STRENGTH AND ENDURANCE—University of California-Berkeley, http://www.berkeley.edu, March 2004—The mere thought of hauling a seventy-pound pack across miles of rugged terrain or up fifty flights of stairs is enough to evoke a grimace in even the burliest individuals. But breakthrough robotics research at the University of California, Berkeley, could soon bring welcome relief—a self-powered exoskeleton to effectively take the load off people’s backs.
“We set out to create an exoskeleton that combines a human control system with robotic muscle,” said Homayoon Kazerooni, professor of mechanical engineering and director of UC Berkeley’s Robotics and Human Engineering Laboratory. “We’ve designed this system to be ergonomic, highly maneuverable, and technically robust so the wearer can walk, squat, bend, and swing from side to side without noticeable reductions in agility. The human pilot can also step over and under obstructions while carrying equipment and supplies.”
The Berkeley Lower Extremity Exoskeleton (BLEEX), as it’s officially called, consists of mechanical metal leg braces that are connected rigidly to the user at the feet, and, in order to prevent abrasion, more compliantly elsewhere. The device includes a power unit and a backpack-like frame used to carry a large load. Such a machine could become an invaluable tool for anyone who needs to travel long distances by foot with a heavy load. The exoskeleton could eventually be used by army medics to carry injured soldiers off a battlefield, firefighters to haul their gear up dozens of flights of stairs to put out a high-rise blaze, or rescue workers to bring in food and first-aid supplies to areas where vehicles cannot enter…
STRATEGIC FORECASTING INC., www.stratfor.com, 21 May 2004, © 2004 Stratfor, Inc. —Although Stratfor believes that [terrorist] strikes could be carried out against multiple targets of opportunity, certain factors— including time and al Qaeda’s targeting criteria—lead us to conclude that Houston, Texas, is near the top of the list. Not only is it home to much of the nation’s oil infrastructure, which carries significant economic implications, but it also is a city of 5 million people—and the home of former President George H. W. Bush. A strike here would lend a personal nature to the attack that would send a clear message across the desk of President George W. Bush….
In this case, we believe a truck bomb is the most likely delivery mechanism—perhaps a stolen delivery van, helping to mask the driver’s intentions. This scenario was discussed by a sleeper cell in New York City before the first World Trade Center attack in 1993, and al Qaeda has shown a tendency to return to previous attack plans. The assailants might use a ramming car to break through perimeter fences while either shooting or running over security guards. However, it also is feasible that they could use legitimate company identification cards in order to slip past the guards. Once near the target, the explosive would be detonated, killing the attack team…
“WHO’S GUARDING U.S. MILITARY EQUIPMENT?” by Michelle Malkin, posted October 29, 2003, on WorldNet-Daily.com, © 2003 Creators Syndicate Inc. “…A possible terrorism nexus here is clear…. There are at any given time severalhundred military vehicles on [the Maine National Guard Facility, Limestone, Maine] site, and security is nonexistent. The fact that undocumented foreign nationals are illegally transporting this equipment throughout the U.S. with access to the Limestone facility and other military facilities also would seem to pose a threat…”
…This is not the first time suspicious foreign nationals have been caught around the Maine National Guard site. In June, according to the Border Patrol, a Humvee was stolen from the Limestone facility. While searching for the missing vehicle, agents apprehended a Russian illegal alien nearby. He had a valid New York State commercial driver’s license allowing him to haul hazardous materials and a pass that granted him access to seaports along the East Coast—including high-level security bonded customs areas. Also this summer, two other Russian nationals, dressed in military battle dress uniforms, were stopped by Canadian authorities as they attempted to enter the U.S. at an unguarded crossing approximately 20 miles south of Limestone…
PROLOGUE
Kingman City, Texas
Present time
Just twenty precious minutes more—and the global war for freedom from death and tyranny would enter the next level. The closer the driver came to his target, the more his blood boiled and his adrenaline level kicked up to even higher levels.
I am a man of peace, the driver told himself for the umpteenth time as he made his journey, but if any man on Earth deserved to die, it was Harold Chester Kingman, president and CEO of TransGlobal Energy Corporation. The man’s destructiveness and greed were exceeded only by his immense ego. The highways and roads leading to his target were so audaciously named, the driver noted with disgust, that one could practically make the trip without once referring to a map of any sort: from Interstate 45, take the Harold Chester Kingman Parkway off-ramp, head west on Kingman Parkway to TransGlobal Avenue, then south on Dominion Street to the front gate. Kingman had even changed the name of the town itself: known as Texas City since 1893, the oil, gas, and nuclear energy mogul changed the name when he purchased the entire area just a few years ago. Why, thought the driver, didn’t Kingman just put his name on every street sign in the city, perhaps with the title “King,” “Lord,” or “Slave Master” added for good measure?
The driver followed the signs to the truck entrance a bit farther south, noting the security cameras arrayed along every portion of the road. As he got closer, he noticed more and more roving patrols in sport-utility vehicles, with supervisors in sedans, enforcing the enforcers. Yes, paranoid: Kingman trusted no one. From many previous trips here, the driver knew that those SUVs were heavily armored and could probably withstand a rocket-propelled grenade round, then return fire with their own heavy weapons, including assault rifles, machine guns, and grenade launchers. But as tight as security was, the driver remarked to himself that it got tighter and more sophisticated every time he came here. Was it merely the nature of post–9/11 American industrial society, or was it Harold Chester Kingman’s supreme ego and paranoia at work? Whatever it was, TransGlobal Energy was surely expending an even greater percentage of their enormous profits on security these days.
Not that Kingman was paying for it, of course—it simply meant that his workers worked harder for even less pay, and he jacked up prices across the board for his products and services, perhaps double the cost of the added expenses. Kingman obviously wasn’t suffering because of all these outlays for an elaborate and even outlandish show of security—in fact, he was profiting handsomely from it, telling the world that it was these security measures responsible for the steep price increases, layoffs, and pay cuts.
The front gate to the immense TransGlobal Energy Transshipment and Refinery Complex, about twenty miles south of Houston, resembled some kind of futuristic sci-fi fortress—or prison, depending on how you looked at it. The incoming gate was an entrapment area, with two gates enclosing an arriving vehicle so that there was no direct opening to the outside at any time. In addition, the moving gates were massive barriers made with twenty- centimeter-square steel posts, topped with coils of razor wire. Those gates looked strong enough to stop a main battle tank.
The driver approached the outside guard shack and parked just outside the steel gates, despite a large sign that read “DO NOT APPROACH GATE UNTIL CLEARED.” The guard shack was no longer a “shack”—this was now a brand-new concrete bunker, with gun ports and thick one-way mirrored bulletproof glass instead of the old simple wooden building, screen door, and smiling, mildly bored guards. He had been here only a couple weeks and this bunker wasn’t here the first time he’d arrived. He stepped over to the large glass window, idly flipping through a metal form holder.
“Move your vehicle away from the gate, Officer,” an electronic voice ordered through a hidden speaker.
The man on the outside looked up, squinting through the spotlights shining on him from around the window. “Is that you, Tom?” the man asked. “What’s with the lights?” He knew what the lights were for, of course—they darkened and obscured his view of the inside of the guard bunker, and also allowed them to take more detailed digital photos of him.
“You need to move your car away from the gate until you’re cleared in, Patrolman Kelly,” the voice said again. “Back behind the yellow line.”
Texas Department of Public Safety (DPS) Sergeant Frank Kelly squinted in mild irritation and looked back down at his forms. “Well, clear me in then, and I’ll be on my way, Tom,” he said. He looked at his watch
