Transfer of Power

Washington, D.C.

TWO MILES EAST of the White House a green-and-white truck backed up to the entrance of a dilapidated warehouse and stopped. Plastered in large white letters across the green side of the cargo area were the words “White Knight Linen Service.” Two men in blue coveralls came out of the warehouse and hefted the rusting garage door up, its casters screeching as metal scraped on metal. The driver put the truck in reverse, and the two men guided the boxy vehicle through the narrow door with hand signals. When all of the truck was inside, the door was closed.

A hazy light filtered through the dirty windows near the roof of the building. Four men approached the rear of the truck, and a ramp was secured to the fender. The men began to unload the truck’s canvas laundry baskets and boxes of fresh linen. After about five minutes the vehicle’s cargo area was empty.

From an elevated glass office a man in green fatigues appeared. His closely trimmed beard grew from the top of his cheekbones down into his collar, and his hands and forearms were covered with thick black hair.

In contrast to the rest of his body, the top of his head was bald-a shiny bronze oasis of smooth skin bordered by a horseshoe of black hair.

Although short in stature, Muammar Bengazi was obviously strong.

Gripping the metal railing with his thick fingers, Bengazi watched his men work. They had come too far to make any mistakes now. Everything had to be done perfectly from this point forward. They had been given a summary from their benefactor that detailed the exact layout of the building.

Bengazi was told the report had been compiled by the KGB some twenty years earlier. More recently, one of his men had got inside the building and given them a more up-to-date summary.

Bengazi whistled, and his men looked up. From his perch, he pointed to three objects sitting under canvas tarps located in the far corner of the warehouse. He watched his men walk over and yank the tarps back.

Underneath sat three Kawasaki all-terrain vehicles painted in a drab tan-and-green camouflage pattern. The small vehicles were used by hunters for their maneuverability and power. Around the back of each vehicle a U-shaped cargo rack was attached. The cargo racks were stacked with metal trunks that were already secured by black bungee cords.

One by one the men started the ATVs. The musty smell of the warehouse was soon replaced with that of gas and oil. A small trailer, also loaded with metal boxes, was hooked to one of the ATVs and backed up the ramp and into the truck. The other two ATVs followed and were backed in tightly.

Bengazi walked down the metal stairs from the office to the floor of the warehouse. He was surprisingly light on his feet for a man of such girth. He approached a bright yellow forklift, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

After the vehicle warmed up, Bengazi backed it carefully up the ramp and into the back of the truck. The forklift was missing its two metal forks that were normally positioned in front.

When Bengazi had the heavy piece of machinery exactly where he wanted it, he turned it off and climbed down. He jumped from the tailgate and moved off to the side. For the next five minutes he watched his men reload enough of the truck’s original cargo to conceal the forklift and ATVs. He walked from one side of the tailgate to the other, attempting to peer around and over the boxes and baskets. Satisfied with the job, he nodded to his men and checked his watch. They were on schedule.