The Brink of Destruction: A Novel

By Mike Skurka

An untested FBI agent…

Living and working in Chicago, young and inexperienced FBI agent Laura Monroe grapples with her marginal role in the battle against terror. When the most devastating terrorist attack since September 11 occurs practically on her doorstep, Laura finds herself thrust into the lead role of an international manhunt to track down and apprehend the perpetrators before they unleash their next strike.

A gambling President…

Back in Washington, D.C., progressive U.S. President Jack Matheson bears a heavy burden as he finds his country in turmoil. As the nation braces for more attacks, he gambles on a radical new energy policy which, if passed, could incense the terrorists and politically backfire. While he rallies his allies to support his ambitious agenda, the forces of evil mount an attempt on the President’s life.

A battle to save the country…

Laura’s grueling pursuit of the terrorists uncovers a tangled web of perpetrators and motives—challenging the notions of good and evil, and of friend and foe. In a last ditch effort Laura races against all odds to outwit the terrorists in a final showdown. But who will come out on top at The Brink of Destruction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 12, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450201032

Mike Skurka

In August 2001, Mike Skurka moved to New York City. Life in New York that fateful autumn provided an up-close view of the worst—and subsequently the best—of humanity itself. That experience inspired his life as well as this novel. Skurka now lives near Chicago with his wife and three children.

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Copyright © 2009 by Mike Skurka

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4502-0102-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-0104-9 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-0103-2 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 12/28/2009

Contents

Prologue - University of Notre Dame

Chapter 1 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 2 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 3 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 4 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 5 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 6 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 7 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 8 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 9 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 10 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 11 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 12 - Southern Algeria

Chapter 13 - Chicago

Chapter 14 - Southern Algeria

Chapter 15 - Southern Algeria

Chapter 16 - Chicago

Chapter 17 - Southern Algeria

Chapter 18 - Chicago

Chapter 19 - Chicago

Chapter 20 - Chicago

Chapter 21 - Chicago

Chapter 22 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 23 - Chicago, IL

Chapter 24 - Great Lakes, IL

Chapter 25 - Paris

Chapter 26 - Paris

Chapter 27 - Paris

Chapter 28 - Paris

Chapter 29 - Paris

Chapter 30 - Paris

Chapter 31 - London

Chapter 32 - Aboard Eurostar Train to London

Chapter 33 - Washington, D.C.

Chapter 34 - Location Undisclosed

Chapter 35 - London

Chapter 36 - London

Chapter 37 - New York

Chapter 38 - Washington, D.C.

Chapter 39 - London

Chapter 40 - New York

Chapter 41 - Over the Atlantic Ocean

Chapter 42 - Over the Atlantic Ocean

Chapter 43 - New York

Chapter 44 - New York

Chapter 45 - Washington, D.C.

Chapter 46 - New York City

Chapter 47 - Washington, D.C.

Chapter 48 - New York City

Chapter 49 - New York City

Chapter 50 - New York City

Chapter 51 - New York City

Chapter 52 - New York City

Chapter 53 - New York City

Chapter 54 - New York City

Chapter 55 - Airborne Above Maryland

Chapter 56 - New York City

Chapter 57 - Washington, D.C.

Chapter 58 - New York City

Chapter 59 - Ottawa, Canada

Chapter 60 - Washington, D.C.

Chapter 61 - New York City

Chapter 62 - Washington, D.C.

Chapter 63 - New York City

Chapter 64 - Chicago, IL

The Brink of

Destruction

By

Mike Skurka

Prologue

University of Notre Dame

Three Years Ago

During the second semester of her junior year in college, Laura Monroe decided to take an elective Modern U.S. History course which covered everything from Hiroshima to the present. During the semester, the class worked its way through the syllabus timeline, eventually reaching the dawning of the new Millennium. After covering the ascendance George W. Bush to the White House, the class then turned its attention to the events of September 11, 2001. In addition to required readings and classroom discourse about the topic, her professor scheduled an optional Saturday session where he rolled that fateful morning’s entire unedited news footage, with the intention of allowing students to witness the day as it actually transpired. His desire was to provide the class with the opportunity to experience the attack from their new perspective as young adults, rather than as the adolescents they had actually been at the time.

Because most college students lack the maturity to make and keep commitments early on a Saturday morning, Laura was one of just a handful of students who showed up for the session. The footage had a profound impact on her. As the hours rolled by, all the other students eventually filtered out of the room, no doubt emotionally impacted by what they saw but with busy social agendas to pursue nonetheless. Laura was so transfixed that she barely noticed the others leaving. Her professor sat patiently in the back of the room, well aware that she was the only student who remained. He could tell that she was completely absorbed in the footage, never fatiguing from the marathon session and never taking her eyes off the screen, except for several occasions when she lowered her head into her folded arms, overwhelmed with emotion provoked by the imagery.

Early in the afternoon, she finally seemed to notice that her professor was essentially conducting a private viewing for her. Respectful of his time, she stood to face the rear of the room. She could barely make out his silhouette sitting in the back row.

You can turn that off now. I didn’t realize I was the only one left. I should go.

It’s okay, we can keep going.

I’ve seen enough. Thank you for doing this, she responded tersely into the semi-darkness.

He used his remote control to raise the lighting in the room. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, wanting to drive home the teachable moment with maximum effect for his clearly willing pupil.

"Laura, September 11th was the worst day in our nation’s history. Period. We lost so much. Not just lives or buildings, but also naivety and the sense of pride, security, and invincibility our fathers won for us in World War II. Prior to that day, our modern wars had always taken place in far away lands with exotic names like Omaha Beach, Iwo Jima, Inchon, and the Mekong Delta. Although each battle was marked by tragedy and loss on a personal level, America today only grasps the significance of those battles to a certain conceptual extent. But after 9/11 the battle was on our shores, in a way that not even Pearl Harbor could compare to. The walk to Battery Park from my apartment in Lower Manhattan became a walk through a goddamn war zone. It became a part of our daily lives. There was no escaping it, and although we’ve been in a period of relative calm in the homeland since then, there’s a sense that evil and motivated men of ill intent still walk among us.

The sensation of being hunted has a sinister impact on the human mind. I saw it first hand when I was in Vietnam. But in the past it was difficult for the average American to understand the trained warrior’s battle fatigue, and the impact it has on his ability to lead a normal life. We all had our own personal experience on 9/11. It hit some of us harder than others. But, like that trained warrior, it took a little something away from each of us. And, to make matters worse, it is what we gained that day and subsequently lost thereafter that may even be worse than the tragedy itself."

What do you mean? Laura asked.

"I’m talking about the enormous goodwill toward America which flowed in after September 11th. The sympathy, the support, and the solidarity 9/11 provided us in fighting against the Taliban and al Qaeda. In the years which followed, much of that goodwill was squandered. Once our allies and our own media turned against President Bush, largely over fallout from the war in Iraq, that goodwill essentially went up in smoke just like the towers did. And as that went, so did our opportunity to lead a unified coalition of our allies in rooting out al Qaeda. The end result was many more years of occupation, many more lives lost, a fragmented and unstable group of allies, and ultimately an un-winnable confrontation, without a clear purpose or end, against an unconventional enemy in an unconventional environment.

So what I’m trying to say is that our American reality changed profoundly that day. I worry sometimes that the significance of the event is somewhat lost on your generation, or that perhaps you’ve deemed it convenient to not remember or talk about. If I can impart a deeper awareness and appreciation for the event upon at least some small percentage of your classmates, then that’s something for which I have a limitless supply of time. Your generation is the future leadership of our country. Developing this deep awareness and appreciation for what we, as a nation, experienced on 9/11 is a major step in preventing this sort of thing from happening again."

Laura turned to the screen to ponder the footage one last time. She watched as terrified men and women, faced with no better option in the scorching inferno, jumped out of the buildings’ broken windows to their certain deaths far below.

It was an act unfathomable under any other circumstance.

Turn it off. Now, please, Laura softly demanded, tears welling in her eyes.

Heavy with emotion, Laura gathered her belongings and turned to walk out of the room. As she reached the doorway, she paused with her head bowed low.

Turning to face her professor with tears streaming down her cheeks, she raised her head and softly said, It can’t.

What can’t?

It can’t happen again. We can’t let it.

The horrors she watched that day left no doubt. They left no doubt about right or wrong. They left no doubt about the meaning of evil and enemy. And they left no shadow of doubt in Laura’s mind about what she wanted to do with her life.

Chapter 1

Chicago, IL

8:50am

Laura tapped her hand impatiently on the steering wheel. An epic Chicago traffic jam sprawled out before her. Mired in a choke point known to locals as The Junction, she scanned through the AM radio dial looking for a traffic update.

Traffic and weather next, after this important message from our sponsors.

Laura anxiously checked her watch, cognizant that her snooze button and the traffic jam had conspired to put her in an undesirable position.

"Have you ever been hurt in an accident…" the attorney on the radio droned.

The Junction, legendary for its traffic snarls, is the choke point where Interstates 90 and 94 merge just north of downtown Chicago before continuing as a single, heavily traveled, superhighway which connects with several other Interstates just a couple of blocks west of the Willis Tower, the building destined to be forever known to Chicagoans as the Sears Tower.

…and we’re backed up at The Junction due to an earlier accident. You’re looking at twenty-five minutes, Junction to The Loop.

Laura realized that her position wasn’t just undesirable, it was unworkable. At this rate even being fashionably late was out of the question, especially since in her business there was no such thing as being fashionably late.

I gotta move closer to downtown, Laura muttered as she pushed the speed dial on her mobile phone.

In a nondescript metallic black office building less than five miles away, a trusted confidant reached to pick up his ringing desk phone.

Agent Conover, announced the man who answered the phone.

Jim, it’s Laura, I—

"Monroe, do NOT tell me that you’re going to miss the staff meeting again. Johnstone will not be impressed."

I’m not going to miss it. I’m just going to be a bit late. Probably fifteen minutes late.

Monroe, you grew up on the North Shore. You’ve been driving into the city since you turned sixteen, right?

Well, yeah. But don’t tell that to my mom.

"I won’t. But I am going to tell her you need to work on your basic time management skills. Otherwise you’re going to be taping masking tape outlines around dead guys until you’re forty!"

Laura laughed nervously. The masking tape outlines didn’t exist in the real world. They were only the figment of dramatic TV show producers’ overactive imaginations. A real professional would have absolutely no qualms leaving a dead body in its place until all relevant forensic and photographic information had been gathered.

Just get in here, Monroe.

She hung up her phone and surveyed the crawling traffic in front of her. Realizing the futility of the situation, she sighed and twirled her brunette hair nervously around her fingers.

Her heart sank further when she considered that Jim would inevitably be making a valiant effort to explain her absence at the outset of Johnstone’s daily 9am briefing. Even more than she hated being late, she hated putting Jim in that position. She knew Jim would defend her past the point of reason.

Chapter 2

Chicago, IL

Willis Tower

8:55am

Drucilla Washington had worked in the Freight Delivery department at the Willis Tower since she was in her late twenties. Her prior job had been with the U.S. Postal Service, as a mail sorter in Chicago’s massive monolithic main post office. A friend had tipped her off about the union wages that were paid in the freight department at the Willis Tower, for doing much the same work that she had been doing for the Postal Service.

Although the job at Willis Tower was repetitive and uninspiring, Drucilla enjoyed the friendships with her cohorts and realized that she could scarcely do better for herself elsewhere. Now in her mid-thirties, Drucilla had worked her way up to morning shift supervisor and was earning $21.75 per hour, plus a generous benefits package.

The wages she earned afforded her a modest living. But it was sufficient enough to enable her to own a small but comfortable three-bedroom home in Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood. The going had been pretty good for Dru and her two children, Jerome and Aiesha, until earlier in the year, when her husband of seven years had left Dru for a younger woman more tolerant of his growing drug habit. Several months later, Dru’s mother Samantha had fallen ill with a stroke. Dru had been left with no other means with which to care for her mother but to invite her to live in the home. Now with four mouths to feed, a new visiting nurse service for her mother, and just a single source of income, things had taken a turn for the worse for the Washington family.

Incoming deliveries to the Willis Tower’s receiving area, located along subterranean Lower Wacker Drive, were first scanned for explosive devices, narcotics, and other contraband by the Willis Tower security staff before being turned over to the Freight Delivery department. That department then sorted the deliveries and expedited package delivery to the building’s tenants.

Mornin, Mornin! Dru announced, as she walked into the staff room and proceeded to punch her timecard. Short on energy, time, and money, Dru still had enough pride of purpose in her job to get motivated for each day.

Mornin Dru! cheerfully answered Bobbie Warden, her assistant shift manager.

What’s news today, Bobbie? Dru said.

Pretty standard stuff. Although DHL did come in earlier than usual today, about half an hour ago, with an urgent overnight delivery from overseas.

Oh, OK. Did you have it put into the staging queue for tenant delivery?

"Dru, I wasn’t really sure what to do with it. It was addressed to G.S., which I’m assuming means Goldman Sachs, given that it was addressed to their old suite address up on the seventy-seventh floor."

But Goldman moved out a year ago, when their lease was up, Dru interrupted. Their staff didn’t want to be in the Sears Tower anymore. Too much paranoia about terrorism.

I know Dru, so I called Goldman’s main phone number, over at their new building, to see if they were expecting a large urgent package this morning.

And they said?

No answer. I don’t think their receptionist had turned off their night service yet.

OK, well, please stay on top of it. I’m assuming the package was cleared by security?

Yeah, they used the forklift to run it through the X-ray. It came up clean. The bill of lading says it’s just one of those high end drinking water dispensers. It’s in the Staging Room until we figure out how to get it out—

"They used the forklift? Why?"

Dru, we couldn’t lift it up. It weighed almost 450 pounds!

450 pounds? For a water dispenser? Let me see this thing.

Bobbie and Dru walked to the back corner of the staging room, where the box stood vertically, marked

DHL INTERNATIONAL OVERNIGHT / URGENT / HANDLE WITH CARE

The situation didn’t ring true with Dru.

"Bobbie, with you as my witness, I want to open this box for security reasons. It doesn’t make any sense to me that this box would weigh that much. Plus, it’s from an international origin to a tenant we cannot verify."

Okay, Dru. I got your back, Bobbie said.

Dru reached in her shirt pocket and pulled out a sturdy box cutter. She carefully slid it around the perimeter of the box, gingerly peeling back the cardboard. Inside the box was a large white cylinder. The manufacturer’s label attached to the cylinder read:

SYSTEME DE FILTRATION DE L’EAU

OSMOSE D’INVERSION

FABRIQUE EN FRANCE

Dru frowned.

You don’t speak French, do you, Bobbie?

Yeah, right! Parlay voo Francis and all that shit, right? Bobbie snorted.

Dru looked unamused.

Sorry Dru, no French here. What do you think this thing is?

"Well the U.S. Customs declaration says it’s a water dispenser. The DHL packaging manifest says it’s a water dispenser. I guess it must be a water dispenser."

Dru shook the unit, causing water to gurgle within. The women looked at each other, startled.

Bobbie retorted, "Dru, I guess it must be a water dispenser full of water! Must be some damn good water, if they wanted to ship it across