FBI Foils Radical Left Plot to Bomb SoCal Tech Hubs on New Year's Eve

Paul Riverbank, 12/24/2025Federal authorities foiled a New Year's Eve bombing plot in Southern California, arresting four alleged members of an anti-capitalist group. The case highlights the persistent threat of online-fueled extremism and the critical role of vigilant law enforcement in preventing mass violence.

Federal prosecutors now say their names won’t soon be forgotten among those who track domestic extremism. In a sprawling indictment unsealed this week, authorities accuse the foursome of planning to unleash homemade bombs at roughly five sites before the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Eve. Each location chosen—businesses dubbed in court documents “reminiscent of Amazon,” among other targets—fit a narrative of anti-capitalist, anti-government rage. By law enforcement accounts, these weren't idle threats rattled off in a late-night chatroom; the group, identifying themselves as the Turtle Island Liberation Front, purportedly practiced what they preached with a chilling sort of diligence.

Over encrypted chats—prosecutors say some messages were wiped, others exchanged behind layers of digital camouflage—the conspirators gave their plans a theatrical code name: Operation Midnight Sun. The group’s communications veered from the grandiose (“I am a Hamas fangirl,” Carroll boasted, according to the indictment) to the chillingly specific: pipe bombs, targets mapped out, recipes for explosives sharpened through trial and error in the Mojave Desert’s desolate stretches.

But as the plot developed, so too did the government’s response. The FBI, drawing on a blend of old-fashioned informants and a toolkit suited to 21st-century digital evasion, inserted itself, slowly collecting enough inside information to piece together the puzzle before anyone could act. Despite encrypted apps and desperate measures—phones wrapped in tinfoil, conversations arranged to vanish—it was not enough. Agents moved in swiftly mid-December, detaining all four before a dry run could morph into actual destruction.

What started as encrypted debates spiraled into criminal charges—conspiracy to wield weapons of mass destruction, possession of unregistered firearms, providing support to terrorism. Carroll and Page, portrayed as the ringleaders, face what could amount to life sentences if convicted. Anthony-Gaffield and Lai, both swept up in what prosecutors argue was a highly organized scheme, may see up to 25-year prison terms. For now, they remain in federal custody, denied bond, and wait as the legal machinery churns ahead.

More unsettling, perhaps, than the hardware recovered or the chat logs disclosed in court, are indications in the indictment that New Year’s Eve was step one. A later thread suggested plans to direct violence toward federal agents themselves, specifically targeting ICE officers after the holiday. The scale of ambition outlined by prosecutors seems both erratic and methodically dangerous.

The case rapidly grabbed national attention, not merely because of the targets but for what it reveals: how extremist cells, however small or fringe, can use encrypted gadgets and fractured online spaces to plot violence while staying steps ahead—or so they think—of law enforcement. FBI officials, for their part, credited the successful prevention to the persistence of undercover officers and informants, as well as a nimble response to new digital threats.

It’s a strange twist that the countdown to 2024 in Los Angeles, usually defined by fireworks and the ritual burst of midnight cheers, was shadowed by a nearly invisible risk—and a sense of quiet relief, thanks to quiet but decisive intervention. The investigation, certain to be dissected for months to come, stands as a prickly reminder that the threats often most real are the ones we barely see until they've almost arrived at our doorstep.

The next act is set in federal courtrooms, not chatrooms or desert hideouts, as the four accused await the chance to answer to the charges. In the aftermath, as customary routines pick back up and the headlines shift, the story persists—a reminder that both danger and vigilance can wear very contemporary faces, and sometimes, the difference between tragedy and ordinary life is negotiable only by the thinnest margin.

There probably isn’t a script for how an ordinary December night in Southern California morphs into the epicenter of a federal terrorism case, but this one unfolded with the kind of details that sound lifted from a crime thriller. The weather was unremarkable, holiday plans in the air, and across tech campuses and bustling logistic centers, no one seemed to realize that four people—Audrey Illeene Carroll, Zachary Aaron Page, Dante James Anthony-Gaffield, and Tina Lai—were allegedly assembling the tools for catastrophe.Federal prosecutors now say their names won’t soon be forgotten among those who track domestic extremism. In a sprawling indictment unsealed this week, authorities accuse the foursome of planning to unleash homemade bombs at roughly five sites before the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Eve. Each location chosen—businesses dubbed in court documents “reminiscent of Amazon,” among other targets—fit a narrative of anti-capitalist, anti-government rage. By law enforcement accounts, these weren't idle threats rattled off in a late-night chatroom; the group, identifying themselves as the Turtle Island Liberation Front, purportedly practiced what they preached with a chilling sort of diligence.Over encrypted chats—prosecutors say some messages were wiped, others exchanged behind layers of digital camouflage—the conspirators gave their plans a theatrical code name: Operation Midnight Sun. The group’s communications veered from the grandiose (“I am a Hamas fangirl,” Carroll boasted, according to the indictment) to the chillingly specific: pipe bombs, targets mapped out, recipes for explosives sharpened through trial and error in the Mojave Desert’s desolate stretches.But as the plot developed, so too did the government’s response. The FBI, drawing on a blend of old-fashioned informants and a toolkit suited to 21st-century digital evasion, inserted itself, slowly collecting enough inside information to piece together the puzzle before anyone could act. Despite encrypted apps and desperate measures—phones wrapped in tinfoil, conversations arranged to vanish—it was not enough. Agents moved in swiftly mid-December, detaining all four before a dry run could morph into actual destruction.What started as encrypted debates spiraled into criminal charges—conspiracy to wield weapons of mass destruction, possession of unregistered firearms, providing support to terrorism. Carroll and Page, portrayed as the ringleaders, face what could amount to life sentences if convicted. Anthony-Gaffield and Lai, both swept up in what prosecutors argue was a highly organized scheme, may see up to 25-year prison terms. For now, they remain in federal custody, denied bond, and wait as the legal machinery churns ahead.More unsettling, perhaps, than the hardware recovered or the chat logs disclosed in court, are indications in the indictment that New Year’s Eve was step one. A later thread suggested plans to direct violence toward federal agents themselves, specifically targeting ICE officers after the holiday. The scale of ambition outlined by prosecutors seems both erratic and methodically dangerous.The case rapidly grabbed national attention, not merely because of the targets but for what it reveals: how extremist cells, however small or fringe, can use encrypted gadgets and fractured online spaces to plot violence while staying steps ahead—or so they think—of law enforcement. FBI officials, for their part, credited the successful prevention to the persistence of undercover officers and informants, as well as a nimble response to new digital threats.It’s a strange twist that the countdown to 2024 in Los Angeles, usually defined by fireworks and the ritual burst of midnight cheers, was shadowed by a nearly invisible risk—and a sense of quiet relief, thanks to quiet but decisive intervention. The investigation, certain to be dissected for months to come, stands as a prickly reminder that the threats often most real are the ones we barely see until they've almost arrived at our doorstep.The next act is set in federal courtrooms, not chatrooms or desert hideouts, as the four accused await the chance to answer to the charges. In the aftermath, as customary routines pick back up and the headlines shift, the story persists—a reminder that both danger and vigilance can wear very contemporary faces, and sometimes, the difference between tragedy and ordinary life is negotiable only by the thinnest margin.