The Hammer of God (28 page)

Halliburton 602 suitcase: $339 dollars.

Radioactive waste from the nuclear medicine department of NYU hospital: $5,000 bribe to a Palestine-born custodial assistant.

A willing suicide bomber to create a secondary diversionary tactic to avert attention from the main plot: priceless.

Number 1 was amazed at how America's shameless advertising was infiltrating his mind. More astounding was that he found any humor at all in this sacred work.

As for Number 3, Rodney, now alone in the safe house, he finally knew his destiny as Allah had willed. The lead container in the package on the table, which held the four ounces of barium with its 70 rads of deadly instant cancer causing, super-carcinogenic radiation bursting to get out, was the key piece. The rest of the small package he was delivering was C-4 plastic explosive provided by the Syrian Army, or someone in it.

The way Number 1 explained it to him, the lead shielding had to be breached prior to detonation to make the most effective dispersal of this dirty bomb. Since it was Allah's will that, in his earlier role in the attack, Rodney would die when the suitcase bomb was given life, he was prepared for death and looked forward to his reward in the afterlife. The gestation period of cancer being weeks longer than his life expectancy – which was one hour after he exposed the deadly metal to the air – meant he could handle with impunity this massive dose of radioactivity for such a short interval. That interval being the time between detonating the dirty bomb and being vaporized by the suitcase nuke along with a million or more New Yorkers and, more importantly, the financial center of the world.

Rodney, who from this point forward thought of himself only as Rashid, checked the NJ Transit schedule for the train he would take into Pennsylvania Station, then looked at his watch. It was a Tag Heuer. He chided himself for not thinking of this sooner, but his brother would have liked to have had this watch. He should have left it to him and used a cheap Timex instead, but it never occurred to him until now that the watch was going to melt.

As he left, Number 1 knew he had just added another dimension of trickery to his expansive and ingenious plot. Rodney's unfortunate run-in with the police offered him a second opportunity to add deception and confound the enemy. The first diversion so meticulously planned and trained for would still be executed as well, in no small part because of the
fatwah
against its primary target.

∞§∞

Adjunct Professor Mark Keller was frustrated. Treasure Ann had moved in with him and he made sure to be careful to avoid any appearance of impropriety or favoritism as she was still taking his Middle Eastern Studies class. He even gave her above average grades for work she didn't have to hand in. This is why it hit him so hard that she was suddenly enamored with some stranger who “interceded” while she was dizzy on the subway. After a lackluster session of sex, in which he felt she wasn't trying, he confronted her.

“What's the matter, Treasure Ann?”

“What do you mean? Nothing is the matter.”

“Come on; you are just going through the motions here.”

“I've got a lot on my mind.”

“What could you possibly have on your mind?”

“Don't be condescending.”

“No, really! Your school or grades can't be a problem. I mean you are fucking your teacher…or at least going through the motions.”

“Look, don't think I am not grateful for you taking me in after Gary was such a jerk.”

“Grateful? I am supporting you, feeding you, clothing you! I deserve more than just grateful!”

“You know what? I can't believe you said that! How dare you throw that in my face!
You
asked
me
to move in. In fact, you instigated my leaving Gary. ‘Our relationship no longer feeds my emotional, spiritual, and essential self.'”

“You needed clarity and…”

“You needed to control me.” She walked away.

He stood there and stewed for a moment, then came at her with both guns blazing. “You seem to have issues. Maybe you should talk to a therapist.”

“Oooo you know what? Suddenly, I have clarity!” She put her fingertips to her temples as if she were suddenly a seer, “Let me see if this
resonates
with you: if I don't swoon when you fuck me, then it's me who needs therapy?” For the first time in her life, Ann was angry. Angry at a male! Not guilty, not sorry, not blaming herself but real, true anger!

“Listen, you little cunt, I'm risking my job for you everyday.”

“Little what? I am so out of here.”

“Good. I am going out; don't be here when I get back.”

He slammed the door. Off to One Police Plaza to protest the harassing of Ali Rashid, the innocent immigrant arrested for not cowering to a cop.

Ann plopped down on the bed. She could not believe what had just happened. Immediately she realized that she was about to be homeless and penniless. The small stipend she received from the scholarship didn't go far in New York. Falling back on her parents was not a pleasant thought. For a minute, she thought about apologizing to Mark and maybe making it up to him by doing that thing he wanted to do with the exchange student from Morocco who had confessed to him her love of three-ways. Maybe if she did that, he wouldn't kick her out. But those thoughts lasted for only a few seconds more and were replaced by a new plan, one which she had fantasized about, especially after doing a little snooping. Her mood changed in a second and she got up and went to the bathroom to douche Mark out of her body and out of her life.

∞§∞

“Peter, it's over. I wish I could be there when your mother finds out you're not dead. Hug her for me, too.”

“Billy, you were the smartest kid on the block, and now I owe you big time.”

“Nonsense, man. You made me understand science and math in a way none of my teachers could ever do. Peter, I am the National Science Advisor today because you took the time to challenge a little kid to do more. Hell, I have used that as part of my National Science Teachers Initiative. It's really just what you taught me and how you taught me.”

“Really? Pretty good then for a guy who never graduated college.”

“Anytime you want a degree, just let me know. Shit, I'd sponsor your doctorate!”

“Trying to make me legit?”

“Perish the thought. But you should keep in touch with Kronos; he's so plugged in he short circuits when he showers.”

“I'll see.”

“Pete, it's none of my business but have you given any thought to what you are going to do next? I mean, that doesn't involve black helicopters and listening devices?”

“You know, now that I am alive again, I might try to see if that FBI girl back up in New York goes for older men.”

“Something tells me you'd be safer investigating who shot Kennedy. But hey, go for it. Just remember she is one stalwart piece of crime-fighting apparatus. Don't ever get on her bad side.”

“I think she likes me.”

“Pride goeth before the fall, man.”

“Thanks, Billy the Kid.”

“Anytime, Peter Robot.”

∞§∞

Ever since the ACLU complained that the radiological surveillance of mosques was unconstitutional, federal authorities backed off the many search teams that aimed sensors at the various, logical places where radical Islamic fundamentalists would seek cover amid the other law-abiding American Muslims. So when Rodney/Rashid, hiding out in the basement safe room of the building adjacent to the mosque, opened the case in a nervous act to assure himself that all was right with the package, the radioactive blip passed unnoticed in all directions and out into space to blend in with the background radiation emanating from this part of the Milky Way.

∞§∞

Number 12 was on perimeter patrol around the Store & Lock. He was armed with nothing more than a cell phone. It was all he needed if someone were serveilling them or sneaking about. He'd just place a call and the men inside would come out and neutralize the threat. On his east-west pass across the front, he saw the outline of someone looking through the glass doors of the facility. He saw this person pressing the buttons of the electric lock. He decided not to call this in. Instead, he simply walked up behind her and said, “What is it you want?”

Ann jumped. “Oh, you startled me. I'm looking for Mahmoud?”

“There is no Mahmoud here and it's closed. You go away now.” The threat in his voice would have been obvious to anyone else, but Ann persisted.

“Well, I happen to know that Mahmoud lives here. I followed him here.”

“You followed him here!”

Number 12 punched the keypad and the door buzzed and unlocked. Unceremoniously he grabbed Ann by the arm and manhandled her inside.

“Hey, let go of me…”

“Silence!”

“Where are you taking me?”

“I said, silence.” He slapped her hard.

∞§∞

Number 1 was reviewing the back up plan with Number 4 and 9 when he turned in the direction of the commotion coming through the door. He was shocked to see the girl from the train being dragged by Number 12 into the room.

“Mahmoud! It's me, Ann. Tell this guy to let go of me.”

Number 1 closed his eyes, and washed his hand over his face. “Sit her here in the chair.”

“Who is Mahmoud?” Number 12 asked.

“That is not your concern, Number 12. Just leave her here and get back to your post.” He turned to Numbers 4 and 9. “We will finish this later. Go to the kitchen.”

Ann watched the men leave. She looked at Mahmoud. He was just as she remembered. “I am so glad I found you. I wanted to get to know you better. Maybe even work with you.”

“How did you find me?”

“I kinda followed you that night. I saw you come here. I waited all night but you didn't come out ‘til morning. The man at the deli down the street told me you live here. It's pretty cool living in a storage place. Do you have an apartment here?”

Number 1 just stared.

Ann felt her cheek. “That man hit me. Why would he hit me?”

“Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”

“What? No, who would I tell?”

“Please, Ann, this is very important. You told no one?”

“No, no one. Wait? You are worried, aren't you?”

Number 1 crouched down to her seated level. “Now what would worry me?”

“I am so into your cause. I know how hard it's been, how unfair you and your entire nationality have suffered.”

“Is there anyone who is expecting you back?”

Ann saw an opening to appeal to the man. “No, no one. I am free as a bird. No one to report to and no one to go home to.”

“Surely, someone will miss you.”

“Why Mahmood, are you expecting me to spend the night? I mean, it's okay with me.”

“Why are you here? Why did you follow me?”

“I left Mark. He's a monster. I want to join you. I want you to teach me about the great struggle. I want to learn from you.”

“I run a storage warehouse. There is nothing to learn.”

“You must be suffering from prejudice, hate, and social injustice.”

“Where do you get such ideas?”

“I studied Islam along with all the oppressed religions: Buddhism, Hindu…”

“Enough; wait here.”

Number 1 left the room. His men were waiting in the kitchen. He scanned their faces, faces awash in confusion and worry. He knew what they were thinking. That he somehow had seduced this girl, brought her here, and, in doing so, risked the entire operation. Number 3 was looking at him in the way an undertaker looks at a body he is about to bury. He remembered a lesson from his earlier life. “Strength, decisiveness, no mercy is the key to survival.” He took a knife from the counter and, without a word, left the room.

On the way back to where he left the girl, he thought of his mother who died when he was young, and of his sisters who were killed by Russians, the youngest and prettiest, Maya, raped repeatedly and savagely, then shot in the head. All done by Infidels, Infidels who disrespect Allah, who deny his supreme reign over all the affairs of men. Infidels who are no better than dogs, to be kicked and slaughtered before they attack.

He stopped outside the door. Up until now, Jihad had been a cause, a way of life. Although he was the key to what would soon be a massive amount of death and destruction, he would never live to appreciate it (or worse, regret it). The few instances of killings from when he trained with the Mujahedeen were matters of death at long range, roadside bombing Russian tanks and troop carriers. This would be his first up-close elimination of the enemy. He gritted his teeth. He would not falter, not fail. He entered the room.

Ann rose. “Mahmood. Are you angry that I came here?”

Without a word, he approached her. She dropped to her knees and started to unzip his fly and open his belt. His thoughts caught him off guard.
I am a sixty-five-year-old man. What is this Infidel whore expecting?
As she took him, he felt a flushing over his entire body. The girl had skill. He found himself responding, pushing himself deeper. She responded, accommodating him and bringing pleasure. The hand that held the knife relaxed. His back arched and he experienced the first orgasm since he was a young man in Budapest with the butcher's young daughter. He shuddered and she moaned. But Ann didn't relent. He had to pull away because of the sensitivity. She went to follow, but he held his hand out to stop her. She obeyed and began to stand.

She didn't see the knife as she went to hold him and rest her head on his shoulder. The sharp shooting pain in her stomach followed the punch that forced the breath out of her. Then searing pain as Number 1 pulled the knife up through her sternum, cutting her open like a filleted fish. She fell away with an expression of fear and seeming disappointment. In a few seconds, she stopped breathing. He stood there, looking at her, zipping his fly.
It had to be done
. She would have threatened the whole operation.