The great port gunboat shootout

Al-Qaida master strategist Abdullah sits in his mud hut in North Wazirutan, Pakistan. He's plotting the next American terrorist attack. Al-Qaida has exact criteria for selecting targets: it must be a world-recognized symbol of American power and influence and the attack must cause tens of thousands of casualties. Abdullah needs a great target, a cover story and a weapon delivery system.

Abdullah clicks on U.S. Google Maps and starts scanning potential targets. He passes over the marquee government buildings in Washington, the population centers in New York, Phoenix, Chicago, the global trade ports of New York and Los Angeles and the mighty financial center, Wall Street. Great targets. Too obvious. No surprise. Abdullah needs surprise.

He Googles the hinterland — North Dakota, South Dakota, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas ... and he spots Corpus Christi. He zooms in on downtown. He spots the inner harbor and shrimp boats pulling nets along the bayfront and ship channel. Allah be praised! Abdullah has his target, his cover story and weapon delivery system. The target meets all criteria and it's very ... obscure.

Abdullah picks his team — Marwan from Yemen, Ahmed from Somalia and Ahlam from Afghanistan. He assigns the code name "Jihad-a-bob." He compiles a communication code of shrimping terms — less the cuss words, of course; Allah would not be pleased.

The National Security Agency (NSA) with its 10,000 staff members and 25th-century electronic surveillance technology monitors every Jihad-a-bob mobile phone call but is completely fooled by the cover story and shrimping dialect. Likewise the tens of thousands of CIA, FBI, DEA, Homeland Security, Army, Navy and Air Force intelligence agents.

Cutting to the chase, Jihad-a-bob buys a shrimp boat in Port Aransas. Jihad-a-bob loads two tons of explosives, sets the fuse and heads for the inner harbor on a dark and windy night. The three port gunboats are named Niña, Pinta and Santa Maria. Each boat has a top speed of 60 knots, a quad (4) 50-caliber gun turret on the bow, a twin 40 mm cannon turret on the stern, 10 Port SEALs who are battle- hardened Blackwater mercenaries recently laid off in Iraq and are equipped with M-16 rifles and shoulder-fired rockets.

The three gunboats hail the Jihad-a-bob shrimp boat as it passes under the high bridge headed for the inner harbor and demand payment of the $2,000 security fee and the $1,000 dockage fee. Whoops! Jihad-a-bob didn't expect to need U.S. dollars in heaven and can't pay. Its members panic and head for the nearest target at full speed ... 5 knots. They try to light the fuse. Whoops! They didn't plan on the wind.

The Niña, Pinta and Santa Maria are circling at 60 knots. The Coast Guard cutters arrive but are waved off by the chief Port SEAL. Five hundred city police and county deputies respond on shore but are waved off by the chief Port SEAL. The chief SEAL gives the order to fire. All hell breaks loose.

Tracers crisscross the inner harbor. Soon there are 20 gasoline tanks on fire, vessels in a nearby refinery explode and two tankers are burning to the water line. It's a better show than the July Fourth fireworks on the bayfront. The Jihad-a-bobs are shot dead. The shrimp boat sinks. Fortunately nobody else is hurt and the damage is only $200 million. Most of the 10,000 rounds fired ricochet harmlessly among the vessels and pipes of the abandoned Valero, Citgo and Flint Hills refineries.

It's a glorious victory for the Port SEALs and the Niña, Pinta and Santa Maria. The glorious victory is forever referred to as "24/7" in recognition of the port's 24/7 boat patrol. Each Port SEAL receives a personal key to the city from the mayor. Community response is so great, the county commissioners spend $25 million to restore the old courthouse and dedicate it to the Port SEALs and the Niña, Pinta, and Santa Maria.

The purpose of this preposterous tale is to show how equally preposterous it is for the Port to operate three new high-performance security boats at an annual cost of $2.8 million for a threat that doesn't exist.

Ralph Coker is a retired refinery plant manager and retired Army Reserve lieutenant colonel.

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