by Chase Austin
“I will,” Olivia chuckled.
Shahrukh muttered Allah’s name under his breath. Sitting in the passenger seat of a decrepit Ford Minivan, Shahrukh could see the majestic structure of the Marina. Over the last two months, it had been meticulously recced by a ferret planted in the city, and he and his team knew the layout like the back of their hands. None of them felt that this was their first visit to the place. All of them wore snug full-sleeved t-shirts, Puma running shoes, a pair of dark sunglasses and baseball caps.
The building started to expand in size as the minivan rushed on the Hidalgo road before taking a sharp left turn towards the McCue road that led it to the parking garage number four. The first stop was where Shahrukh and Yakub deboarded the vehicle right at the entry of the mall. The minivan dropped off the rest of passengers at three different points and then took a U-turn, speeding away from the building.
Observing the Marina, for Shahrukh the first feeling was of shock. The place was filled up to the brim with hundreds of cars. People going in, people coming out. He tried to imagine the place once they would get into action, but he got nothing. Training simulations were different, but this was for real. He looked at Yakub. He too seemed a bit taken aback by the realness of it. No one was there to hold their hands and show them the path. They were on their own now. All they now had was their training and their God.
Marina’s security was overseen by a Pennsylvania-based company known for its high-end security systems and a flawless track record. As per the intel received thirty minutes ago, forty-three guards were on call that morning along with the facilities management staff and mall employees. Shahrukh knew that despite the tall claims of the company website, most of these guards were recent high school pass-outs and were barely above eighteen years. Their training was measly, done to save money and time.
As planned, the team had already split up into four pairs. They were going to get in the building from four different entry points. Shahrukh and Yakub walked towards the main entrance, soaking in the grandeur of it. At the gate, six guards were vetting the visitors using highly sophisticated security systems. The boys carried nothing except their social security cards and a plain Casio watch. No money, no weapons, no nothing. The entry was a cakewalk. None of the guards looked at them twice once they crossed the entrance threshold. The boys knew the positions of the CCTV cameras and deliberately avoided looking at them. The baseball caps and sunglasses helped.
Once inside, they walked past the Nordstrom store which was to their left and then took a right towards Macy’s. Crossing multiple smaller stores like Chico’s, Peloton, and Crazy8, they eventually came at the crossroads. Behind them was Tesla and Banana Republic; to their left was the West Alabama Street and in front of them was one of the two Onyx hotels – a 7-star property with more than four hundred fifty rooms.
This was it.
Chapter 12
Union Square Park — Manhattan, New York
Richard, a twenty-six-year-old sales executive with BMW, observed the silent protesters from his preferred spot at Union Square. He was neither a Democrat nor a Republican. In fact, he was one of those who were always politically incorrect when it came to anything, as per Lily.
Lily was the daughter of Ohio’s Senator Rob Turner and that, according to Lily, automatically made her an authority on US politics. Richard chose not to contest her this claim. For the moment, she was only his best friend and his childhood crush, but that was going to change soon, or so Richard hoped. He was planning to ask her out officially, and he expected her to say yes.
Right then he could see her standing among the protesters. In her hand was a large placard which she was waving in the air with all her energy. The cool breeze caressed her soft smooth hair, and she radiated inimitable energy. She was meant to achieve great things and Richard wanted to be there for her, to be her support if she ever needed one. He looked at her with longing. One day, not far in the future, she would reciprocate his feeling for her, and he would be the happiest man alive.
He checked his cell phone. The New England Patriots were on the field. Richard didn’t care much about the game. He only kept himself aware of it due to Lily. She was a big Brady fan. He raised his head and looked again at Lily who was busy talking to someone standing next to her. He saw her laughing, throwing her head back with elation, but it was the two young men standing beyond her that grasped Richard’s attention. Wearing beanies, they were looking the odd ones out, even in this group of protesters. From their postures they didn’t seem to be participating in the demonstration, but yet they were there. Fair, clean-shaven and in their twenties, they didn’t appear to be shady but it was their eyes; there was something different in the way they looked at the others.
Observing everything, as if waiting for something.
Richard looked in the adjacent direction where he had seen a few law enforcements officers.
Should I talk to them? He thought to himself.
Khalid keenly observed the army of protesters flooding the Manhattan’s Union Square on the fourth straight day of rallies against President Hancock’s policies. Police estimates had indicated that the number was somewhere north of a thousand. The day before, two people were arrested, yet the crowd was in no mood to break down against the administration’s crackdown. A group of people representing the protestors had met the city’s Chief of Police last evening. The officers had agreed to allow the participants to continue the demonstration, but warned them not to stand on or climb the barricades parked in front of the park, otherwise they’d be arrested.
Homemade picket signs bobbed throughout the sea of protesters, several of which read ‘HANCOCK — YOU ARE NOT A SUPERHERO’ in bold black letters.
“We reject the President!” the crowd chanted as protesters started marching up Fifth Avenue. Some climbed the poles of scaffolding and stood on them, holding protest signs while pumping their fists in the air. Traffic delays and intermittent street closures were present throughout Manhattan in the afternoon, including the Union Square area and East 57th Street and Fifth Avenue.
Khalid had seen enough recce videos over the last two months to understand the ins and out of the place. It was a popular convergence point to hold rallies and protests due to its neighborhood — the Flatiron District, Chelsea, Greenwich Village, East Village, and Gramercy Park. The location was bounded by 14th Street on the south, Union Square West on the west, 17th Street on the north, and Union Square East to the east, linking together Broadway and Park Avenue South to Fourth Avenue. Also, many of the New School’s buildings, as well as several dormitories of New York University were at a touching distance from the square.
There was the impressive equestrian statue of U.S. President George Washington cast in bronze along with the sculptures of Marquis de Lafayette, Abe Lincoln, and Mahatma Gandhi. There was also a Temperance fountain with the figure of Charity emptying her jug of water, aided by a child.
Standing at the center of all of this, Khalid soaked in the beauty surrounding him for the last time.
Chapter 13
Farmer’s Terminal Market — Philadelphia
It was an unusual morning in Philly. Unlike its usually wet and cloudy weather, today the air was nippy and the air dry and cold. Mary, a fifty-eight-year-old woman from Ambler, a tiny borough near Philly, found a quiet place to sit along the fringes of the main seating area at the Farmer’s Terminal Market in the heart of Philly. Her son, Stan, accompanied her.
At the 12th and Arch Street in Center City Philadelphia, the Farmer’s Terminal Market was an enclosed public market, spread on two floors. It was a popular spot for tourists and locals alike, with over a hundred merchants on the ground floor. The entry was from Filbert Street in the South, Twelfth Street in the West, and Arch Street in the North. The seating arrangement was in a grid pattern with an open area at the center. The basement level had state-of-the-art refrigerated storage for the use of vendors. With more than 6 million visitors annually, the market remained busy all a
round the year.
Mary wore an easy smile and her eyes beamed with curiosity. She didn’t have much going on, which was fine by her. Her gaze panned slowly across the expanse of tables, merchant stalls, and flow of customers ambling through the aisles. The market was a familiar place to her. She’s been coming here since she was young. These days, she often came to the market alone or occasionally with her son, Stan, who worked in the Howard County Water Department. In reality, Stan was a part of the TF-77’s best support team – Vesuvius. The job at Howard County Water Department was his cover. Mary was content that her son had a stable job with a solid 401K. After her husband succumbed to leukemia, Stan was all she had. Stan’s job kept him busy but whenever he visited Ambler, both of them visited the market. He had no interest in the market, but he did it for his mother. The place was her constant companion when he was in the field, fighting the bad guys.
“I like sitting in a corner and looking at people. I like the movement; it tells me that I am just old yet still alive…” she had once told him when he asked her the reason for visiting the marketplace time and again.
“You are not old, mom,” he had told her then, but she wasn’t listening. He knew it wasn’t just the people that drew her in. It was nostalgia. She used to come here with his maternal uncle, and his grandmother, strolling with them through the aisles together for hours, their arms gradually weighing down with bags of groceries as they went. Nowadays, she often found someone familiar to chat with and sometimes even ventured to strike up conversations with complete strangers — especially when she sat at the bank of the communal tables at the center of the market. She was happy to take the forty-minute train ride from Ambler to Philly several times a month, just for the feeling of being connected with her childhood, and establishing a connect for her son, Stan.
Today, like on other days, Mary was sitting at her usual place by herself while she waited for Stan, who had gone to the restroom. As she waited, she kept looking around, her bright eyes taking in everything.
Even at this time in the morning, seats in the central seating area were tough to come by. Many people, after scouting and hovering for a few minutes, wandered off to try to find one of the solo tables that lined several of the aisles, or simply find a small patch of space where they could linger long enough to wolf down a quick bite. Nearby, a middle-aged couple stepped away from the bar at Molly Malloy’s and danced their way into the main seating area. A pair of late-teen girls wandered by, one asking, “How do you even decide where to go?” She saw a middle-aged couple rushing toward a four-person table that had just opened up and successfully grabbing it. And after they quickly settled in, a younger, twenty-something couple who were scanning the tables was invited by the middle-aged woman, who waved an arm and motioned to the two extra seats at their table.
“Are these open?” the younger woman asked, over the din of the other diners.
“As long as you don’t mind sitting with strangers,” the older woman said.
“Not at all!” came the reply. A moment later, the two couples began eating lunch together. Mary smiled.
Surveying everything, Mary thought of how there was always a certain vibrancy to the place that she loved.
But for how long?
Chapter 14
Farmer’s Terminal Market — Philadelphia
Saif, along with three of his men, walked briskly towards the basement of the Farmer’s Terminal Market in Philadelphia, that had the state-of-the-art refrigerated storage for the use of vendors. Their familiarity with the whole place was uncanny. They knew what they were looking for and where they would find it.
Storage 137.
The thick steel door wasn’t locked but no one could know for certain unless they pulled it with all their might, but no one did. Till last night, the storage space was under maintenance. A paper stuck on the door mentioned it clearly. But Saif knew otherwise. He grabbed the steel handle and pulled opened the door. Inside, under the shade of yellowish dimming light, they could see eight three-foot-long haversacks weighing at least thirty-five pounds, waiting for them. It was eerie how everything was right there where they have been told to find them. Saif checked his watch. It was almost time. He stepped inside and opened the bag closer to him.
Inside the bag was a Kalashnikov assault rifle with a side-folding metal butt and ten 30-rounds magazines. Along with these, the bag had over five hundred rounds of 7.62 Soviet ammo rounds, fifteen to eighteen hand grenades, two SIG Sauer pistols along with six spare magazines and two 5-kg Improvised explosive devices (IED) with a programmable electronic timer switch programmed in their wristwatches. The bag also had a burner cell phone bought from the same city where they were going, a GPS handset with pre-fed coordinates on the maps and fake student identity cards from the local universities of the specific cities they were going to rip apart. Each of them picked two haversacks and slung them onto their shoulders.
They were now ready for war.
Chapter 15
Union Square Park, Manhattan — New York
Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and his buddy came out of the public restroom and moved briskly towards the basement of Union Square Park. In the restroom, they had left behind an IED, timed to explode an hour later. They walked among the thousands of protesters.
The other four pairs covered 14th Street on the south, Union Square West on the west side, 17th Street on the north, and Union Square East. As soon as they got into their positions, each of them zipped open their haversacks. Eight Kalashnikovs were out. They quickly slung their rucksacks on one shoulder, leaving their firing arm free, a shooting technique of the US Navy Seals, and opened fire.
Chapter 16
Onyx Hotel, The Marina, Houston
The guards at the door considered Shahrukh and Yakub guests of the hotel. Their confident walk and their seeming familiarity with the hotel made sure of that. They confidently crossed the fragrant, opulent lobby of the Onyx, and without looking at the giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling or asking anyone directions, glided into the lobby and turned left into a marble-lined corridor. At the end of it was a men’s restroom.
Inside, a man was standing unusually close to the mirror, checking his face. As the two boys entered the restroom, he appeared slightly flustered and made a gesture of removing something from his face. None of them made eye contact. It wasn’t a place to exchange pleasantries.
Shahrukh and Yakub leisurely entered in the third and the sixth toilet cubicle. They took out the plastic cap of the in-wall flush toilet systems. Inside each, a small key was hanging with a thread. They didn’t have to wait long to hear the restroom’s door getting shut with a click. The man had left.
First Shahrukh, and then Yakub got out of their cubicles and walked towards the only locker there. The two keys opened two boxes. Their eyes lit up. Inside, two haversacks were waiting for them. They took them out, unzipped them and took out the cell phones. They were charged and had only one saved number. After putting the cellphones in their pockets, they took out the Kalashnikovs, inserted the magazines and cocked their weapons. Opening the restroom’s door, they walked towards the reception area.
Chapter 17
Centrum, a shopping mall in Phoenix
The van had left Taha at the basement of the Centrum, a shopping mall in Phoenix, from where he was trafficked inside the mall by a covert ops team working for the Professor. An arrangement that was made in the other cities too.
Wearing a men’s hooded, waterproof jacket generally used for hunting and fishing, Taha looked out of place in the mall full of people who were there to enjoy some family time. Observing his surroundings, he slowly crept up to the center of the first floor. People busy shopping, checking their cells and doing hundreds of other things ignored him and his out-of-place outfit because the face was as American as it could get. There wasn’t any beard, or the skullcap on his head, to raise any unwanted suspicion.
Taha looked around and then checked his Casio watch. The timer he had set thirt
y minutes ago still had four minutes. Two hundred forty seconds left to breathe before everything would be ashes and smoke.
Tiffany, a five-year-old girl, playing with her doll as she sat on a bench near the escalator, was watching Taha. Maybe the red color of his jacket attracted her or maybe his demeanor, whatever it was, her eyes were glued to him, watching what he was doing as he stood a few feet away from her. Her mother, sitting beside her, was looking in another direction at the time.
Taha observed the girl watching him, but he kept on with his ritual. He slowly unzipped his oversized jacket, took it off and dropped it to the floor, revealing a suicide vest packed with improvised explosives and armed with a detonator. To maximize the impact, it was further packed with ball bearings, nails, screws, bolts, and other objects as shrapnel. The small detonator was in his left hand.
Tiffany suddenly stood up. Her eyes were on the jacket that was now on the floor. It was the color of the jacket that interested her. With her tiny feet, she ran in the direction of Taha.