Wake of the Warrior: Terrorism on the Coastal Waters of New England

By Michael H. Cunningham

On a sultry side street of Arzew, Algeria, Mubbaligh sits in his apartment. He is finalizing plans for a terrorist attack against America. Funded by a radical Salafist splinter group, he has waited years for this opportunity. He will let nothing stop him. Mubbaligh will use ships to conduct a coordinated terrorist attack on the shores of America. His contacts in the maritime field will facilitate his efforts. If he succeeds, thousands will die. On the opposite side of the Atlantic, in post 911 America, law enforcement officials suspect another attack is imminent. Port security is bolstered and Coast Guard patrols are increased. But, will their efforts be enough? Who will win the battle between these opposite forces? Only time will tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453503621

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Copyright © 2010 by Michael H. Cunningham.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.

—Winston Churchill, April 20, 1940,

speaking to the House of Commons about the

RAF pilots fighting a daily battle against the

German Luftwaffe’s attack on England

To two friends: J. J. W. and CWO Ollie, USMC.

Also, in memory of Little Jimmy, our grandson.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

List of Characters

The Beginning

Chapter 1

Arzew, Algeria

Spring 2002

As the sun began to rise above the horizon, a few residents of the seaport town of Arzew began to move about. Although the digital readout on Mubbaligh’s wristwatch told him it was close to 6:00 AM, he knew it was time to get out of bed. He had a lot on his mind and a busy day of meetings to attend. Reluctantly, he removed himself from the embrace of the young lady lying beside him and attempted to slide his muscular young body out from beneath the cool satin sheets. Nahid had other things on her mind besides meetings. She reached out and grabbed Mubbaligh’s sinewy arm and pulled him back beside her. They had made love throughout the night, but Nahid’s lust for sex was still not satiated. As soon as Mubbaligh responded to Nahid’s gentle tug and lay back down in bed, she was on top of him. Mubbaligh reacted as any man would and responded to Nahid’s pleas for sexual fulfillment. His thrusts met hers, and soon they were making violent love once again. Mubbaligh had been with many women in his thirty-two years, but none could compare with Nahid. She was in a class all her own. Appropriately named at childbirth, Nahid means one with full round breasts; Nahid often used her physical attributes to conquer the man she was after. Usually it was simply to fulfill her sexual needs, but Mubbaligh was different. His strong physique and even stronger mental talents proved to be irresistible to Nahid. She wanted him not only as a lover, but also as a full-time partner, and in her mind she knew she would do anything to make this happen. Mubbaligh, on the other hand, enjoyed the sexual delights Nahid bestowed upon him, but he was already married. Not to a woman, but to a cause. And it was going to take a much stronger woman than Nahid to sway him from this cause. Or would it?

The next time Mubbaligh looked at the display on his digital wristwatch, he gasped. The time was after 7:00 AM! How could he let this woman beside him control him so? Oh, he knew, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t let it happen again. This time he aggressively jumped out of bed and purposely ignored all of Nahid’s pleas for him to return to bed and into her warm and pleading embrace. After all, he had people (and the cause) waiting for him. Surely this was more important than the needs and desires of a woman he would soon forget as he had forgotten so many others in the past.

Mubbaligh opened the heavy old door of Nahid’s apartment and stepped into an alleyway that ran parallel to the main road in front of her building. The garbage-strewn alleyway stunk of piss, and he could see human bodies sleeping among the filth. When he entered the apartment the previous evening, this filth was not obvious to him. Too much alcohol and a burning desire for the woman accompanying him blocked out all sensory perception of his surroundings. This morning was a different story. His stomach was already weakened by all the alcohol he consumed last night, and this cesspool he was encountering in the back alley was proving too much for him. Mubbaligh’s head began to swirl, and he could feel his stomach growling. Suddenly he reached out his arm and sought support from the wall of a building adjoining Nahid’s. He began retching and threw up all over his fancy new Italian shoes and his slick black slacks. The smell of the contents of his vomit made him retch and puke even more. Mubbaligh knew he had to get out of this alley and into the fresh air. Maybe then he might feel a little better. He staggered the fifty yards or so and eventually reached the side street that ran perpendicular to the alley. Thankfully, there was a brisk breeze blowing off the water and a warm sunshine basking the air. Immediately Mubbaligh began to feel better. Walking down the street, he reflected upon and couldn’t believe what had just transpired in the last hour of his life. He was in the arms of a beautifully smelling, gorgeously built, sex-starved woman one moment, and the next he was hunched over in some smelly, dank alley puking his guts out. He had to get better control of his life, he decided, and promised himself he would make a conscious effort to do this in the future.

Walking briskly along the narrow streets of Arzew brought Mubbaligh back to life. The fresh air entering his lungs and the warm rays of the sun basking on his face convinced him he might live to see another day. His destination was over a mile away and he was already late. He had to pick up the pace because he didn’t want his friends to think he wasn’t coming. This meeting was far too important for something stupid like that to happen. After twenty minutes, he arrived at his destination. It was a modern-designed new building comprised mostly of glass and sparkling aluminum. As he entered the foyer, he felt as if everybody was staring at him. And why shouldn’t they be? He was a total wreck. Hair disheveled, unshaven, puke all over his shoes and pants, and he stunk. Perspiration stains were obvious under both arms, and his breath was atrocious. He stepped into the elevator, and everybody unashamedly looked at him. Some even stepped out of the elevator. Mubbaligh pressed the button for his floor and stared straight ahead. He really didn’t give a rat’s ass what any of these people thought of him. All he had on his mind was to get to that meeting as soon as he could. Eventually the elevator reached his floor, and he quickly exited the elevator, darting his eyes from side to side looking for room 716. Finally, after walking more than halfway down the hall, he spied the numbers 716 on a solidly built white metal door. He stopped in front of the door, looked down at his sloppy appearance, and ran his hands over his pants and shirt. This was a somewhat feeble attempt to wipe away the sins of his recent past. He might as well not bother because it was going to take a hot shower and some clean pressed clothes to make him look presentable. He raised his right arm alongside his head and knocked solidly three times on the door. Silence met his knocks. Once again he raised his right arm, knocking decisively three more times. This time his banging was met with a response. Someone behind that door bearing the numbers 716 roughly answered Mubbaligh’s pleas of admittance by curtly saying, Come in. Mubbaligh took a deep breath and grabbed the handle to the door. As he turned the handle, he gently pushed the door inward.

Mubbaligh was met by the foul odor of stale cigar smoke and human sweat. His stomach began to turn, and he was afraid he was going to start puking again. The room was dark, and Mubbaligh was unable to see beyond a few feet. Someone from the interior ordered him to shut the door, and when he did, Mubbaligh was completely in the dark. Suddenly the room was ablaze with light. Initially Mubbaligh was blinded; however, slowly he was able to make out his surroundings. The apartment was quite plush with thick wall-to-wall carpeting throughout. The furniture was rather sparse, but what he could see was elegant. At a table in the middle of what looked like the living room sat three gentlemen all dressed in suits. Mubbaligh was directed by a rather burly guy who was standing off to the side to take a seat at the table. As Mubbaligh complied with this request and started walking in the direction of the table, he was thrown against the wall by this burly gentleman and frisked rather brusquely. Mubbaligh didn’t dare protest. He gritted his teeth and subjected himself to this humiliating treatment. When the gentlemen searched Mubbaligh’s groin area, he grabbed Mubbaligh’s balls and squeezed as hard as he could with his big hairy mitt. Mubbaligh let out a howl and fell to his knees in excruciating pain. Just wanted you to know who is the boss, said the burly gentleman as he told Mubbaligh to get on his feet and take a seat at the table. The three gentlemen at the table were laughing so hard they were wiping tears from their face. I guess he’s clean, one of them said to the others.

Mubbaligh stumbled over to the table and dropped his listless body into one of the soft cushioned chairs. He was still in excruciating pain and could barely focus his thoughts on his surroundings. Slowly, he began to think he might recover. While he was sitting there contemplating his fate, an olive-skinned, black-haired woman with the most beautiful dark eyes approached him and asked if he would like something to drink. He couldn’t take his eyes off her sumptuous and inviting bosom. The tight-fitting dress she was wearing barely contained her breasts, and were they big. Even in Mubbaligh’s state of pain, he couldn’t help from being aroused by this woman. Fearing a beating by the burly guy who frisked him, Mubbaligh made a conscious effort to show complete indifference to this woman. He acknowledged her question by asking for a glass of water. Shortly she reappeared with a tall thin glass of sparkling ice water, and then she disappeared into another room. Mubbaligh quaffed the glass of water, bringing life back into him. He straightened up in his chair and slowly turned in the direction of the three gentlemen. They were staring at him with completely listless expressions. What the hell have I got myself into? he thought to himself.

Mubbaligh—the name means preacher, one who preaches and propagates Islam—was well-known in the Arzew community for being outspoken against the Western world and specifically the United States. He often organized rallies protesting American imperialism and espoused outright violence against America and her allies, but especially America. Even though he was quite outspoken and preached violence, Mubbaligh never came close to completing the act. His actions were but harmless words, and he never came close to even planning some kind of act of violence against America. He was a great organizer and leader, but a planner he was not. Not because he wasn’t brave enough, but because he didn’t have any kind of support system. All he and his supporters could do were to throw rocks at the Western embassies in Algiers. Not the most threatening act of violence in the modern-day world. All this was about to change with Mubbaligh’s meeting with these three mysterious gentlemen; at least that was Mubbaligh’s hope.

The meeting was set up by an anonymous middle man. This middle man knew Mubbaligh was frustrated and wanted to do harm to America, but he needed help. This middle man also knew that these three gentlemen sitting around the table could provide Mubbaligh with the help he needed. So he got all parties together to see if they could mutually help one another. So far, things weren’t working out at all. All that was accomplished so far was a good laugh for the three gentlemen, at Mubbaligh’s expense.

Finally, one of the three gentlemen at the table began to talk. He introduced himself as Aadil and introduced the other two gentlemen as Sabir and Mubid. Aadil was rather short, maybe five feet five inches and heavy, approximately 190-200 pounds. He was sweating profusely and was holding a thick dark cigar between his short, stubby fingers. After introductions, Aadil came right to the point with Mubbaligh. Aadil mentioned that he and his two partners heard from sources in Arzew that Mubbaligh was quite a competent agitator against the West, but all he was doing was talking and agitating. He asked Mubbaligh why he wasn’t taking any overt action against their enemy. Mubbaligh was both defensive and excited at the same time. Why haven’t I taken any action against the West? he said rather sarcastically. What do you expect me to do? I don’t have any money. All I have is my voice and my determination. While he was saying these words, he was excited deep down inside. Being a quick thinker, he realized Aadil wasn’t asking him this question making small talk. Aadil and his two partners were obviously interested in Mubbaligh’s activities and hopefully interested enough to support him financially. Therefore, he tempered his remarks and tried to be as respectful as possible. He really wanted to tell these three guys to go fuck themselves, but he didn’t think being a wise guy would further his cause.

This is when Mubid jumped into the conversation. Unlike Aadil, Mubid was quite tall, thin, and an immaculate dresser. He also was articulate when he spoke. Western educated, Mubbaligh thought, as he listened to Mubid’s remarks. Mubid asked Mubbaligh if he had the financial backing, what were his plans to maximize the damage to the West. Mubbaligh’s skin tingled with excitement. He was right, he thought, these guys are the moneymen. He told Mubid that he didn’t have any specific plans to present to the group, but if afforded some time, he would come up with a battle plan. Mubid grunted some unintelligible words and took a sip from his coffee cup.

This pause allowed Sabir to get into the action. Sabir was of average height and weight, olive-toned skin, with short curly dark hair. The only thing that distinguished him from any other Algerian was his pockmarked face. Obviously he suffered from severe acne as a child, Mubbaligh thought, as he stared into Sabir’s questioning eyes. Sabir began to question Mubbaligh in depth about his background and why he was so passionate in his hatred for the West. Sabir seemed unconvinced that Mubbaligh was for real. By his questions, tone of voice, and body language, Sabir indicated that he thought Mubbaligh was a phony. Yes, maybe he did hate the West, but his sentiments and feelings were not deeply grounded and were fleeting. Mubbaligh sensed this antagonism and realized he had to convince these guys he was for real, or else this golden opportunity to strike out against the West would disappear. Mubbaligh began a passionate presentation on why he felt like he did about the West. Being deeply religious, he felt the West was making a mockery of God by the way they acted. Drinking, smoking, and carousing were a direct insult to his religion, especially when Western businessmen came to the Arab world and committed these decadent acts. Mubbaligh had witnessed Westerners abusing and insulting Arab women on many occasions, and he was incensed with their behavior. (Paradoxically, being a religious man didn’t prevent Mubbaligh from carrying on with members of the opposite sex or from abusing alcohol regularly. However, these guys needn’t know this, Mubbaligh thought.) He feared that if the Arab world did not confront the Western world, their decadent ways would prevail, and Arab society, as they know it, would disappear. If Mubbaligh was winning these guys over and convincing them that he had a deep-seated hatred for America and the entire Western world, it would soon be determined, but his true reasons were being concealed.

Mubbaligh did hate America, but his reasons were not as altruistic as he stated. Over ten years ago, when he was twenty-one, Mubbaligh attempted to immigrate to America. He was tired of his mundane life in Algeria and, being an adventurous guy, sought a new life in a country with a more open society. Mubbaligh felt that his talents, creativity, and intelligence were being stifled living in Algeria. He had to leave and spread his wings. America was his destination of choice. So it was off to the American Embassy to begin the lengthy process of filling out all the paperwork that was necessary for anyone desiring to immigrate to America. Mubbaligh spent hour after hour filling out one form after another. Most of the questions were innocuous, but some were quite probing, especially the questions pertaining to the history of his family. Since Mubbaligh knew there were things in his family’s past that might be considered offensive by the Americans reviewing and investigating his application for immigration, he simply lied and deviated from the truth. In his mind, he felt he had no other choice. If he revealed the truth, even though it had nothing to do with him, his application would be rejected. Therefore, he had no other viable course of action. Well, obviously, Mubbaligh’s views and the views of the woman from the American Embassy reviewing his application differed.

Ms. Dunhill was the employee at the American Embassy assigned to review Mubbaligh’s application. An attractive petite forty-five-year-old woman, Ms. Dunhill had worked for the U.S. government ever since she graduated from Suffolk Law School in Boston, over twenty years ago. She spent time with Customs, Justice, and the last ten years with State. Her primary responsibility with State while working at the embassy in Algiers was to review all immigrant applications from Algerian citizens desiring to live in America. During this ten-year period, Ms. Dunhill had witnessed every scheme possible. People lied, fabricated their past, provided fraudulent documents, and presented witnesses who perjured themselves. Everything imaginable she had seen. Therefore, after only a cursory exam of Mubbaligh’s application, she knew something was wrong. And after probing deeper, she had cold, articulable facts that Mubbaligh had lied on his application. This fact alone was grounds for rejection of his application. Not only was his application rejected under United States law, but he could also never apply again because he lied under oath. It was over. His dreams of coming to America were shattered. There was no second chance. Mubbaligh was devastated. He pleaded with Ms. Dunhill. Yes, he did lie, but there were mitigating circumstances. He begged Ms. Dunhill for a reconsideration of his application, but she would not budge from her initial decision. After all, why should she? Mubbaligh committed a felony by lying, and that by itself was grounds for rejection, regardless of the merits of the claim.

Once he realized there was no hope of ever immigrating to America, Mubbaligh was consumed with hatred for the country he once hoped to adopt. He was spurned by America, and he would never forget it. In fact, he was so hurt that he promised himself that he would mete out revenge at the first opportune time. So Sabir was right. There were others reasons besides the ones proffered by Mubbaligh. However, he was too ashamed and embarrassed to reveal the truth. Besides, if he did, these gentlemen might deem his motives to be too shallow to justify their support. He saw no reason to tell more. He kept his secret to himself.

Mubid once again took control of the interview of Mubbaligh. He wanted to know from Mubbaligh what exactly were his plans that could cause as much carnage, bloodshed, and confusion to the much-hated Western world. Mubbaligh’s mind was racing. He knew this was a watershed moment, and he had to act decisively. He looked at the three suited gentlemen and began to speak. My plans are still in the formative stage, but I know what my goals are. I will commit acts that are so devastating that America and the entire Western world will never forget who we are. These acts will be symbolic and doable. We will commit them simultaneously, and they will jar America to her foundation. Maybe even knock her off her foundation. As Mubbaligh was speaking, he looked into the eyes of the gentlemen sitting at the table. He could see he had their attention, and this excited him to press on with his presentation. Since my expertise is in the maritime field, I plan on committing acts of terrorism in this area. I will sink ships causing great environmental damage and loss of life. What is even more important, the acts I contemplate committing will have a huge psychological impact on Americans. I want to sink passenger ships, oil tankers, ferry boats, container ships, and liquefied natural gas (LNG) bulk carriers. The economic loss I envision will topple America and bankrupt Wall Street. The World Trade Center, as magnificent an event that it was, will pale compared to what I plan to do. Mubbaligh was actually getting more and more excited as he talked. He could see his listeners were also. He felt as though he was enveloping them in his web of ideas. However, he didn’t want to go overboard with his presentation, afraid that he might make his audience think that he was more an idealist than a realist. He paused in his presentation and took a sip from his now-empty glass of water. Immediately, the mysterious woman reappeared from the back room and reached out for his glass. She asked him if he would like her to refill the glass with water. Mubbaligh immediately nodded yes and handed her the glass. As he did, he once again noticed how beautiful she was. She was wearing a tight satiny black dress that accentuated every curve in her body. The dress barely restrained her mostly exposed breasts, and her cleavage was so tempting to look at. When she returned with the water, he now detected how sweet she smelled. He knew she didn’t smell like this before—at least he hadn’t noticed—and he wondered if she put on some kind of perfume just for him. As she gently put the glass of water down on the table in front of him, she ever so gently allowed her thigh to brush up against him. Now he was convinced. She wanted him as much as he wanted her; it was only a matter of time.

Mubid’s voice echoing in his right ear brought him back to reality. You have ten days. In ten days you will return to this room and present to us specific plans on how you intend to devastate America. If we are convinced that your plans are, as you say ‘symbolic and doable,’ we will give serious consideration in providing you with the necessary financial backing to make this happen. Mubbaligh’s heart was pounding. He was no longer thinking of the mystery woman’s breasts. Mubid’s words had his total attention. He was captivated by the prospects of fulfilling his long sought-after dreams. However, I must warn you, Mubid went on, we have other people presenting similar ideas. The best man, or I should say the best person, will receive our undivided attention and, most importantly, our considerably large financial support. Therefore, I encourage you to go and develop your plans to the maximum. You will be given one chance and only one chance. That is all.

Mubbaligh began to spurt out his thanks when Sabir raised his left arm straight out, palm outward. Ten days. No more. Nothing else need be said. Good-bye. With this abrupt end to the interview—Mubbaligh always considered it more of an inquisition than an interview—he stood up and turned to go. The same gentleman that escorted him in escorted him out. This time it was a bit less painful. Mubbaligh entered the hallway and proceeded to the elevator. So many thoughts were bouncing around in his head. He looked at his watch and couldn’t believe the time; it was after noon. He was in room 716 for over four hours! He thought he was there for at the most an hour. Goes to show you how an alcohol clouded brain and a bit of high pressure tactics can influence your brain’s timing. Mubbaligh wanted to get back to his apartment, take a shower, get into some clean clothes, and have a bite to eat. Then he would begin the planning stage for his adventure. As he was walking briskly along the sidewalk, he realized how tired and famished he was. Last night’s adventures and this morning’s interview took a lot out of him. The thought of Nahid flashed through his mind. Should he swing by her place just to say hello. The thought of her began to excite him. What better elixir for a hangover than lying in bed with her, he thought. Then he became serious. Too much was at stake. If he wanted to pull this thing off, he would have to devote his undivided attention to this planning stage. He couldn’t let anything distract him from his mission. Not even Nahid.

Chapter 2

Boston, Massachusetts

Spring 2002

The Coast Guard Base in Boston is located at the foot of Hanover Street in Boston’s North End. It was a rather cold morning for so late in spring, and there was a fine mist in the air. As Steve and Mike parked their vehicle in the Coast Guard parking lot, they noticed people walking toward the main conference room on the ground floor of building number 231. Some were in uniform, but most were in business attire. They noticed and recognized many of them. The special agent in charge of the local FBI office was there, accompanied by several local FBI agents. The Boston fire commissioner could be seen walking rather slowly toward the door as he chatted with a couple of uniformed Coast Guard officers. Numerous members of the Boston Police Department were present to include at least a couple of deputy superintendents. Members of surrounding police and fire departments were also clearly recognized as they all hustled toward the door leading to the conference room. Mike wondered if they were hustling to get out of the cold, bleak weather, or were they excited to attend another one of the countless meetings that were being held since the tragedy in New York the previous fall. Steve and Mike fell in step with a couple of Massport officials and began talking about some local gossip floating around the docks. Massport, a quasi state agency, was responsible for all the commercial activity in the Port of Boston and at Logan International Airport. All the ships that come into the port and all the planes that land at Logan use facilities owned by Massport. To control all this commercial activity is a daunting task, but Massport has a huge cadre of professionals to address the many and varied issues that invariably arise during the course of a normal business day. While walking with this group to the meeting, Mike heard someone call his name. He turned and recognized Lieutenant Hawthorne, the skipper of the Coast Guard cutter Baker Island, a 110 foot patrol boat stationed out of Gloucester, Massachusetts. The lieutenant shook Mike’s hand, and introductions were made all around. What brings you to sunny Boston? Mike sarcastically asked Lieutenant Hawthorne. His reply was as sarcastic as Mike’s question. I have been asked by my superiors to attend some kind of conference. Most of the attendees are civilians, and my captain wants me there so I can enlighten them on how things really work on the seaport. They both started to laugh as they continued their walk toward the door leading to the conference room. Seriously, the lieutenant said, this isn’t any regular, bullshit meeting. Things are heating up, and the command wants to address the issues before they blow up in their face. Sorry, bad use of words. You know, Mike, all these guys are looking for is to pin on a star. These meetings cover their asses just in case the shit does hit the fan. Mike shook his head as he opened the glass and aluminum door to building number 231. He waved everyone in and asked the lieutenant if he was buying coffee as he walked by. The lieutenant reluctantly said he would.

Today’s meeting was called by the Coast Guard because the captain of the port, Captain Brian Preble, wanted to discuss the next scheduled arrival of an LNG (liquefied natural gas) ship, due sometime Friday morning. The Coast Guard is the primary law enforcement agency regarding maritime matters. Since the transit of the LNGs through Boston Harbor was a constant source of concern for just about everyone who lived or worked anywhere near the harbor, the Coast Guard felt they had best address the issue and attempt to allay the fears that people had. And these fears were numerous. Depending on what scientific study you wanted to believe, an incident involving the LNG could have catastrophic results. Although the studies differed, they all agreed that if an LNG had an accident and the cargo of liquefied natural gas leaked out of the ship’s cargo tanks and was exposed to the ambient air, nothing good could come out of this. Where the studies disagreed was to what extent the danger of a leak would be. Some studies thought a leak would cause a fire on board the ship and the surrounding waters. They felt that with the ship’s firefighting equipment and the support of the surrounding towns’ fire departments, the threat could be minimized. Other studies were far less optimistic. One study predicted Armageddon if there was a major incident with an LNG. This study thought the escaping liquefied gas would vaporize once exposed to the outside air and would spread over the harbor until it reached a source of ignition. Once the gas met this source of ignition, there would be a violent explosion and resulting fires. Depending on how far the gas traveled would determine the area of involvement. However, this study also believed that the ship would become fully involved resulting in numerous explosions, furthering the spread of the fire. Depending on the location of the vessel when the incident occurred, the entire waterfront could be in serious danger. Thousands and even tens of thousands of lives could be in jeopardy. Single-family houses in Everett, the Mystic Tobin Bridge carrying hundreds of cars and trucks at any one time, dockside oil terminals storing millions of gallons of petroleum products, high-rise condominiums, and hundreds of businesses that lined the waterfront were all in danger. Additionally, Logan International Airport, one of the busiest airports in America, directly abutted the path of LNG traffic. Whatever scenario one decided to believe, an incident involving an LNG was foreboding. Consequently, Captain Preble decided to get everyone even remotely involved in the waterfront together to discuss how they could make the Boston Harbor transit of an LNG as safe as possible.

Everyone was standing around in the conference room chatting when a high-pitch squeal emanating from the speaker system grabbed their attention. They could see one of Captain Preble’s aides frantically adjusting the knobs on the front cover of the public address system. Eventually he found the right knob, and he silenced the ear-piercing sound, to the delight and applause of the entire room. Captain Preble stepped to the mike on the dais and politely asked everyone to take their seats. As soon as everyone was seated, Captain Preble introduced himself and explained the meeting’s agenda. This morning they were going to hear from speakers representing various federal, state, and local agencies. Once all these individuals had spoken, it should be about noontime. They were going to take an hour lunch break and reconvene to hear from representatives from the LNG industry. At the conclusion of their remarks, it would be open forum. Anyone with anything to say could speak. The captain explained that this meeting was the first of what he anticipated to be many on this critical issue. He wanted everyone to get their say in on the first day so all parties knew where each other was coming from. Sounded good to Mike as he sat back with a notepad on his lap and pen in hand, ready to take the obligatory notes.

The first three speakers were from the Coast Guard. They explained the schedule and itinerary of the LNG ships, the security zone that was to be maintained around the ship as she transited the harbor, and, perhaps most interesting, they talked extensively about all the scientific studies conducted regarding an accident involving an LNG. Once the Coast Guard was finished with their presentation, the FBI SAC (special agent in charge) explained to the audience the role the FBI had concerning the LNG. Since much of what he wanted to say was sensitive information and much of the audience was not cleared to receive that information, he respectfully explained that he would have to wait for a different forum to make his in-depth presentation. Lesson learned, Mike thought, make sure your audience is cleared for the material to be discussed. The next speakers were officials from the city of Boston. They were adamant about their displeasure to see any LNG arrivals in the Port of Boston. They thought the risk of an LNG accident far exceeded any benefit that her arrival might have and suggested the Coast Guard keep the LNG ships out of the port until complete safety could be ensured.

The morning droned on until lunchtime finally arrived. After lunch, the speakers were mostly from the surrounding towns and from the maritime field. Some speakers were better than others, but they all were too wordy. As Mike sat in the audience and listened to one speaker after another, he processed all the information and came to some conclusions. First of all, most of the talk was just that, talk. He concluded that this whole meeting was a farce. Most of the people in the meeting