Firestorm in the Capital

FirestormIn TheCapital FirestormIn TheCapitalRob Shumaker Copyright © 2023 by Rob ShumakerThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portion thereof in any form whatsoever.Cover design by Cormar Covers. Also by Rob ShumakerThunder in the CapitalShowdown in the CapitalChaos in the CapitalD-Day in the CapitalManhunt in the CapitalFallout in the CapitalPhantom in the CapitalBlackout in the CapitalJustice in the CapitalThe Way Out AcknowledgmentsA special thanks to Mom and Dad for offering their editorial assistance. Thanks also to Special Agent Dave for his law-enforcement insight and his willingness to answer my questions. “Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom,must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it.”Thomas Paine, The Crisis IV, 1777 PROLOGUENear Fort Smith, Arkansas“Nice and easy,” the man in the passenger seat said to the driver.Easier said than done when your cargo could kill a million people.The headlights of the silver tractor-trailer pierced the darkness as it made its way on Arkansas’s Highway 549, its rumbling diesel engine echoing into the distance. It was 10 p.m., still hot and humid from a July scorcher, and the stretch of flat roadway was all but empty save for the semi and the support vehicles in front and behind.The driver of the black Chevy Suburban in the lead kept a football-field-sized gap between him and the semi—ready to barrel through any obstacle or warn the semi driver of any obstructions that might derail their objective. The driver of the trailing Suburban stayed the same distance behind—ready to fend off any attacks on the semi from the rear. It was all a choreographed dance aimed at protecting the semi’s precious cargo.The eight men were on high alert, their eyes focusing on what might be hiding in the trees or peering down from the overpasses, their weapons at the ready to fight off anyone looking to harm their convoy. It had happened before, just last week actually, and it didn’t go well. They were all reprimanded for their failures, told to do better or hit the bricks. Go find work someplace else if you’re that incompetent! They were determined to get it right this time.Because in the real world, the interstate transport of America’s deadliest nuclear material was not something that they could afford to get wrong.“You’re doing fine,” the man riding shotgun in the semi said.The man in the passenger seat giving the feedback was D.A. “Duke” Schiffer. He had once been a highly decorated member of the FBI, serving as a SWAT team member and sniper. He had retired from the Bureau several years back, but that didn’t mean he was sitting back and enjoying his golden years playing golf or shuffleboard in some retirement community. No, he was still hard at work, whether it be on off-the-record missions for the Schumacher Administration or training the next generation of warriors for the myriad number of SWAT teams and special response units in the federal government’s law-enforcement arsenal.That included the Office of Secure Transportation (OST), a division of the National Nuclear Security Administration and a part of the Department of Energy—the very people in charge of the safe transportation of America’s nuclear weapons and material.The training site for OST agents is headquartered at Fort Chaffee, near Fort Smith, Arkansas. During the eighteen-week basic training course to become a nuclear materials courier, agent trainees learn everything from firearms training, team strategies, legal issues, communication systems, law-enforcement tactics, and tractor-trailer certification, all in preparation for safely delivering some of the most lethal and sought-after material on the planet.The current nighttime training was staged on Highway 549, a solitary six-mile stretch that would one day become Interstate 49 and bypass Fort Smith. Until then, the OST had received permission to close the road on certain nights to conduct highway training. That included staged attacks with realistic exercises and laser-based weapons.“Have you ever driven a big rig before you signed up for the OST?” Schiffer asked.Trevor Staunton sat behind the wheel, his eyes never looking anywhere but out the front windshield. Left to right, right to left, keeping a safe distance from the OST trainees in the vehicle ahead.“I drove an MRAP in Afghanistan,” Staunton said. “It’s about the same thing. Just more IEDs and rag heads trying to shoot at us than there are here in Arkansas.”Schiffer’s eyes glanced to the left, his mind making a mental note. Probably not the most politically correct thing to say, but he let it pass. Staunton was staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the semi’s steering wheel like it was a life rope. A trickle of sweat slid halfway down his face, the line of moisture changing direction at a scar on his cheekbone. Schiffer noticed, but he was sweating, too.“That experience has to be good training for a job like this.”Staunton surveyed the darkness to his left and then the right. “Unless your bosses want to throw you under the bus when something you had nothing to do with goes south.” He pounded the steering wheel with his right fist. “There’s no training provided for that.”“No, I guess not.”Schiffer had read the background reports on all eight of the prospective agents in that night’s planned training op. He knew what to look for—prior experience, criminal records, drug use. The men looked on paper to be qualified. They were mostly ex-military, plus a few cops, all of them looking to work for Uncle Sam as a nuclear materials courier. Staunton was the most decorated, having attained the rank of Sergeant in the U.S. Army during his nineteen years of service.Schiffer tapped the door frame with his finger, wanting to proceed cautiously. Better to draw it out of the man while he could. “You got a problem with the Commander-in-Chief?”Staunton took an extra second to respond, as if his mind