the tutelage of the professor, he became deeply enmeshed in the Islamic culture. In time, he stopped attending his regular classes and he discontinued all contact with his family. They were infidels who worshipped the wrong god. Farouk explained how the American culture had been contaminated by the Zionists. An unholy alliance had developed between America and the State of Israel. As a result, all Muslims, especially the Palestinians, were being persecuted. He was shown how American society had become lost in a sea of hedonistic pleasure. The country was so morally bereft that the people lacked any sense of spiritual purpose. They were an affront to the word of Allah.

William totally embraced the tenets and traditions of Islam. Farouk reassured him that he was no longer alone but was now part of a worldwide brotherhood. William soon mastered the ideals of the Quran and committed himself to the Five Pillars of Islam. He was slowly seduced into the world of the jihadist philosophy. When the time was right, he was told that he had been one of only a very few individuals to have been selected for a special holy mission.

Allah has honored you, William, said Farouk. He has chosen you to be the tip of the spear that he will plunge into the heart of America. He further promised, You will be forever revered as a soldier of Allah and your name will be written in blood in the history books!

Finally, through the blessings of Allah and the tutelage of Professor Farouk, William believed his quest for greatness would be realized.

Preparations were made, and the outline of a plan was revealed to him as detailed instructions on how to proceed over the next two weeks ensued. The first thing he needed to do was take a short trip to Armand’s Tailor Shop, located three miles south of the university. William would not be able to see the others who accompanied him, but he would be followed and protected by his brothers at all times. They would ensure that he was not being stalked by the spies of the Great Satan. When he arrived at the tailor shop, there were no introductions. Explanations were not necessary. He was simply given a package that contained all he would need to complete his mission.

Finally, the time had come. Today, he would strike back at those who had turned their backs on him and sought to destroy Islam. His would be the opening salvo in Allah’s Holy Jihad and afterward he would join his brothers in paradise. By then, the entire world would recognize the name of William Donaldson and revere him for the level of greatness he had attained.

He finished the last paragraph of his manifesto on his struggles and the salvation offered by Islam. After printing his manuscript, he deleted all files from his laptop, and destroyed the hard drive. He left the papers in a neat pile, centered on top of his desk. He rolled out his prayer mat, faced toward Mecca and prostrated himself as he prayed to Allah, asking for His blessing and guidance. William performed the Adhan three times in a self-mesmerizing chant in Arabic and then in English:

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar

Ash-hadu an la ‘ilaha ‘ill-Allah,

Ash-hadu anna Muhammadar rasulu-Allah"

Allah is supreme! Allah is supreme!

I bear witness that there is no god but Allah;

I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah."

When finished, he pulled on a pair of khaki cargo shorts, and stepped into his sandals. Then, he donned his vest, and secured the triggering device in his pocket. The two hundred ball bearings made it a lot heavier than he had expected but the weight was manageable. Over the vest, he pulled on a red and white Stanford University sweatshirt. Looking in the mirror one last time, he checked himself to be certain everything was adequately concealed.

After leaving the dorm, he calmly walked across campus to the ten o’clock organic class in the Mudd Chemistry Building. Passing through the front door, he followed the hallway toward the large Braun Auditorium and took a seat in the middle of the three hundred other students attending class. He had been warned by Professor Farouk that there might be some apprehension, but in fact, he felt no fear and no palpitations. No beads of nervous perspiration formed on his upper lip. He felt only the calm acceptance of fulfillment. Five minutes after the organic chemistry professor began his discussion of ketone metabolism, William stood and yelled out, Allahu Akbar. He reached into his pocket and pressed the detonator. Then, oblivion.

Three thousand miles away, on the other side of the country, the hotelier sat in his Manhattan office, intently watching the CNN news reports about the horrific attack at Stanford University. Over a hundred students have been killed and dozens more were injured, the young woman reported. FBI officials state the attack appears to be the work of a self-radicalized lone-wolf. The suicide bomber has been identified as William Donaldson, a sophomore in the pre-med program. His family…

A subtle smile grew on the man’s face. So, it begins, he said softly to his empty office. You did well Professor Farouk. May your Allah bless you. After several minutes of reveling in similar reports on the other news channels, he checked his schedule and called out to his secretary, Marie, where is my pilot today?

Your jet was chartered by a private group for a trip to Las Vegas, sir. He’s scheduled to fly them back tomorrow, she replied.

Contact him and let him know that I want to visit my properties in Seattle, Chicago, Kansas City, and San Antonio early next week. He should have the plane ready to leave early Monday morning. Oh, and you should add Bloomington, Minnesota to the list.

We have two hotels there, sir. Do you want the one by the Mall of America?

Yes, and be sure to notify the managers that I will be coming. Clear my calendar through Thursday.

Yes sir. Will you be traveling alone? she asked.

Yes. Tell the pilot to cancel any further charters. I’ll need the plane a great deal for the remainder of the year. He picked up an untraceable cell phone and called the leaders of his sleeper-cells in each of the five cities.

THREE

Home of Jacob Savich

Park Hills, Kentucky

Jacob fell asleep on the couch shortly after returning to his home in Park Hills, Kentucky. He had been exhausted after a long weekend of training and he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. As a former All-American collegiate quarterback, he was in excellent shape, even at forty-three. Nevertheless, the program was still physically and mentally taxing.

He awoke suddenly and bolted straight up in a cold sweat. He had experienced the same dream countless times before, but it had been over a year since the last one, not since he started training for the team. In his dream, he was again an eleven-year-old boy growing up in the rough coal-mining town of Whitesburg, Kentucky. He and his younger sister, Lisa Marie were playing in the mountains that overlooked the family farm. The two of them heard yelling in the valley below and peeked through the underbrush just in time to witness the brutal murders of their father and older brother. They had been blown apart by shotgun blasts. The killers wore badges. It was a bloody and horrifying dream.

But it wasn’t just a dream, was it, Buddy boy, said the Entity.

Things had happened exactly that way and Jacob had relived the event a thousand times over the past thirty years. The killers were never prosecuted because their family controlled the county. Justice was denied by the system and that left only Jacob to avenge the murders on his own. It was a ferocious and merciless attack, the source of which was never uncovered. On that day, the Entity was spawned, conceived in the dark recesses of Jacob’s mind. That was the day the clawing in his soul had begun. The creature always demanded to be fed and sometimes that demand could not be ignored. Though it gave him an intoxicating sense of power, Jacob knew that if he didn’t keep it restrained, the Entity would totally consume him.

He stood up and went to the kitchen where he made a tall Sapphire and tonic with a lime wedge. Then, he walked out onto the back deck to get some fresh air. Despite it being a hot August evening, a cool breeze blew down the river valley.

He took a sip of his drink and leaned against the railing as he gazed out across the Ohio River toward the city of Cincinnati. Like the ancient city of Rome, it was built on seven hills. The city’s name was derived from General Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus who saved his beloved city of Rome from destruction by marauding invaders. In like manner, Jacob saw himself as the protector of the city he also loved.

He understood why the dream had returned. During the drive home from his training camp, he heard a disturbing news story about a pediatric dentist. The man was a serial child molester from the up-scale Highland Park neighborhood. The police knew there were other victims, but they only had enough evidence to prosecute the one case, the repeated rape of a nine-year-old patient over six months. The pedophile hired a thousand-dollar an hour defense attorney who twisted the story in a hundred different directions until the perpetrator appeared to be a victim. At trial, the man received a mere six-months in jail. The light sentence was purportedly handed down because of alleged abuses the molester himself had suffered as a child. It was a ludicrous claim, made worse when the judge ruled that his release would be contingent upon successful completion of a treatment program. Six months? Treatment program? A joke. Jacob had seen the same process unfold before. Justice was denied because of slick manipulations of the law.

Bullshit! he yelled at the trees down the hill, twenty feet below the deck. He’ll be back doing this shit again within a month. That’s what always happens. You can never cure people like him. It’s inevitable. How many more children must be victimized before something is done about him? At one time, Jacob was the one to do that something. He had done so dozens of times before, but not now—not for over a year.

He deserves to die, Buddy Boy, said the Entity. Just like the others you’ve punished, he preys upon the innocent. You should arrange to meet this fellow from Highland Park. Maybe give him a taste of good old fashioned Savich family justice.

Jacob reflected upon what he had already done in the name of that justice, plagued by the feelings of doubt and self-recrimination. It had been a long time since he last had the argument with himself. Am I any better than those I have eliminated? He took a mouthful of his drink, hoping the alcohol would help ease the pain in his soul. I’m a killer. Should I not be treated in the same fashion as them? His thoughts drifted to his 9mm Sig Sauer. How easy it would be to lay the cool metal against his temple. A simple squeeze of the trigger. Maybe it was the only thing that could calm the