Storm Warning: The Third Novel in the Edie Townsend Saga

By J. E. Brady

Storm Warning is the third book Brady has published in the Senator Edie Townsend saga. The others books are Never Say Never and Burning Bridges.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Oct 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781982211592

J. E. Brady

J. E. Brady is a lifetime resident of Illinois, as is his wife Sue. They have two grown children, Rebecca and Greg, and one granddaughter, Madison. Among Brady’s hobbies are reading, sports, and travel. He and his wife have made many trips through the years to the Washington, DC area. They have also traveled to many countries throughout Europe. One of Brady’s favorite places he had the opportunity to visit was the hometown of his father in Ireland.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Near Oxford, England

The motorcycle roared along, passing one vehicle after another on the expressway. It was a beautiful day with a bright blue sky, ideal for being out on a bike. And perfect for the job ahead.

Never one to be bothered by laws, the biker paid no heed to the posted speed limits that reared their heads along the highway. With no restrictions, he rumbled along as fast as he cared to go. While he did, the wind whipped across him, cooling him with the scents from the many fields of wild flowers he passed. It gave him a sense of exhilaration as he sped toward Oxford.

Dressed entirely in black leather and silver that matched the bike’s exterior, Moshe Shaheed kept a close eye on the terrain for signs that informed him he was nearing his destination on the outskirts of the city. He knew that soon he would need to turn off M4, one of the UK’s major expressways. When he saw his exit straight ahead, he slowed the motorcycle to maneuver from the freeway onto the ramp and then onto A40, one of the many auxiliary arteries of the system. Several miles later he rolled up to the roundabout. Taking the second turn from it, he pressed the pedal and the bike responded with a powerful thrust, rearing up on its back tire to handle the increased acceleration and, for a second, looking as if it could go airborne.

When he purchased it, Shaheed had spared no cost. The motorcycle was the top of the line in every way. And even with that being the fact, additionally, he had splurged to customize it. He had chromed it up so much that every bike aficionado who spied it passing by was duly impressed by its pedigree and appearance. It was no secret that he was very much enamored by it and would extoll its virtues with any of his friends who cared to argue the point over a beer.

Because the day was warmer than usual, Shaheed pushed up each sleeve of his jacket, exposing part of the huge scorpion tattoo on his right forearm. For those who paid it close scrutiny, it was the common belief amongst them that there could never be a meaner, more menacing-looking reproduction of the eight-legged arachnid ever set to ink, from the fierce burning eyes in its head to the erect tail with the venomous stinger.

Born in Syria, the Muslim himself was very much in real life like the symbol he had chosen to grace his arm. He had the qualities of passion both good and evil that the dangerous arachnid, as well as many of its fellow peers, possessed, having been raised in a climate of sand and scorching heat that existed for many centuries and seemed to embolden the mind with its history of violence and its sting of death, as well as its impassioned desire for love making. However, the bike’s rider was so deeply engrossed in reaching his destination and fulfilling his mission that the thought of the tattoo and its succinct history lesson never bothered to cross his mind.

Instead he bent low over the chopper’s handlebars and whizzed along toward his target, which was, according to his estimates, only a few more miles up the road.

Within minutes he spied the twin stacks of the nuclear power plant off to the right side of the freeway. The left stack billowed a cloud of steam into the clear blue sky, much like a robust combustion engine working at full throttle while churning up smoke, vapor and heat as byproducts of the process of generating energy.

After checking his rearview mirror to be certain that no other vehicles were approaching from behind, he slowed and rolled his bike to the edge of the road. There, he lowered his kickstand and dismounted. It took him only a couple of seconds to grab the armed, hand-held rocket launcher from the rear of the bike, aim the missile at the one stack that was expelling the cloud of steam, and launch it into the air.

When he pulled the trigger, the sleeve of his jacket slid up to expose the full image of the intimidating scorpion tattoo on his arm, which signified the depth of the hatred and hostility he felt toward those who reviled and blasphemed his Muslim faith. Like a chameleon, the scorpion’s appearance seemed to morph into an expression that was best described as delight, as though it could already envision the destruction that would follow.

True to expectations, the projectile tore into the concrete stack like a prehistoric raptor ripping into its prey. As it bit into the structure, it took a large chunk out of one side of the complex. The accompanying explosion was so loud that it rivaled the thunderous wall of sound that emanates from a stage 5 hurricane.

Shaheed lay steeped in one of his darker moods, where he found himself exhibiting the same fuming rage as his analogous representation, the stinging scorpion. With ruin and wreckage the main goals of his mission, he spent little time locking in another missile to launch so he could maximize the damage to the cooling component of the plant. Then, quickly, he hopped on his cycle to make his getaway.

As he peeled away, he glanced over his shoulder to scrutinize the dark cloud of smoke and destruction that spewed into the sky. His job was finished, and not wishing to be spotted, he blew down the highway on the bike as fast as he could, disappearing into the distance in a trail of exhaust smoke and fumes.

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In the war on global terrorism, and in what was becoming more of a common occurrence than an isolated event, for the next hours the BBC and the major news wire services were flooded with the details about the latest attack that had damaged the nuclear power plant on the outskirts of Oxford, a plant that had been providing a significant amount of the electrical needs to the city.

CHAPTER TWO

The sky was overcast, but there was no rain in the forecast. And that made Edie Townsend happy. She had gotten up early that morning, dressed and eaten breakfast before she left for the Senate Office Building. In some small way she had the feeling that the day was going to be a good one. Taking a deep breath, she hoped that her supposition would prove correct.

She exited the cab, paid the driver and climbed the steps of the building before entering and trekking down the hall to her office. As she made her way along, she resisted a thought which persisted: that time flies.

Although she fought the notion, in many ways it seemed so true.

It felt like only yesterday since she had been reelected to her second term of office in the U. S. Senate, but in reality it had been over two years. Recalling that period in her life, Townsend no longer could tie the emotions and strong feelings she had experienced then to her recollections now. As she thought about the months leading up to the election, there was a certain calmness to her reflections that was not present when she had first lived through the events.

She remembered that the election had been hard fought, and early on the day of the national balloting her opponent Clyde Billups had taken the lead. However, later in the evening the tide shifted. Thanks mainly to the work of her campaign manager Barry Adison.

Since the hit-and-run accident that the mob boss Sal Manito had orchestrated, Adison was not as mobile physically. After being found guilty Manito was now incarcerated in the Marion Federal Penitentiary for his role in that incident and for other crimes. He had believed he could intimidate Townsend into changing her position on legalizing gambling on the national level so he could make millions more from his gaming network that stretched throughout Illinois and several neighboring states.

After the hit-and-run there had been a heart-wrenching period when Edie Townsend believed Adison would not make it. Feeling responsible for what had happened because she was the one who Manito really wanted to hurt, she had spent every day at the hospital, monitoring the doctor reports and Adison’s progress until he was out of danger.

Even though he had just been released from the hospital and was still very weak, Adison had taken to his cell phone on the evening of the election to get every one of his contacts out to push the vote for her reelection. He had been untiring and relentless in his quest to see her victorious and because of that she won going away. That was the reason why when she was declared the winner, she went directly to him to thank him personally. Since the beginning of her political career, he was, and always had been, her rock of support.

It was strange the way those memories returned to her while she headed to her office that morning. But they were gone by the time she was reaching for the handle to open her office door.

Once inside she was surprised to see her receptionist sitting at her desk.

Good morning, Margie. I thought that I was arriving early for work today and would be the first one in, but it looks like you beat me, she said cheerily.

Well, I did think I would get some filing done before you got here, but when Mr. Adison arrived, we ended up chatting, Margie explained as she beckoned toward her early morning visitor.

It was then that Townsend turned her attention to the first chair to the right of the door where Barry Adison sat.

What a shock it is to see you here so early, Barry. Would you like to come into my office?

She had already begun moving in that direction so Adison grabbed for his cane, which had become a necessity for him since the hit-and-run, and followed her in.

Townsend cut behind her desk and sat down while she waited for him to reach his seat, watching all the while at the slowness in his gait and feeling guilty in ways for it.

Adison dropped into the chair from several inches higher than where he would have liked. Because of his disability there was no smoothness to it. And in order to disguise the awkwardness he began talking quickly so she would not notice. But she did.

Have you seen the news this morning, Senator? He asked and then continued immediately when she said that she hadn’t. Our problem as a nation has reared its ugly head again.

He had to stop for a moment to let his words catch up to his thoughts as he so often had to do nowadays. There was another act of terrorism this morning, this time in Southern California.

She felt the anxiety rise inside as she reached for the remote to turn on the television situated on the shelves to the left. Suddenly it dawned on her that there was a good chance she was not going to get her wish for a good day.

Both of them sat with neither speaking as they watched the reports about the mass killings in a Social Services Center in the southern region of California. She struggled with the fact that it had all the ear-markings of another act of terrorism perpetrated by a husband and wife who had declared their allegiance to a radical Muslim group. The act, like so many others before, was becoming all too familiar throughout many parts of the country, and around the world. Her first thoughts were for the families of the victims, and then she was on to thinking of how she and her colleagues in Congress needed to find ways to deal with these acts of senseless violence often attributed to groups labelled as radical extremists. As head of the Senate Subcommittee on Counter Terrorism, a position she had sought after her reelection, Townsend knew the task that lay ahead for her.

Before the election the main focus had been on the economy and the lack of jobs for her constituents in Illinois, as well as for many others throughout the country. Thankfully, in a matter of months the economy improved. Those improvements were attributed mostly to the bills she and her colleagues legislated, and to their efforts in controlling inflation and limiting needless waste in Federal government spending.

But since then the times had changed. Now, a new direction for the country’s attention had popped up, as terrorism jumped to the forefront of public concerns. That was the main reason she had pushed to get the chairmanship of the Subcommittee on Counter Terrorism. Being the chair carried with it high-level obligations. When acts of terrorism occurred, she not only felt the anguish and pain of loss that the average citizen did, but also a certain degree of responsibility and accountability, as did the other committee members. She felt, above all else, a certain pressure to respond quickly to formulate measures that could be sent to the full Senate for passage so they could curb the random and heinous acts and put an end to their frequency.

Townsend knew that the next meeting of the subcommittee was coming up shortly and that her work was cut out for her. She turned toward Adison as she spoke.

I’ll need to contact Homeland Security to get an update on the latest developments on the attack, Barry. Do you want to stick around and hear what they have to say?

When Adison answered in the affirmative, she had Margie Brown place the call.

CHAPTER THREE

Chicago, Illinois

Burt, where are we pouring this morning?

Jonas Walls leaned over the table that held the master lot plans for his newest subdivision north of Chicago proper.

His foreman Burt Tompkins was in the adjacent kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee and one for his boss. While he answered, Tompkins carried the two cups into the office where Walls stood, studying over the lot plans.

We’re pouring the footings for lots 12, 13, and 14. I’ve got the trucks pulling in at nine this morning, he said as he handed one of the cups to his boss.

Walls took the coffee and the information Tompkins relayed and went on with his calculations on how long it would take to complete the concrete pour. As soon as possible, he wanted to move his laborers from those lots to help the carpenters he had working on the house framing being done on lots 6 and 7. In order to be cost effective he always had to be thinking and planning ahead. There were times when just trying to stay ahead of production would cause him to develop a headache, especially when he occasionally had home owners who were impatient to move into their new home. But it certainly helped to take the pressure off knowing that he could rely on Tompkins to get the work done on time.

Barely a year ago, Walls had completed the Clover Estates Subdivision along the Interstate 90 corridor and had—with great effort from Tompkins—become one of the more elite contractors in the Chicago area. It was a wonderful climb up the ladder for someone who had almost been bankrupt during his early days in the business. During some of those more difficult times it had been just the two of them doing every bit of the work themselves. There had been no teams of electricians, carpenters, plumbers, and laborers back then. He laughed about it now as he thought about it. He took a sip of the hot coffee and decided that Tompkins was not only the best foreman he could have, but that he made a whale of a pot of coffee, too.

It was strange how things worked out. A while back he and Edie Townsend had held off their marriage until her reelection and she had won her second term in the U. S. Senate. It had been a little tough for him to wait because he loved her so much and wanted to spend every minute he could with her. But he understood. Now, the situation had reversed, with them postponing to give him the opportunity to get the new subdivision underway. Strawberry Fields, when completed, would be his most impressive effort to date. The Windy City press and media were already giving coverage to it and commenting on