There were five minutes left in the first half. Wagner studied the MSA Security feeds at the field level to confirm the preparations were underway by the halftime show production team. At the two-minute warning, he called out to his operatives on their communications feed to be ready.
He walked behind the Hexane team member to inquire about the wind velocity and direction. Nothing had changed. He touched base with his team in the bathyscaphe. They would be the first to receive a command.
The countdown began as the Seahawks quarterback took a knee to finish off a boring first half of play, not that Wagner noticed.
“Release the balloons!”
It would take seven minutes for the winds to carry the balloons over Levi’s Stadium. To be sure, not all of them would sail directly overhead. Winds and atmospheric conditions were too unpredictable. And the flashing red beacons attached to the base of the balloons provided a difficult target for his four-man sniper team. However, the balloons would land somewhere and burst. The end result would be the same.
He raced into the other room and studied the network camera feeds. The live viewers’ feed was showing a commercial, but the production team still scanned the stadium for items of interest to show as part of their post-game highlights. The field cameras provided him glimpses of the activity. He checked his watch. Everything appeared to be on time.
One of his spotters exclaimed, “I’ve got them!”
He was standing on a balcony with a pair of high-powered binoculars. His job was to pick up the beacons as the balloons rose into the air and then immediately moved toward the stadium.
“Notify the shooters.”
Wagner’s assistant made the call via the comms. They responded immediately. Their spotters had picked up the balloons as well.
Everything was hitting on all cylinders. Wagner’s palms grew sweaty and his pacing continued. He glanced at his watch for what seemed the thousandth time. Minutes to go.
The network feed was still at a commercial break. The production team had just placed the stage in the center of the field and rolled the massive light display behind it. The stadium’s ushers had just opened the gates to allow hundreds of young people to rush across the sidelines onto the field to get up close and personal with the entertainment. The electricity generated by the fans in the stadium had reached a fever pitch.
“Balloons are approaching.”
“Where is she?” muttered Wagner as he scowled. He looked at his watch again. “Damn diva!”
The television monitors returned to the game after the last commercial. The pop artist trotted up the steps at the back of the portable stage, prompting Wagner to manage a smile.
The stadium announcer gleefully shouted into the intercom system, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Taylor Swift!”
Chapter Forty-One
Levi’s Stadium
Santa Clara, California
In perfect synchronization, the fog-producing machines placed around the temporary stage began to produce volumes upon volumes of smoke. Within the first minute, the entire playing field was covered with the sarin-infused smoke. By the time it began to creep up the field level toward the premium suites just below the upper decks, two minutes had passed.
Taylor Swift sang, and the band played, and the young people danced until their excitement took their breath away. And then they began to feel the effects of the sarin. They began to cough and become disoriented. The performance went on as the stage was elevated twelve feet above the field level.
As choreographed, fireworks exploded overhead, and the first was high energy and designed to get the fans’ hearts pumping. When the fireworks appeared overhead, Wagner, the head coach, called his next play.
“RPG units, fire!”
The explosions rocked the Hyatt Regency a mile away. Each of the rocket-propelled grenades easily found their mark, obliterating the gates entering Levi’s Stadium and having the desired effect of frightening everyone in proximity to their core.
“Snipers, fire when ready!”
In the midst of the explosions emanating from the stadium, Wagner had no idea his snipers were already exploding the sarin-filled balloons floating over the stadium.
“They’re already firing, sir,” said his spotter, who was standing at the sliding glass window leading onto the balcony. Then he calmly added, “They are deadly accurate.”
“Network feeds, please report,” ordered Wagner.
“Still streaming live, sir. They haven’t cut away.”
Despite the tense situation, Wagner chuckled to himself and said, “They won’t. The spectacle is ratings gold for the American media.”
“Sir, security feeds are going down,” reported a Hexane analyst from the other suite. “I believe the RPG attack may have cut many of their intranet communication cables.
Wagner remained remarkably calm during the attack. “That’s a bonus. They won’t know how to guide the occupants to safety.”
“All balloons hit, sir. Only two missed the target, landing in the residential neighborhood to the south.”
Wagner began to issue orders again.
“Bathyscape team, retreat to Redwood Shores for extraction.
“RPG squad, well done. You should have pulled out by now. If not, do so immediately.
“Snipers, return to operations for further instructions.” He would use them to provide security for his extensive team located in the suites as they packed up and prepared to evacuate the hotel.
“Pack it up, ladies and gentlemen. We need to be in those vans within fifteen minutes.”
He’d rehearsed their own escape that morning. In the panic, hotel residents would be fleeing the scene. His team would load up the equipment into their unmarked vans and head north on Great America Parkway, where they’d pick up the Southbay Freeway east toward Interstate 880. They’d travel in different directions until they were hundreds of miles away.
While the team hastily packed, he turned on
