Catch-22 times three. The economy was totally dependent on critical infrastructure systems. But those systems were owned and operated by private corporations. The owners of those critical systems wanted minimal government oversight, but the same owners believed it was the duty of the government to protect them against all manner of disasters and attacks.
Finally Claude and an Asian guy came back into the room carrying a plywood sheet they positioned on the conference table—a scale model of the plant, every building and tower, along with detailed renderings of the landscape, complete with the miles of straight cooling canals, the surrounding waters of Biscayne Bay, and the neighboring parks and open spaces. All of it with the molded contours of the terrain, complete with trees and boulders painted in realistic colors. Like a goddamn Lionel train set.
Claude unzipped a plastic baggie and dumped out a mix of miniature trucks, cars, and rubber soldiers. The Asian guy hung around grinning at Frank and his flowered shirt, then he shot Claude a smart-ass look and left.
“You guys don’t use computers, Smart Boards, any of that?”
“I’m old-school,” Claude said. “Can’t hold it in my hand, it isn’t real.”
Claude set up six rubber soldiers inside the front gate, and six on the outside of the power plant’s property.
“We’re gaming it today?” Nicole said. “No prep?”
“Frank here, he’s done this three times already, right, Frank? Pro like you, you don’t need any prep, do you, Frank?”
“We can start,” Sheffield said. “But we may need a second round.”
“Suit yourself. You’re the G-man.”
Nicole produced a yellow legal pad from her briefcase. Fired up and eager, she clicked her ballpoint pen three or four times as if gunning a big V-8.
Then they began.
SIXTEEN
TWO HOURS LATER THEY WERE wrapping up.
Sheffield had stayed quiet, letting Nicole sketch out the scenarios. With only a half dozen players on each side, the options were limited. After she realized Frank wasn’t going to contribute, she tried gamely to probe the plant’s defenses. Claude shooting down each of her setups.
She tried spreading out her six attackers along two flanks. Some coming overland from the south, the others through public land from the north.
There’s fences, razor wire on top, Claude told her.
Bolt cutters, Nicole said.
So you make it through the outside fence, there are security cameras every ten feet. A second fence twenty feet inside the outer perimeter. Motion sensors with alarms in the security office. Tamper with the fences, game over.
Okay, so they’d do a frontal assault with two waves. A group of four overpower the two guards at the front gate.
Do that and three more guys would be out there in half a minute. Your attackers are exposed. Security are riding around in steel-reinforced Jeeps.
Then what if two guys dressed as civilians present fake IDs. Press credentials or law enforcement. They get the green light, and once inside, the other four exit the vehicle and fan out.
Fake IDs won’t cut it. All visitors have to be cleared beforehand. If he’s not on the clipboard, the freaking president of the USA isn’t coming in.
Went like that for two deadly hours. Given that she was winging this, Nicole was fairly inventive. Claude started out smug and got smugger by the minute. Shooting triumphant looks at the NRC lady and Frank.
“Try this,” Nicole said. “Our guys are on four-wheelers, six separate all-terrain vehicles. They come in waves, take different paths toward the plant. Guys riding the perimeter would draw a crowd, right? Soon as a few of your defenders commit to chasing, the main assault breaches the front gate.”
“Not a problem,” Claude said.
“Sounds like a problem to me,” Sheffield said.
“You’re wrong. Anyone enters the front gate on an ATV or whatever the hell they’re driving, they’re going to be zapped.”
“How’s that happen?” Sheffield leaned back in his chair.
Claude glanced around the room like a kid cornered with a stolen cookie. “It’ll happen.”
“You need to be specific, old buddy.”
“Zapped,” Claude said, staring at Frank. “That isn’t specific enough?”
“That’s horseshit, Sellers. How do you repel multiple attackers each on their own ATV or dirt bike, or whatever?”
“My people are elite. They’ve seen it all.”
“Nobody’s seen it all.”
“Every one of them is certified in police counterambush tactics, stealth-movement techniques, tactical covert-entry skills, forced cell extraction, countersurveillance detection, tactical roadblocks, and vehicle extractions.”