Remote Control Terror
Today was the day. His day of infamy. The day Shareef Achwad would live his destiny. He had watched with fascination four years earlier when nineteen hijackers brought down four planes, two buildings, and killed thousands of people. This wheels in his mind began to turn as he watched weeks of coverage.
Life in America had changed forever that day, and today, he would push America to its limits. Best of all, Shareef thought, he would live to watch his plan take shape.
Shareef bought five widescreen TVs for this day. He wanted to see the results of his hard work in high def, on every channel America had to offer. The TVs were all turned on to the news channels. CNN was doing a story on Alzheimer’s disease, while FOX was covering another girl who had disappeared from her college campus without a trace. MSNBC was doing a documentary on the Poker phenomenon that I helped create, by showing poker every night on CNBC, The other two TVs were tuned into local shows. He wanted to watch as nervous broadcasters broke into Jerry Springer and Soap Operas, to tell Americans that once again they were under attack.
It was August 18th, 2005. Today was his day.
Shareef looked around at the electronic equipment that filled his basement. He remembered reading the Godfather. A man can steal more with a briefcase than one hundred man can steal with guns, Corleone told Tom as he sent him to law school. And a man can do more with the right electronic equipment than 19 can with box cutters and a death fascination, Shareef thought.
Shareef had named his one man terror organization Al Fuqya, and he had trained long and hard for today’s mission.
Between 1:00 and 1:14, four planes would depart from Detroit’s metro airport. One plane was going to Miami, a second was heading toward Portland. The third plane was flying to Boston, and the fourth was flying to Orlando.
The weather was perfect, Shareef noted with glee. There would not be any delays on today’s flights. Weather would not be a factor. Allah Akbar, he though, God is with me on my mission today.
Shareef looked at the time. 12:45. In half an hour, all the planes would be in the air, and he could begin his plan.
Shareef munched on a sandwich and a bag of chips. He thought about fasting, but today he would need his strength. There was no need for fasting. Allah was with him today, just as he was that day four years earlier when Shareef thought of the plan.
He felt calm, yet electric. He had told no one of his plan. There was no way he would be caught, especially since the FBI would think the hijackers were all dead.
Shareef went over the timeline once again. Timing was critical. He had spent the past months testing out his equipment, and it worked flawlessly.
He watched the online monitors. It was 1:04, and the first plane was already up in the air, Northwest flight 989 to Miami was en route. The minutes flew by, and soon all four flights were airborne. Shareef had his monitor on, and listened to all four planes as they talked to the control tower.
With the touch of a button, he could jam the plane’s communication system. He had tapped into Northwest’s satellite system, and had studied it from all angles. By jamming the plane’s communication system, there was no way for anyone on the plane to communicate with the ground. The only voice coming from the plane would be his, though he would not be anywhere near the planes.
“Allah Akbar,” he said out loud, and pushed the button. The four flights that he had programmed into his computer system had no means to communicate with the world below them.
He picked up the microphone, and began to speak.
“Allah Akbar,” he sad again, this time into the microphone. “by the good will of Allah I have taken control of this plane. We will be landing at Jacobs Field, where 24,000 fans are watching the Indians play the Rangers.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Flight 989, this is ground control,” the voice on the other end said. “Your last transmission did not come in. Please repeat last transmission.”
Shareef ignored the man on the other end, and switched the dial so it looked like he was calling from the other planes. He repeated his message three more times. Each time, he picked a different target. The Mall of America for the Oregon-bound plane. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the Orlando-bound plane. A Pittsburgh power plant for the Boston-bound plane.
All four targets were less than 20 minutes away.
Three thousand miles to the south, President Bush was on the golf course when he was rushed to the situation room deep below his Texas ranch. At the Selfridge Air National Guard base, just outside Detroit’s Northeast suburb of Mount Clemens, eight F-16 fighter jets prepared for takeoff, and lifted up into the afternoon sky.
Three minutes had gone by since his initial call to Air Traffic Control. He watched as a breaking news graphic flashed on one of the TVs in front of him.
The voice from Air Traffic Control tried to reach him on all four stations.
He picked up the microphone one more time. “You have angered Allah, and today, he will strike you. We will strike you. Vengeance is his.”
Deep in the heart of Texas, President Bush was being briefed. “How much time until impact?” the president asked for the third time.
“About eight minutes before they reach the baseball stadium. About fifteen minutes before they are at the other three targets,” came the answer.
Bush looked at Air Force chief of staff, GENERAL JOHN P. JUMPER, on the monitor in front of him. “Give the order. Take those planes down.”
General Jumper called Selfridge Air National Guard base, and gave the order.
President Bush stood waiting. Six minutes later, General John Jumper came back with the news. All four planes are down. The threat is over.
Shareef watched on TV as all five of them were now covering the story. Four planes had been taken hostage, according to FOX. CNN reported that as many as six were hijacked, and then, the moment Shareef was waiting for.
FOX broke the story first; a minute later CNN was reporting the same thing. An unknown number of terrorists had taken over four planes and were threatening to attack populated targets on the ground. All four planes had been brought down by the alert and brave F-16 pilots.
Shareef watched as the talking heads started to speculate who Al Faqya was, and whether they were a splinter group from Al Qaida.
He took out a bottle of wine, and watched the terror that he had wrought played out in front of him on five wide screen TVs.
The preceding story was fiction.
Life in America had changed forever that day, and today, he would push America to its limits. Best of all, Shareef thought, he would live to watch his plan take shape.
Shareef bought five widescreen TVs for this day. He wanted to see the results of his hard work in high def, on every channel America had to offer. The TVs were all turned on to the news channels. CNN was doing a story on Alzheimer’s disease, while FOX was covering another girl who had disappeared from her college campus without a trace. MSNBC was doing a documentary on the Poker phenomenon that I helped create, by showing poker every night on CNBC, The other two TVs were tuned into local shows. He wanted to watch as nervous broadcasters broke into Jerry Springer and Soap Operas, to tell Americans that once again they were under attack.
It was August 18th, 2005. Today was his day.
Shareef looked around at the electronic equipment that filled his basement. He remembered reading the Godfather. A man can steal more with a briefcase than one hundred man can steal with guns, Corleone told Tom as he sent him to law school. And a man can do more with the right electronic equipment than 19 can with box cutters and a death fascination, Shareef thought.
Shareef had named his one man terror organization Al Fuqya, and he had trained long and hard for today’s mission.
Between 1:00 and 1:14, four planes would depart from Detroit’s metro airport. One plane was going to Miami, a second was heading toward Portland. The third plane was flying to Boston, and the fourth was flying to Orlando.
The weather was perfect, Shareef noted with glee. There would not be any delays on today’s flights. Weather would not be a factor. Allah Akbar, he though, God is with me on my mission today.
Shareef looked at the time. 12:45. In half an hour, all the planes would be in the air, and he could begin his plan.
Shareef munched on a sandwich and a bag of chips. He thought about fasting, but today he would need his strength. There was no need for fasting. Allah was with him today, just as he was that day four years earlier when Shareef thought of the plan.
He felt calm, yet electric. He had told no one of his plan. There was no way he would be caught, especially since the FBI would think the hijackers were all dead.
Shareef went over the timeline once again. Timing was critical. He had spent the past months testing out his equipment, and it worked flawlessly.
He watched the online monitors. It was 1:04, and the first plane was already up in the air, Northwest flight 989 to Miami was en route. The minutes flew by, and soon all four flights were airborne. Shareef had his monitor on, and listened to all four planes as they talked to the control tower.
With the touch of a button, he could jam the plane’s communication system. He had tapped into Northwest’s satellite system, and had studied it from all angles. By jamming the plane’s communication system, there was no way for anyone on the plane to communicate with the ground. The only voice coming from the plane would be his, though he would not be anywhere near the planes.
“Allah Akbar,” he said out loud, and pushed the button. The four flights that he had programmed into his computer system had no means to communicate with the world below them.
He picked up the microphone, and began to speak.
“Allah Akbar,” he sad again, this time into the microphone. “by the good will of Allah I have taken control of this plane. We will be landing at Jacobs Field, where 24,000 fans are watching the Indians play the Rangers.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Flight 989, this is ground control,” the voice on the other end said. “Your last transmission did not come in. Please repeat last transmission.”
Shareef ignored the man on the other end, and switched the dial so it looked like he was calling from the other planes. He repeated his message three more times. Each time, he picked a different target. The Mall of America for the Oregon-bound plane. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the Orlando-bound plane. A Pittsburgh power plant for the Boston-bound plane.
All four targets were less than 20 minutes away.
Three thousand miles to the south, President Bush was on the golf course when he was rushed to the situation room deep below his Texas ranch. At the Selfridge Air National Guard base, just outside Detroit’s Northeast suburb of Mount Clemens, eight F-16 fighter jets prepared for takeoff, and lifted up into the afternoon sky.
Three minutes had gone by since his initial call to Air Traffic Control. He watched as a breaking news graphic flashed on one of the TVs in front of him.
The voice from Air Traffic Control tried to reach him on all four stations.
He picked up the microphone one more time. “You have angered Allah, and today, he will strike you. We will strike you. Vengeance is his.”
Deep in the heart of Texas, President Bush was being briefed. “How much time until impact?” the president asked for the third time.
“About eight minutes before they reach the baseball stadium. About fifteen minutes before they are at the other three targets,” came the answer.
Bush looked at Air Force chief of staff, GENERAL JOHN P. JUMPER, on the monitor in front of him. “Give the order. Take those planes down.”
General Jumper called Selfridge Air National Guard base, and gave the order.
President Bush stood waiting. Six minutes later, General John Jumper came back with the news. All four planes are down. The threat is over.
Shareef watched on TV as all five of them were now covering the story. Four planes had been taken hostage, according to FOX. CNN reported that as many as six were hijacked, and then, the moment Shareef was waiting for.
FOX broke the story first; a minute later CNN was reporting the same thing. An unknown number of terrorists had taken over four planes and were threatening to attack populated targets on the ground. All four planes had been brought down by the alert and brave F-16 pilots.
Shareef watched as the talking heads started to speculate who Al Faqya was, and whether they were a splinter group from Al Qaida.
He took out a bottle of wine, and watched the terror that he had wrought played out in front of him on five wide screen TVs.
The preceding story was fiction.
posted by Air Time at 1:07 AM
6 Comments:
I don't know ifit can be done, but I'll bet it would make a cool movie.
I thought this story was going to be about terrorist tampering with the TV remote control waves. Can you imagine? no one can use their remote control anymore. thats terror.
we would have to stand up and turn the dial, just like in the olden days
terror organization Al Fuqya
oh' yeah well i'll fuck ya right back
Muslims don't drink alcohol. It's not halaal.
wonder if it can be done :
ftp://ftp.hq.nasa.gov/pub/aero/facet24.mov
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