Bugging Home – Part 1 - Prolog
“Daddy, what are we doing this for? It’s hard!” nine-year-old Peter asked his father. He took the falling apart box of auto parts from his father with a grunt.“I know it is, son.” The man stopped what he was doing, took the box back from Peter, and set it aside. “I should tell you what is going on, I suppose. Here. Sit down and take a drink of water.” Greg handed Peter an old canteen.Peter looked at his father expectantly. “You look sad, Daddy.”“Worried, son. Worried. That’s what I should talk to you about.” Greg took the canteen back and took a drink himself before continuing after Peter had taken a drink. “You see, Peter, there are some bad people that may try to hurt us pretty soon. Russia and Cuba. And…”“Like we saw on the TV, Daddy? The war stuff.”Greg nodded. “That’s right, son. War stuff. But with bigger bombs that can hurt you even if they don’t hit you. Atomic bombs.”“We learned a little in school about them.”“Well, then you probably know we need shelter. Better than the house.”“That’s why we’re cleaning this out!” exclaimed Peter.“That’s right. This old tornado shelter will give us a lot more protection than the house. I should have already done this. It’s just we don’t have tornados around here very often and we needed a storage room.”Greg ruffled Peter’s short hair. “I know it’s a lot of work, but we really need to get things done. You’re mom isn’t feeling well and you are the only one that can help me. What say after this is all over just me and you go fishing on the river?”“Okay, Daddy. I’ll help. I don’t want that radiation stuff coming to get you and mom and me and little baby sis.”“You’re a good boy, son. Don’t put off things the way I do sometimes.” Greg stood up and so did Peter. They went back to cleaning up the old storm shelter and then began to carry some of the home canned food from the house to the shelter.Well, the Soviet Union pulled the missiles from Cuba and there was no Atomic War in 1962. Or since, for that matter. But Peter thought about that conversation from time to time as he grew up. And from the time he became an adult, out on his own, he learned what he could about being prepared.Not for just nuclear war, but just about every conceivable disaster, natural or man-made. Basic preparations at first. Food, water, shelter. But as he learned the ways of the world, and watched the news and read the papers, he made rather more extensive preparations.During the late seventies, before the mass media turned it into a dirty world, Peter wore the label of survivalist proudly. It was always more about general preparedness for him and he finally began using the term emergency preparedness rather than survival when he discussed what he was doing. He didn’t discuss it often. Not many people wanted to hear about it. When his wife Gwen died in 1988 he became rather reclusive and didn’t discuss it at all, except with his son Greg.Peter taught Greg about preparedness from the time he was old enough to learn. But Peter died of a massive heart attack in 1998. Greg took some vacation time from his work as an information technology specialist and went back to the homestead to settle his father’s affairs. It didn’t take long.Greg hired a couple to keep the place up and leased the arable land out to a farmer. That’s where things stood a few years into the new millennium.
Bugging Home - Part 1 - Chapter 1
“Hey, Bev,” Greg spoke into the phone. “Where do you want to go to dinner tonight?”“Can’t tonight, Greg,” replied his girlfriend. “I have other plans.”“Okay,” Greg replied softly. “This is it, isn’t it? George is back in town.”“Greg, you know I like being with you, but George and I… Well…”“I understand.” Greg closed the cell phone. He’d seen it coming and found himself not all that upset. Bev was all right, but he’d been thinking for some time that she wasn’t the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with.“Oh, well,” he said to himself as he left his office. He waved at the tech on duty and headed to the elevator. He didn’t particularly like working on the fourteenth floor in an eighteen-story building, but it was where the work was and he couldn’t pass up the $80K a year position.It was the same with his apartment. It was an apartment in a moderate rise building. He could walk to work in all but the worst weather. Then he put on the cold weather gear and slogged to work, to the amazement of his co-workers. Greg grinned. “Maybe this is the best thing that could have happened,” he thought. “I guess I was actually dreading tonight.”Today was Friday so he was taking the elevator down. He usually rode it up every day, but took the stairs down, except on Fridays. When the lights in the elevator flickered and the elevator stopped moving, Greg just sighed. Another power failure. All their computer systems in the office were on uninterruptible power supplies, but the generator for the building’s essential circuits was waiting of repair parts. It could be hours before he got out.Greg was in no real hurry now, but just for the practice, he decided to get himself out. He removed from his jacket pocket the leather case that contained his multi-too. He didn’t take out the multi-tool, but a flat piece of metal about four inches long. It wasn’t too thick, but was of hardened steel and very strong.It took only a moment to work one end between the door panels and spread them enough to get his fingers between them. It was a bit of a struggle but he opened the doors of the elevator car. He went to one knee and did the same thing with the outer doors for the elevator on what turned out to be the eighth floor.The car floor was almost level with the eighth floor so he rolled out of the elevator quickly and climbed to his feet. It took only a moment to replace the tool in the pouch and return it to his pocket.Whistling, he came out of the stairwell on the ground floor, and spoke to the entryway guard. “I heard some yelling from one of the elevators on six.”“Yeah. They called on the emergency phone. Fire department is on the way. Lucky you weren’t caught in one. This is Friday.”“Sometimes I’m lucky,” Greg said. “See ya’.”As usual when there was one of these semi-regular blackouts, the streets were pandemonium. He had a pocket flash on him, but there was plenty of light from the cars on the street to see. It took him a few extra minutes to walk the three blocks to his apartment building, needing to wend his way around the groups of people from the stalled cars in the traffic jam caused when the traffic signals went out.“Another mess, sir,” Fredrick said as the doorman opened the door for Greg at the apartment building. The emergency lights were burning, as they had been in the office building. “They went to get more fuel for the generator. You going to wait for the power or walk up?”“I’ll walk.”Fredrick shook his head. “Better thee than me. I don’t see how you do it. Nine floors.”Greg grinned at him. “At least I’m not on the tenth.”“Don’t remind of the tenth floor,” Fredrick said with a grimace. The DuCouskies are going to throw a fit if the power isn’t on by the time they get back tonight. If we keep getting these power failures, I may just take up a collection to get a larger fuel tank to run the generator to power the elevator. Or pay for it myself.”“Let me know. I’ll chip in five bucks,” Greg said with a laugh and a wave as he headed for the stairs. He was breathing deeply, but easily when he reached his apartment. Since he wasn’t going out with Beverly tonight and the facts of the power outage, it would be easier to eat in.Greg turned on the battery lamp on the entry table, then another in the kitchen. It didn’t take long to decide. He didn’t feel like pulling out his camping gear and setting up the stove so he just made a small bowl of tuna fish salad and had a sandwich and a wedge of lettuce for his supper.The DSL connection was still up and Greg spent the time between supper and bedtime on the internet. The power outage was widespread again. He got tired of the repetitive stories, since most lacked hard information about what had caused this one. Greg checked a few of the preparedness forums of which he was a member and caught up on the postings. He added a comment or two, and then turned off the computer and went to bed.The power came back on the next morning while he was showering by lamplight. The news wasn’t good as he watched one of the morning TV news shows. It had been another act of terrorism that caused the blackout the evening before. The equipment at three key substations had been hit with multiple rocket-propelled grenades.The police were still clearing the traffic jams as Greg walked to work. Normally he only worked one weekend out of six, but with the system on backup power for as long as it was, wanted to check on things personally.When he got to the offices, things were more or less normal. The UPS systems had maintained the computers the entire night and all the regular backups had been done without problem, but the reserve power was low now and Greg began backing critical systems up every hour in case another blackout occurred before the UPS systems were back up to full charge.Even with the additional storage capacity that had been added to the system, the UPS could barely cover the automatic backups and shutdowns of the computers, except for the one critical server, which had it’s own long term UPS. It had been a costly upgrade, but the frequent blackouts had mandated it.There was another short power outage just after lunch, but it only lasted an hour. Reports on the radio indicated the power company had downed the power to get some replacement equipment hooked up.Greg went home that night with the system at full readiness. When he watched the news he found himself tensing up. There were more than the usual number of political trouble spots in the world tonight. And the weather… Greg looked up as the windows lit up with a lightning strike and thunder shook them. Another big storm and the local one wasn’t the only one brewing, according to the Weather Channel when he switched to it.When he went back to the local news, there was a series of photographs of three men and two women on the screen. The police wanted them for questioning about the substation attacks. One of them looked vaguely familiar to him, but Greg put it off to just a similarity of features to someone he’d seen occasionally, probably where he shopped.Greg went to bed that night feeling uneasy. He didn’t sleep well, and was up early Sunday morning. It was still raining. He flipped on the news while he prepared a light breakfast. A recap of last night’s news. Everything as it was or worse. He thought about what his father would think about the situation. With a fond smile he muttered, “Better stock up on a few things.”That was as good a plan as any for a rainy Sunday. Again thinking of his father, Greg pulled out a set of his khaki work clothes. The ones he wore when he was doing physical work. He liked them better than jeans. People sometimes made fun of him for looking like an African hunter, or Indiana Jones, due to the leather jacket and wide-brimmed leather hat he wore he often wore with the khakis.But Greg had grown up with the comments and he didn’t let them bother him. He loaded up his pockets and went down to the parking garage. He didn’t drive much in the city. Greg either walked or took cabs or mass transit most of the time. Most of what he did was within a ten-block area of the apartment building.One of the reasons he shopped where he did, despite there being stores closer, was it was an excuse to take out his old truck every couple of weeks or so. He’d bought it used from a friend of his dad’s that could no longer drive. It had been a farm truck and looked pretty rough, but the running gear was in great shape and only had twenty-thousand miles on it. Mostly slow speed miles at that, being used on the farm mostly. It was a 1976 Chevrolet K20 long wheelbase Fleetside pickup truck. It had been red at one time, but was now a rather rusty looking grey-brown.It sported a very modern, 98-gallon auto transfer fuel tank, the standard left-side 20 gallon fuel tank, a 42-gallon right side aftermarket fuel tank, and a custom 15-gallon tank where the original spare tire had been under the bed, giving a total of 175 gallons of fuel. The truck got at least sixteen miles to the gallon come rain or shine and therefore had an un-refueled highway range of 2,800 miles.There was a bedrail-mount toolbox on each side, and two spare tires in the bed. The side toolboxes had rails on their back to support a sectioned hard cover stout enough to support significant weight. The heavy-duty rear bumper incorporated a two inch receiver hitch and swing away mounts for a spare tire, Hi-Lift jack, D-handle shovel, axe, pick-mattock, sledge hammer, and three five-gallon jerry cans of water.The original small block 283 cubic inch displacement engine, despite having only twenty-thousand miles on it, had many more hours of slow speed running than the number of miles would indicate. It was probably fine, but Greg wanted a little more power anyway, with the modifications he planned for the truck. He got another small block Chevy engine. This one was set up as a 327 cubic inch with four bolt mains, with a super charger.The truck fired right up, and despite the potential power of the engine, it barely rumbled as it warmed up. Greg didn’t like loud things. The truck had large diameter dual exhausts and extra quiet mufflers. He put the truck in gear after a minute or so and headed out of the parking garage.Traffic was light downtown on a rainy Sunday and Greg quickly got away from the high-density buildings of downtown. A few more minutes and he was at the huge shopping complex where he did his grocery shopping.He’d done a quick inventory at home, and while he didn’t really need anything, Greg decided to increase his stocks somewhat, on general principles. He hit Sam’s Club first and got the same basic things he always got, and then hit his regular grocery store for the rest.By noon he was back at the apartment and everything was put away. Greg lazed around the rest of the day. It was the last lazy day he would have for some time.
Bugging Home - Part 1 - Chapter 2
The day started off just fine. It had stopped raining, the sun was shining, and it looked to be pretty for at least three days. But shortly after start of business Monday morning, things took an ominous turn. The first inkling came when he stretched and looked out the window, down toward the street. There was a light fog drifting down the street.“That’s odd,” Greg said, bringing his arms down to his sides. They’d occasionally get fog early in the morning, but not on a warm day like today. “That’s odd, too,” he added when he glanced in the direction the fog was coming from. He couldn’t see anyone, but the other direction there was the normal foot traffic on the sidewalk.Just then a car came roaring out of the fog and jumped the curb, crossing the sidewalk and slamming into a building down the street from his. Then people on the sidewalk began running away from the fog. Greg saw the fog overtake two people walking slowly along, in the same direction the fog was flowing. Suddenly both people fell out of sight under the fog.“Holy Moly!” exclaimed Greg. He quickly turned on the TV set in his office and checked the news channels. Nothing. Same on the internet. He looked out the window again. The hue and cry of those near the fog moments ago must have alerted more people. There were dozens leaving the buildings downwind of the fog, running away from it.Someone stuck their head in his office door and said, “Come on, Greg! We have to get out of here! There’s a gas leak or something.”The man was gone without hearing Greg’s remark, “I don’t think that’s a gas leak. Gas, yes. Leak, no.”When he went out of his office, the staff were heading for the elevators. “I wouldn’t go down there!” he called. “I think it’s gas!”“That’s right,” someone responded. “I, for one, am not waiting around for it to blow!”Realizing he would never convince anyone, Greg turned back to his office. One of the local TV stations was just breaking in with the news. The report confirmed what Greg had thought. It was a terrorist chemical attack. It also confirmed that his course of action was a good one. “Anyone in a multi-story building should go to at least the third floor or above. The gas is hugging the ground. Do not try to go through the gas to get away.”Greg looked out of the window again. The gas fog was at the building he was in now. People were still streaming out. Then there was no one. Even the building down the street stopped spewing people. Apparently the news had spread to get above the fog.He was going to be here a while, so Greg began backing up the systems and shutting them down. A couple of people showed up in the office again. “They told us to get above the second floor. It’s poison gas!”“Yes. I saw it on the news. I suggest…”“We’re going back down to join the others on the fifth floor,” said one. “We just wanted to get our things.”Ignoring Greg, the other said, “I think we should go with those going to the roof to wait for a helicopter to come get us. Rodney said they’d surely send one.”Greg stayed silent. He doubted there’d be anyone in to rescue them for some time. The authorities would wait for the gas to dissipate, and then bring in decontamination teams. The two women headed out, Greg did not know which way they actually went. He went back into his office to see what else the media was saying.Pretty much the same thing. The power went off shortly after he had finished the back-ups he was running. The UPS systems would have kept the computers going for long enough to do the back-ups, but he was glad he was finished.People continued to pop in and out of the offices, trying to figure out what to do. Finally Greg gathered a group of them together in an area with plenty of windows to provide light. “Okay. I’ve thought about something like this happening. There is quite a bit of food and water in the building. I would suggest everyone find some before the emergency lights loose power. The water might go off or be shut off, so a few of you should empty and clean some waste baskets and fill them with water.“I think we’ll be here for a day or so, maybe longer, so we should get as many things done that we can while we still have what services we do have.”“Surely someone will rescue us within a few hours!” someone called out.“I don’t think so,” replied Greg.“Well, just who the hell are you? What do you know about it? I think I’m just going to wet some towels and cover my mouth and nose with them and get out of here.”“I wouldn’t try that. I saw people succumbing to the gas down on the street.”Someone else said, “Well, we can’t just sit around here. What if the gas starts coming higher or something?”It was a lost cause, for the most part. People went off on their own. Greg hoped they’d all be okay, but he figured some would try to leave and suffer the consequences. Others would stay and probably be okay, but suffer needlessly. He, on the other hand, had his work bug-in supplies and would be just fine.Greg thought everyone had left, including all of his co-workers, but as he turned to go to his office he heard one lone voice ask a question. “You’re awfully calm in all this. You really think it’s better to just stay and not try to get out some way?”He turned around and saw the woman speaking. She stood near the business entrance, and then took a couple of steps toward him. She was dressed in a nice, conservative gray business outfit, with a knee length skirt and white blouse.“Yes, I do,” Greg replied. “I’m Greg, by the way.”“Audrey. I’m inclined to agree,” she said. “I work for Lowenstein, down on five. The news had said to get above the third floor. I thought up here would be better than floor three, just in case. I was hoping I might get a signal on my cell up here, too. Ever since that site went down last month my cell phone hasn’t worked worth a hoot here in downtown.”“I know,” replied Greg.“If you’ll explain what you think we should do, I’ll help,” Audrey said when Greg didn’t continue. “I can do the wastebaskets. Or food. I must say I’m getting hungry. It’s way past lunch.”“Can’t do the restaurant since it’s on the first floor. I know some of the offices have break rooms. Including ours. Let’s see if there’s anything left. Some of my co-workers might have cleaned it out after I said what I did.”When they got there, it was obvious that at least some of Greg’s advice to the group had been taken. There wasn’t anything left in the goodies box, cabinet, or refrigerator.“Well. No real problem,” Greg said.“Speak for yourself. I skipped breakfast this morning and I’m starving.”“We can check some other places, though if you aren’t too picky I have some things in my office.”“Your office,” Audrey said without hesitation.“I’d just as soon you not say anything about what I’m going to show you,” Greg told Audrey. “I keep a bug-in and bug-out supplies here in the office. My boss knows I do, but not really the extent.”Audrey smiled. “Bug-in and bug-out? Are you a survivalist or something? Not that I mind. Not if you have food.”“I consider it emergency preparedness. I don’t like the term survivalist since the media made such an evil word of it. But… Yes… In the original context.”Greg led Audrey to the shelving unit against one wall of his office. The bottom section was cabinets rather than open shelves. He opened one and pulled out a plastic storage box that filled the one cabinet.“Pretty much iron rations,” he said, handing Audrey a foil packaged Mainstay lifeboat ration pack. “I have bottled water, but I prefer to keep that, just in case and get water from the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”Audrey read the package, then tore it open and tried the compressed food bar. She was about ready to go check on Greg when he didn’t return immediately, but realized she really wasn’t thirsty. The package had indicated the ration was not thirst inducing.Greg showed up a couple minutes later, with water in the collapsible cup he’d taken from the box.“This is pretty good,” Audrey told him, taking the water.“Yes. I like them, though I don’t want a steady diet of them. About a third of that should be enough. It’s a 3,600 calorie bar. I have some gorp, too, for desert. I like my comfort food. And there are other things besides the lifeboat rations and gorp.”He took the one-third piece of the ration when Audrey handed it to him. “I filled the trashcan in the men’s room with water, but I want to get some more filled pretty quick,” Greg said between bites.Audrey nodded. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”Greg shook his head. “Couple days, maybe. Perhaps more. Depends on when they can start decontaminating. It’s going to take a lot of equipment, even if this is only a four or five block area. There’s plenty of food and drinking water. I mostly want to store water to make sure we have a working toilet if the water is shut off.”“Why would they do that?”“I can’t think of a reason, but I don’t like taking chances.” He reached over and tried the phone. “Out. Don’t know if the system overloaded or it went down for some other reason. This was another terror attack. They might have sabotaged the phones and might the water, too. Probably what happened to the power, though that happens often enough now, anyway.”“You sure are calm about all this.”With a shrug Greg replied, “I’ve been preparing all my life. Nothing much surprises me. My dad was into it, and so was my grandfather.”Audrey finished her third of the ration bar and wrapped the rest back up. She walked over to the window. “Hey! The gas is gone! People are leaving.”“Bad move,” Greg replied, moving over to stand beside her. “Look. Those first three or four people are going down.”Some of those trying to leave the other building hurried back inside, but Greg thought it was probably too late for them. They couldn’t see their own building’s entrance so couldn’t tell if anyone from it had tried to leave.“Okay. I’m going to draw up some more water,” Greg said.“I’ll help,” replied Audrey.They worked until it was dark outside. Greg fixed some hot tea to go with their ration bars that evening, using the supplies from the bug-in kit. He had a one burner Apex II stove that quickly heated up the water. Audrey took a little of the gorp as she drank her tea. They used the break room after it got dark. There were two sofas in addition to the table and a few chairs, plus there was a counter with a sink to make things a bit easier.There were a couple of jackets in the break room they could use as pillows. Greg handed Audrey one of the two heavy-duty thermal reflective blankets in his supplies when they decided to go ahead and go to bed. The emergency lights had long sense depleted their batteries so Greg wound up his radio flashlight combo unit. They listened to the news for a bit. It was all about the terrorist attacks, but there wasn’t much information useful to them, so Greg turned it off.
Bugging Home - Part 1 - Chapter 3
It was noon the next day when they saw the first signs of help being on its way. They watched from the window as three men in environmental suits moved around the area, took samples from the air, the street and sidewalks, and the building walls. They would disappear into a building for a few minutes, and then reappear. Greg and Audrey watched them work their way down the street until they passed out of their line of sight.It was obvious that people had been calling to them from the buildings, but they had made no response other than to wave in acknowledgement and motions to stay inside and up. “Well, Greg said, as the group moved out of sight, “It shouldn’t be too much longer. The news said it was only a six-block area. They probably have more teams sampling. The decontamination should start first thing tomorrow, if not sooner.It was sooner. A Fire Department pumper truck was spraying things down by six that evening. It didn’t look like plain water. There was a little color to it and it didn’t splash the same way. “Probably a neutralizer,” Greg replied when Audrey asked about the appearance.A group of people in protective gear came along behind. They were the inside decontamination crews from the looks of the equipment they took into the buildings. Additional samplers followed them.Clean up crews of another type came next. Bodies were being placed in body bags and loaded onto a truck. Then ambulances and city busses began showing up. The crews were all in protective gear, as well. From their vantage point, Greg and Audrey could see people being taken from the buildings down the street. Many people walked out, but there were more than a few on stretchers and gurneys. And some body bags.The activity stopped when it got full dark. “Looks like another night here,” Greg said, stepping away from the window when it was obvious they would not be leaving that evening. But they had everything they needed, thanks to Greg’s bug-in box, including toiletries. The water was still working so they had not needed to resort to flushing the toilets with water they’d drawn up in wastebaskets.The following morning when the activity approached their building, Audrey said, “I guess we should go down. They’ll be in this building soon.” She looked over at Greg.“I’m going to clean things up a little and repack my things. I’ll be down in a while.”“Oh.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “I want to thank you for helping me out. I can’t imagine what the others have been going through. We had it pretty easy here, thanks to you.”“Don’t mention it, Audrey. I’ve been at this for a long time. I’ll see you later. When they let us back into the building. Okay?”“Audrey nodded. “Okay. Uh… Bye… I guess.”“Bye. Be careful going down the stairs. Just do what the rescue teams say. They’ll get you out safe.” Greg turned back to what he was doing.“I will.” With a last look at his back, Audrey turned and left his office, wondering how he could be so calm. “Of course,” she muttered to herself as she opened the stairway door, “he’s been calm through this whole thing. I guess it pays to be prepared.”Her last sentiment was confirmed when she saw the condition of the others from the building. They looked terrible. She heard several people asking the suited up crew if they would be fed when they got to where they were going. At least they got an affirmative answer.Audrey turned her head away when she saw an ambulance crew working on someone that had been exposed to the gas. She held back, hoping Greg would come down to the third floor, letting others be taken out to the bus before her. Firefighters, dressed in their turnout gear and wearing their SCBA equipment began to head for the stairs to search the building.Greg, thinking that they probably would not let him go to his apartment building, decided to leave his Tyvek footed and hooded coveralls and respirator in the box. He’d go out through the regular process. He doubted he would have much choice, anyway. He was right. When he heard the firefighter call out if anyone was on the floor, Greg called out, “Here. I’m almost ready.”The firefighter keyed the microphone of his radio and said, “Found one.” Studying Greg for a moment he asked, “You okay? You need help with the stairs or anything?”“No. I’m fine. What floor are they processing us?”“Third. By the elevators.”“Okay. I’ll be on my way. Thanks. Haven’t seen anyone else in these offices since it started, but I guess you have to check that anyway, huh?”Greg received a nod in reply. The firefighter watched Greg until Greg went into the stairwell, then continued his search on the fourteenth floor. Greg decided he must be the last one, unless someone else on fifteen through eighteen hadn’t come down yet. Which he doubted.A paramedic checked him over and asked him a few questions about his exposure. “Nope. Been on the fourteenth since it began. I haven’t had any exposure at all.”Another firefighter led him out to the bus. It was filling up quickly from the other buildings. He’d debated bringing his bug-out bag with him, but was glad he hadn’t when he saw others have their belongings taken from them for decontamination when they reached the processing center.Everyone had to strip and go through a decontamination shower, and then were given underwear, a blue jumpsuit to put on, and a pair of simple sandals. As soon as he was processed Greg went to the information desk that had been set up. He gave his address and asked if it had been cleared for occupancy.After checking a list, the clerk said, “No, sir. It hasn’t. They’re projecting three more days. Don’t worry. We’ve made provisions to house those from the affected residential buildings.”“If we have somewhere else to go are we free to leave?”“Once you’ve been cleared,” he replied. “We need to get a little information from everyone before they leave. What you saw and heard. Where you were when it happened. That sort of thing. We’re working through people as they come in. No one is having to stay very long, if they live outside the affected area.”Greg nodded and said, “I see.” He wasn’t going to be going anywhere for a while. Might as well get comfortable and wait. It was problematic he’d be able to go directly home when he was released. No point if brooding about it. Right or wrong, Homeland Security had the authority under the Patriot Act.At least the accommodations weren’t bad. Greg found a quiet corner and made himself comfortable until his debriefing. It really didn’t take long, once they got to him. Rather routine. He got his wallet and keys back, the only things he’d brought from the office other than the clothes he wore. He wouldn’t be getting those back. They were to be destroyed for safety reasons. Just in case.Greg was released when he indicated he would get a motel room for the duration. Greg had enough cash to do so, and a credit card, or they would not have let him go.He looked for Audrey, but apparently she’d been cleared and allowed to leave already, since she had an apartment well away from the affected area.The powers-that-be were providing transportation assistance, so Greg had them drop him off at a budget motel on the far side of town. The driver assumed it was because Greg wanted to be as far away as possible from the area he’d just left. Actually, it was because he had a mini-storage room rented within walking distance of the motel.It didn’t take long to go to the storage room after he’d checked into the motel, and get a few things. A small duffle bag containing a couple of changes of clothes, another with basic equipment and supplies, and a third with provisions. It would be a bit easier to just eat out, but he didn’t see the point. He had the supplies and it was about time to rotate them, anyway.According to the news reports, the area was still quarantined. No point in trying to get to the apartment building. He hoped everyone there was all right, but there was nothing he could do about it. Greg decided the best thing he could do was just take it easy and watch the news reports until there was some mention that the area was being opened up again.
Bugging Home - Part 1 - Chapter 4
It was a week, not three days, before Greg was able to get to his apartment. A bit worried about what might have been done about the contamination of his truck, since it was in the underground parking garage of the apartment building, Greg checked it first.I turned out part of the reason they waited the full week was to let the chemical gas break down on its own. The authorities had sampled and declared the area safe without further decontamination. They had done only what was needed to get the people that were trapped out. As yet, the identity of the agent used had not been released.There was some speculation that the attack was conducted by the same team of terrorists that had taken the power down previously. The apparent main target was the cluster of financial businesses in the area.Greg was able to go back to work the following Monday after he got home. He’d picked up or ordered replacements for the supplies he’d used. He’d also returned the items he’d taken from the cache at the mini-warehouse.He was pleasantly surprised when Audrey showed up one day as he was getting ready to leave the office. “Audrey… I’m sorry. I don’t think we ever exchanged last names. Mine’s Eaken.”Audrey shook Greg’s hand and replied. “And mine is Rounds. Audrey Elizabeth Rounds.”Greg smiled. “Full names, huh. Gregory Cornelius Eaken.”Audrey smiled in return. “I wanted to thank you again, and offer to replace the food and things I used. I have no idea where to purchase them. If you’ll let me know where you bought them, I’ll get replacements.”“No need,” replied Greg. “I’ve already picked some up. My bug-in kit is right back to up to snuff.”“I’d really like to repay you in some way. I didn’t realize it at the time, but after talking with some of the others that went through what we did, they suffered drastically. It was no more than an inconvenience for us… well, me.”“For me, as well. And it really wasn’t that much. Don’t worry about it.”“Well, at least let me buy you lunch one day, in return.”“Sure. That’ll be fine. Tomorrow? In the restaurant downstairs?”“Certainly. My lunch break is from 11:30 to 12:30. Is that okay?”“I’m flexible. That’s fine.”“I’ll meet you there, then. Tomorrow at 11:35.”“I’ll be there.”It had been a month since the incident and Audrey and Greg had lunch twice more after that first one. Greg helped her set up a bug-in kit similar to his, though she was rather restricted in what she could do. Her bosses weren’t as understanding as Greg’s, despite what had happened. Neither of them had been in the building when the attack occurred.A great deal of it had to do with security. It was a diamond brokerage house, and security was tight. They didn’t want much in the way of unnecessary items about the place. Audrey was able to get a couple of the lifeboat ration packs and some bottled water, but that was about the limit. A bug-out kit kept at her work was out of the question. As she took public transportation to and from work, the one the put together for her car, did her no good at work.It didn’t matter, anyway. She was at her sister’s in New Mexico when the announcement came that terrorists had planted small nuclear devices in several cities, unnamed. There were calls for calm. The Nuclear Emergency Search Teams were on the job. But in every major city and some not so major, impromptu mass evacuations began to take place. Pandemonium reigned. Gridlock was the order of the day.Greg had several alternatives. He could stay. That was the easiest. Chicago might or might not be a target. His truck had more than enough range to get him to the homestead in the Missouri Ozarks, even taking a very circuitous route. That was the next option, but could he even get out of the city now in the truck, with the traffic the way it was? There’d been no announcement as to when the devices might go off.He could leave the truck and get the Rokon with sidecar and trailer out of storage and head for one of his mini-retreats well outside of the city limits. He had three, in different directions. There was also the mountain bike and trailer. If all else failed he could go shank’s mare and back pack, with or without the two wheeled cart. Greg liked to have options. It was just, which one and how soon, if he decided to leave. Or, just take all the options with him.Greg kept an eye on the news. Traffic was tangled, but steps were being taken to get it moving again. He loaded most of the equipment and supplies from the apartment into the truck, leaving some just in case he needed to come back at some point. They included the bike, bike trailer, and two-wheel handcart.It wasn’t that difficult to get the truck over to the mini-warehouse and hook up to the modified barge trailer that carried the Rokon and its trailer. Traffic within the city wasn’t too bad.All he had to do was hook up to the trailer. Everything he kept stored in the mini-warehouse was already packed on it.It looked like the lightest traveled routes were the side roads leading east toward Gary, Indiana. That’s the way he headed. He’d need to swing south on US 41, then west on US 24 at Kentland. That would loop around south Chicago and hopefully bypass the interstates close in, which were moving, but very slowly. He’d pick up I-57 south off US 24 to take him to the Missouri border, south of Cape Girardeau. Illinois, especially Chicago, wasn’t gun friendly. He kept everything unloaded and cased, in one of the truck’s toolboxes. Except for a Para-ordinance P-14 .45 ACP. It and seven magazines were in the lock box behind the seat.He could reach behind the seat and retrieve the weapon and magazines, or snap the box shut and locked at a moments notice. There was still a lot of official presence and he doubted he would run into much trouble. But he’d break out weaponry once he crossed the Mississippi into Missouri. It would be less of a risk there, at least in the areas he’d be traveling.Staying on the side roads to get to US 41, Greg got to the mini-warehouse he had set up as a temporary haven in Morocco, Indiana. It was just after midnight. The small storage room was lined with solid 4” x 8” x 16” concrete block, three rows deep.Two by twelves were spaced on eight-inch centers with bricks stacked between them over the walls. On top of the two by twelves was a layer of ¾” tongue and grove plywood. It supported three layers of the blocks. There were additional blocks to fill the doorway to the shelter, which was half filled with equipment and supplies. He had two other mini-warehouse rooms set up the same way, well outside Chicago. One on the northwest side and one on the southwest side.He didn’t really need anything from the storage room, but had decided to stay close to it for his rest stop, just in case Chicago did have a nuke and it went off. It was a pleasant night, so Greg threw his sleeping bag on the floor of the roof rack, climbed up and crawled in. The P-14 was concealed in a small bag by his head.
Bugging Home - Part 1 – Chapter 5
Greg checked the news as soon as he got up the next morning at six. People all over the country were still streaming out of the cities to small towns and rural areas. Most weren’t going all that far, it seemed, but going they were. There was extensive looting in the cities and confrontations between evacuees and residents of the areas to which they were evacuating.There was a service station open, with fuel available. Greg used the bathroom, got something to eat, and topped off his tanks. He didn’t say anything about the dollar a gallon hike on the fuel. He didn’t need that much. He paid with his credit card.He had plenty of cash since the first thing he’d done after the announcement was go to each of the three banks where he had accounts and withdrawn half of the balances. That gave him a total of over three thousand dollars and he wanted to hang on to it for as long as possible. The price of everything was likely to skyrocket, despite any controls the authorities might try to put on things.Traffic was erratic as he headed south for Kentland. Sometimes there would be very little traffic, then anywhere from one to a dozen vehicles would come whizzing up and past him. There were times when the traffic was barely moving. More than one vehicle was off the road onto the shoulder, apparently due to lack of fuel or mechanical failure.Greg stopped and helped one family change a flat tire. They were in a minivan, and seemed to have no clue as to what to do. Pulling well off the pavement behind them, Greg changed the tire, which, fortunately, was on the side away from the pavement. The man had barely pulled off far enough to let traffic by.It was obvious that other cars had been in accidents and pushed off the road. Greg stopped and helped where he could, giving rides to the next town available to individuals so they could try and get something done. He wouldn’t offer fuel, but did give rides for people to try to buy a can and gas, and get a ride back to their vehicle.He just made sure slow progress. The traffic on US 24 between Kentland and I-57 was light. Most people were trying to go south. When he got on I-57 and turned south himself, traffic was heavy, though moving well.And unlike in and around Chicago itself, the northbound lanes were open. People had been using both sets of lanes to escape the city. Service stations at every junction were packed. Greg only stopped to use the restroom and check attitudes of other travelers. The attitudes were mixed. So were the destinations, though not many seemed willing to say where they were headed.Greg started looking for a likely place to stop for the night. He was in the southern half of Illinois now. Every commercial campground was already packed. So were the parks and state and national forest campgrounds. The rest stops were also full of people camping out.He turned off the interstate and went quite a ways away from it before looking for a likely farm. There had been many along the highway where people just stopped and set up camp. He wasn’t going to be that way.The one he decided to stop at seemed to be a small operation. He parked in front of the equipment shed where several people were grouped, talking. “Hello,” he called, stepping out of the truck as the five men moved toward him. They were looking over his rig closely.“We don’t allow no huntin’ on the property,” said one.Greg addressed his remarks to the man, figuring he was probably the owner or foreman, as he was the oldest. “I understand,” Greg replied. “I’m not looking to hunt. I’m headed for the Ozarks and just needed a place to camp out for one night.”“Camp out? This ain’t a good way to be gettin’ to the Ozarks. And there’s plenty of campgrounds along the interstate.”“Yes, sir. I know. But with what’s going on, they’re all full and I’m a bit afraid of what might happen in some of them. I’m looking for a safe place to stay. And I should warn you. I might not be the only one wanting to camp on your property. There are a lot of folks getting away from the cities and most of them are heading for the country. I’m more than willing to offer you something in return for you allowing me to stay.“I pack out what I pack in. All there’d be left after I leave tomorrow is a pressed down area of grass. I have a portable toilet so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything like that. If you don’t want me to, I’ll understand. I know it’s an intrusion but I don’t particularly want to trust camping out with the wild masses. Things are getting nasty.”“I don’t know, fella. We heard about what’s happening. Got a satellite dish. But didn’t figure it would affect us none.”“It might not,” Greg said. “Look, I know it’s an imposition. I’ll just go and look for another place.”“Now, hold on, young fella. Didn’t say no. Just got to consider it a bit. Hang on there a minute.” He turned to talk to his companions, softly. They seemed to reach a consensus quickly.“Okay. You can leave your rig parked here and set up your tent over there by the fence. What’s your name, anyway, mister?”“Greg Eaken, sir.” He held out his hand.“Albert Waken. These two’s my boys and them’s my two hired hands.” Greg shook hands all around. “What you think of all these goings-on? You think there’s really atom bombs in the cities?” Albert asked. The other four went back to the equipment shed as Albert stayed with Greg while he went to the Rokon trailer and unpacked the tent that it carried.“I don’t know, Mr. Waken. I’m worried enough to get out of Chicago and head for the old home place in Missouri.”“We was thinking that maybe we should bury an old semi trailer we got out back and make a shelter. They blow up St. Louis, could get some of that radiation fallout. We got a bucket loader for one of the tractors. It oughta do it.”“That might not be a bad idea. I wouldn’t wait too long.” Greg could tell that Mr. Waken was more interested in his rig than he was in a bomb in St. Louis. He nodded with his chin toward the barge trailer as he set up the tent. “That’s a Rokon bike. Custom built the tandem wheel trailer. The bike is two-wheel drive. Carry a thousand pounds or tow three thousand. Go just about anywhere, especially without the sidecar and trailer. But I wanted to be able to take my… camping gear, if the truck broke down or the roads get too clogged.”“Big ol’ wheels though. Be lighter with spokes.“Yes, sir. But they’re hollow. Designed to carry fuel or water or whatever. I have fuel in them. I used the same wheels and tires on the l trailer I built. The side car is factory and it uses the same tire and wheel.”“Got gas in all of ‘em?”“Sure do. Over thirty gallons for the seven of them. I can go quite a ways with the rig if I need to.”“Int’resting.”“Got a complete set of camping gear in the sidecar and trailer and enough food and supplies to last a month.”“Month, huh? Well, I’m a wondering… you being so well heeled and all, if you might be packing heat. Just wondering, you know. It’s okay, if you are. Me and the boys… wife and the girls, too, for that matter, are pretty handy with a rifle. I just feel like I should know.”“Considering things,” Greg said, going to the cab of the truck, “I thought it wise. I’ll keep it locked up here.” He showed Albert the P-14, and then put it back into the locking box.“Won’t need it here, fer sure. We’re a peaceable lot around here,” said Albert. “Look see. I need to get back with the boys. We’re working on the spray rig. You make yourself to home. If’n you need anything, come fetch one of us.”“Thank you, Mr. Waken. I’ll do that. And thank you. Are you sure you won’t let me pay you a little? Going rate for a campground, at least?”“Nah,” he said, waving a hand as he went around the tractor in front of the shed, “Wouldn’t be neighborly. You just mind your manners, and everything’ll be fine.”Greg smiled and finished setting up the tent, and then thought about setting up the privacy enclosure, useable as an outhouse, with a chemical toilet, or as a shower with the MSR ten-liter water bag and shower attachment. The tent was a Eureka with vestibule fly. The privacy enclosure he’d made himself, with aluminum conduit and pieces of tarp he’d had sewn up at an awning maker.One of the advantages of his design was that it included a wooden grate floor over the tarp floor and a water hose connection to direct the shower water away from the enclosure. He wasn’t desperate for a shower, so he didn’t set up the enclosure. Instead, he put the chemical toilet in the tent’s rear vestibule. It would give adequate privacy.His breakfast and dinner had been convenience store snacks. For supper he took out a Mountain House two-person freeze-dried entrée, heated water, and prepared it. A Hershey bar was dessert. It was growing dark and the two hands left. Albert and his sons went to the house.The previous night had been a late one. Greg let the Thermo-rest mattress inflate, and unrolled the Quallofill filled sleeping bag. His rolled up clothing was his pillow. A second P-14 lay under the bundle. He’d mentioned the first to Albert. He hadn’t seen any reason to mention the second. Bugging Home – Part 1 – Chapter 6Greg was up and packed by five the next morning. He was sitting sideways in the truck, the door open, when Albert and sons came out of the house. He’d just finished eating a package of Mountain House scrambled eggs with bacon. He licked the spoon clean and put the empty package in the trash container in the console.After stepping out of the truck, he walked over to join the three men by the tractor. “I just wanted to thank you for allo…”All four glanced down the long driveway when the raucous sound of three car horns blared. Quickly Greg continued. “For allowing me to stay. I think I should be on my way so as not to give the others any idea that I stayed here, in case you want to dissuade others.”“Yeah. Sure, sonny. Have a safe trip.” Albert began walking a ways down the drive to meet the others, his sons flanking him.As Greg pulled around and headed down the driveway, he noted that all three of the men had some sort of pistol in a hip pocket. He grinned and waved as he passed the three.“Knew the peace wasn’t going to last for long,” Greg said aloud as he headed back toward the interstate. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be as smooth sailing as it had been the previous day. He was right. Traffic was backed up, and spreading around the local area.He’d checked the map while he’d had breakfast and had an alternate route picked out. It would put him back on I-57 further south. The route took him a ways from the interstate, so he never found out what had slowed the traffic. Probably an accident. But traffic on I-57 was moving just fine when he picked it up just north of the I-24 junction.It was smooth sailing from there to the border with Missouri. The I-57 Mississippi River bridge was a different story. Traffic was backed up at least a mile. Greg climbed onto the pipe rack and looked down the highway. People were being turned around at the crossovers by Illinois State Troopers.When it was his turn the trooper asked, “You from Missouri?”“I own a farm near Willow Springs.”“Let’s see your driver’s license.”“It’s an Illinois license, Officer. I’ve been making my home in Chicago for a few years.”“Sorry then. They’re only letting people into Missouri if they have Missouri ID. Missouri is doing the same thing on their side. You’ll have to turn back.”“I see,” said Greg. He wasn’t going to push it. From the radio reports he’d been hearing this wasn’t an isolated occurrence. All around the country borders were being closed. Not just state, but even some county borders and lots of small towns.He headed back north on the interstate until he could get off onto a side road. After stopping he took out a large Tyvek envelope from the case behind the seat. Going through it, Greg removed a copy of the ownership papers for the farm, and returned the envelope to the lock box. Then he began looking for access to the river.It took a while to find a suitable access site that was not easily visible from a main road, but he finally found one. It took only a few moments to get the barge trailer into the water and tied off. He moved the truck among the trees, threw camouflage netting over it and ran a heavy cable through openings on the front bumper and a thick tree, and snapped a lock shut in the eyelets in the end of the cable.He fixed something to eat, then took a nap. When dusk was approaching Greg fired up the twin fifty horsepower Mercury outboards on the barge and headed across the river. He’d used a pair of Steiner ten power binoculars to scout several likely landing spots on the far bank and headed for the most promising.Unfortunately the first place had good access off the river but was ringed with close spaced trees. He’d not be able to get anywhere without cutting a path through the forest. That could take days.He headed for the next closest spot. Not as good of access, but there was the semblance of a trail out of the landing spot. It was bound to lead to a road eventually. He ran the barge against the bank and jumped off with the painter in hand. He tied off three corners of the barge to keep it steady against the current, then pulled to shore one end of the bridging planks he taken from the truck.He had the Rokon rig unloaded and concealed a few minutes later. Like the truck he’d left, he secured the Rokon and trailer and threw camouflage over it. It was full dark when he got the truck moved over. But the truck had plenty of light sources, so he pulled the barge trailer from the water and reloaded the Rokon rig. Greg set up camp and settled in for the night.It took a while, and backtracking a couple of times, but Greg found a road the next morning. He checked his maps and with a GPS reading, located himself in the somewhat featureless terrain. Traffic south (actually now west) on I-57 was light. When he got to the juncture of I-57 and I-55 what traffic there was, was stopped.When Greg got to the head of the line, it was the same situation as that at the river crossing. Missouri State Troopers were only letting people with local business proceed. Greg showed the trooper his ownership papers.He wanted to see Greg’s driver’s license, as well. When he saw that it was an Illinois license, he frowned. “How’d you get past the border? They’re supposed to be stopping all non-Missouri traffic.”“Oh. I’m moving back to the old home place. Sure picked a good time, I think. I’ve been down on the river for a while since I don’t get much of a chance to enjoy it up in Chicago. This side of the river, obviously.” Greg was always careful not to lie, but he knew how to tell the truth the most effectively.“Well, okay, then. I guess well let you proceed, based on the fact that you own property here. But get that driver’s license changed to here pretty quick. I’ll be checking up on you.” The trooper handed the papers and license back to Greg and waved him on.Greg went in to Sikeston to see if he could top off his fuel tanks. There was fuel available, but the lines were long, and the price was high. He still had plenty of fuel, anyway. Taking US 60, he headed west. Greg had to show his ownership papers again when he hit the outskirts of Popular Bluff. The city police had a roadblock up and were stopping everyone they didn’t know. He was able to find fuel in Poplar Bluff, and topped off the tanks. He also stopped at a restaurant and got a good meal. The prices were up, but not nearly as much as they were along the Interstates.He tried to get a hotel room for the rest of the day and night, but there wasn’t a room to be had. A lot of St. Louis folks were in town. There were a couple of spots left in a campground in the Mark Twain National Forest. Greg set up camp and went to bed. He wanted to be fresh the next day. He should be home by noon, barring trouble, but the stress was telling on him.He hadn’t run into any violence yet, but the radio was reporting isolated incidents all over the country. Mostly in the cities, where there was quite a bit of looting going on, but also in the rural areas where city folk were demanding accommodation beyond what was easily available. There were a few reports of rural locals waylaying and robbing people fleeing the cities.Greg woke up the next morning with those thoughts in mind. He decided to go back in to Poplar Bluff to eat, but turned around when he saw the group at the outskirts. The line of cars was at least nine or ten long. He turned around and headed for the place he’d inherited from his father, and his father before him.He was just east of Mountain Home when he started to pull over to see if he could help where a car was pulled over to the side of the road. There hadn’t been much traffic lately and Greg decided to help if he could. It turned out not to be a good idea.Greg stopped with plenty of room between the truck and car, stopping well back of it. He had scanned the wooded area carefully as he was stopping. Greg started to step out of the truck. He saw the woman looking at him and moved toward the front of the truck. He had one of the P-14 pistols in a small-of-the-back holster.When he cleared the front of the truck he saw the woman quickly look toward the woods. “Okay mister! Hands in the air!” One of the two men stepping out of the wooded area had a pump shotgun. The other a bolt-action hunting rifle. Both held their guns pointed toward Greg, but with muzzles somewhat lowered.Greg’s left hand started to lift, but his right was going behind him. It caught the two men and the woman flatfooted. The two men had barely started lifting their weapons by the time Greg was in a solid Weaver stance, the P-14 lined up on the one with the shotgun.“You drop ‘em!” Greg called. His eyes darted occasionally toward the woman, then back. For the moment she was standing still. Both men had stopped lifting their weapons, but held onto them.“You,” he told the woman, “Move over there with them.” He’d only glanced at her, his eyes going back to the two men.“All we want is your rig. We’ll let you go if you put down your gun.” It was the man with the shotgun speaking.“And what if I don’t?”This time it was the man with the rifle that spoke. “We’ll kill you, you SOB! Now put down the gun!”“You’re going to kill me?” Greg asked, finger tightening on the trigger just slightly.“You got that right, Yankee!” The shotgun man again.“Did you hear that lady? They said they were going to shoot me.”“If they don’t I will,” she almost screamed.“That’s all I needed to know.” Greg squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession, double-tapping the man with the shotgun in the chest. He shifted ever so slightly and double-tapped the rifleman.The woman screamed, and then, as Greg turned the pistol toward her, yelled, “Don’t kill me, mister! Please don’t kill me!” She started backing up, then turned and began to run.Greg went to the front of the car and put three rounds into the radiator. The woman ran faster. Greg ran back to the truck and pulled out a pair of jersey gloves after holstering his P-14. He quickly donned the gloves and ran over to the two men. Both were dead. Both had dropped their weapons. He noted the position of the two guns, then picked each up in turn and fired two rounds across the road. The woman had run into the woods so he couldn’t tell if she ran faster or just hid.With the guns back on the ground in the same place as when he picked them up, Greg went back to the truck and pulled onto the road. He made sure there were no clear tire tracks on the shoulder and side of the ditch, then got back in the truck and took off. He never looked back.
Bugging Home - Part 1 - Epilog
Like the other towns along the way now, Mountain Home had people manning the road entrances to the town. Greg showed his ownership papers again, and reported that two men were dead back a ways and their car shot up. One of the guards was a deputy sheriff. He climbed into his cruiser, called it in, and headed back the way Greg had come.Greg’s hands started to shake a few miles outside of Mountain Home. He quickly found a place to pull off the road. Hurriedly he stumbled out of the truck, ran around it and fell to his knees. He vomited for what seemed like forever. But, finally, he got up, got a water bottle and washed out his mouth.Leaning against the side of the truck, he stared at the forest for a long time, then got back into the truck and headed for home. He was only a few miles from Willow Springs and his place wasn’t far from the town. It’d only be a couple hours more. A couple, since he was driving very slowly for a while.
Copyright 2005
Jerry D Young
(Part 2 next week)
http://frc4u.org/phpbb/index.php?action=articles;sa=view;article=13
Wish i could get in on this deal. If i had a place i would take ten or more.
Government to sell FEMA trailers to Katrina victims for $1 or $5
08:43 AM CDT on Wednesday, June 3, 2009 KHOU.com staff report
WASHINGTON—The Obama administration on Wednesday will announce plans to sell about 1,800 trailers to families displaced by Hurricane Katrina who are living in government housing, The Washington Post reports.
The move comes weeks after the trailer program officially ended on May 1.
FEMA officials said they could start referring cases for eviction on June 1.
Typically, FEMA provides aid for 18 months after a disaster. The organization has extended the aid for 45 months for Katrina victims.
Officials plan to sell the trailers for $1 and $5, depending on the model of the home.
More details will be available on the program once the official announcement is made.
http://www.khou.com/news/local/stories/khou090603_tnt_fema-trailers-for-sale.442ef5f3.html
FTC shuts allegedly rogue Internet provider
SAN FRANCISCO (AP) - The federal government has severed the Internet connection of a company accused of helping criminals serve up a "witches' brew" of nasty content online, from computer viruses to child pornography.
It's likely to be just a short-lived victory in the fight against cybercrime, though, since bad guys are very good at getting back online quickly.
The Federal Trade Commission said Thursday that it has ordered the shutdown of a company called Pricewert LLC, described in a complaint filed in San Jose, Calif., federal court as an Oregon-based shell company run by "overseas criminals", operating out of Belize and running many its illegal operations out of servers in Silicon Valley.
Pricewert, which operated the "Triple Fiber Network" or "3FN," wasn't the type of Internet service that average consumers would see or sign up for. Instead, the service was advertised "in the darkest corners of the Internet" and was targeted at criminals who want to put malicious Web sites online, but need the servers and bandwidth to do it, according to the complaint.
Technicians working for 3FN even helped criminals maintain the armies of personal computers that they had infected with viruses, according to the complaint. Those armies are known as "botnets," and they require some sophistication to manage.
The FTC says the case marks the first time the agency has ordered the shuttering of an Internet provider. The agency has usually focused on taking out harmful Web sites individually. Companies that host malicious Web sites are usually forced offline under pressure from the FBI or computer security researchers, but without a formal government order - which is what makes Thursday's announcement significant.
FTC Chairman Jon Leibowitz said the agency decided to move on 3FN after getting information about the company's behavior that made it "so clear this was a rogue (Internet service provider)" that the agency had a strong case against it.
"This is very, very important because rather than go after the individual spammers, in one action we can shut down a host of bad actors," Leibowitz said in an interview. "There's always a whack-a-mole problem in cases like this, but at the very least we've put a meaningful wrench in their gears."
The FTC's complaint draws a link between 3FN and a notorious Internet provider called McColo Corp., which was also operating out of a data center in Silicon Valley.
McColo was believed responsible for half of the world's spam before it was shut down in November. Spam dropped precipitously after McColo's Internet providers pulled the plug on McColo, but it has since rebounded.
When investigators from NASA looked into intrusions into some of its computers, they traced them back to McColo's servers. A search warrant later revealed those servers were also routing instant message conversations between 3FN employees and customers that formed the basis of some of the FTC's allegations.
A man who picked up the phone at one of 3FN's offices Thursday night said the company wasn't commenting and hung up.
http://apnews.myway.com/article/20090604/D98K5TOO1.html
Swine Flu Sweeps RikersIsland
Updated: Thursday, 04 Jun 2009, 10:52 PM EDTPublished : Thursday, 04 Jun 2009, 10:51 PM
MYFOXNY.COM EXCLUSIVE - Fox 5 interviewed a Rikers Island correction officer who has one of the toughest jobs in the city -- guarding the meanest inmates you could find. But now there's the unseen enemy -- swine flu -- and it's sweeping the jail.
"They shoot you with urine, feces," the officer says, referring to inmates. He worries that he could bring home the virus to his family.
The spread is frightening too: 10 new swine cases confirmed Thursday, 12 more possible cases. So far, 64 inmates infected, plus three correction officers and 2 others who work there.
Officers are concerned the city isn't doing enough to protect them and their families, but the health department says it is working very hard to fight the outbreak.
http://www.myfoxny.com/dpp/health/swine_flu/090604_Swine_Flu_Sweeps_Rikers_Island
Sonia Sotomayor found friends in elite group
Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor last year accepted an invitation the Belizean Grove, an elite but little-known women’s-only group.
Founded nearly 10 years ago as the female answer to the Bohemian Grove – a secretive all-male club whose members have included formerU.S. presidents and top business leaders – the Belizean Grove has about 125 members, including Army generals, Wall Street executives and former ambassadors.
Sotomayor’s membership in the New York-based group became public Thursday afternoon in a questionnaire submitted to the Senate Judiciary Committee.
Since then, the group has been deluged with press calls, said its founder, Susan Stautberg, who explained that “we like to be under the radar screen.”
The group – which on its website describes itself as “a constellation of influential women who are key decision makers in the profit, non-profit and social sectors; who build long term mutually beneficial relationships in order to both take charge of their own destinies and help others to do the same” – hosts periodic meetings around New York, as well as an annual off-the-record three-day retreat in Central or South America at which its members attend cocktail parties with U.S. diplomats and host-country officials and participate in panel discussions on public-policy and business affairs.
At least year’s retreat in Lima, Peru, for instance, Sotomayor and the other members attended a reception at the American Embassy with U.S. Ambassador to Peru P. Michael McKinley and several female members of the Peruvian cabinet, Stautberg said.
Sotomayor, a federal appellate judge, gave a presentation on the challenges the judiciary faces in maintaining its independence from the legislative and executive branches.
“It was really about how you need to have that balance of power, and that the judiciary needed to have the ability to really be itself and not be influenced politically,” said Grove member Cathy Allen, the chief executive officer of a financial services firm in Santa Fe. Allen said she didn’t take notes on the speech, and added, “everything we do is off the record.”
In a quote on the group’s website, Sotomayor called the Grove “an extraordinary grouping of talented, compassionate and passionate women. I am deeply honored to have been included. The joy of participating in your fun in Peru was wonderful.”
Mary Pearl, a dean and vice-president at New York’s Stony Brook University, called the talk “inspiring” and said she came away from it impressed by Sotomayor’s “profound respect for the Constitution and our legal framework in this country.”
The two became friends through the group, which, she said, is kind of the point of it.
“It’s hard if you’re someone who’s a type ‘A’ personality, who’s achieved a lot and who may be in the public eye – it’s hard to make friends, so it’s just a mutually supportive wonderful experience. We get together just for socializing and also just for intelligent conversation,” said Pearl, adding that the group charges a couple hundred dollar membership fee and also participates in charitable work.
But it’s not open to just anyone.
“The way you become a member is people recommend friends to join and we have an advisory board (that makes the final determination),” said Pearl, who is a member of that board. “You have to have achieved something, but you have to have a really good personality, too. You could be the richest person in the world with a resume that goes on for 50 pages, but if you don’t have a sense of humor, then people won’t want you to be a member.”
Pearl called it “elite in the sense that anything that has more people who want to be in it than are in it is elite. But it’s not elite in that people from all walks of life who are interesting can become a members.”
An out-dated member list on the group’s website lists members including former General Services Administration Director Lurita Doan, Army General Ann E. Dunwoody, former Goldman Sachs partner Ann Kaplan and IKEA executive Pernille Spiers-Lopez.
According to Stautberg, a former Washington bureau chief for Westinghouse Broadcasting, Sotomayor was recommended by Mari Carmen Aponte, a former Carter administration official who later served as Executive Director of the Puerto Rico Federal Affairs Administration in Washington.
Sotomayor "came to some events and got to know some of the members” and then was approved by the advisory board, said Stautberg, who called Sotomayor “a very bright, very decent, very nice woman.”
Stautberg said she hoped Sotomayor could still be a member of the Grove if she’s confirmed to the court.
While conspiracy theorists have cast the Bohemian Grove as a cog in a shadowy right-leaning globalist cabal, Pearl said the Belizean Grove is non-partisan and stressed “there’s nothing nefarious about it.”
And Stautberg brushed off a question about whether the Grove’s women-only membership could generate controversy as the Bohemian Grove’s exclusively male membership did in 1979, when the state of California sued the club for not hiring female employees as its facility there.
Stautberg stressed that male “spouses, partners and adult children” are permitted to go on the optional post-retreat expeditions (last year’s was to Machu Picchu and the Sacred Valley) and said that even though “no man has ever applied to be a member … if they did, we would certainly vote on it.”
http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0609/23375.html#ixzz0HZ3loFTS&C
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