by Roger Hayden
Angela turned to him straight-faced. “I’m not going to run and hide when lives are at stake. Of course I’m concerned, even worried, but I want in every step of the way.”
Burke took pause, looking as though he was considering it. “What is your plan exactly?”
“We need to find my partner, Captain Martinez,” Angela said.
Burke tilted his head back with a scoff. “Martinez? He’s one step away from a padded room. That’s what I heard.”
“He and his family are under government protection. And his mental state is fine, thank you,” Angela snapped.
Burke waved her off as they slowed at a stop sign. “Out of the question. If the government gets their hands on me now, I’m looking at life. Maybe worse. I’ve killed dozens of men the past couple of days, all them terrorists, but they’re not going to look at it like that.” He paused and looked around. “Take a right.”
“We have to get to him. It’s our only option. We don’t have time to start at square one. Besides… He knows people.”
“What people?” Burke asked, surprising her.
“A group of people the FBI was very interested in. Vigilantes. Ex-military, most of them. They call themselves the Outlaws.”
A police car zipped past them in the other lane, and for a moment, Angela’s heart seemed to stop.
“I’ve heard of them,” Burke said. “Not exactly friends of the government, if I recall.”
“We should be in good company, then,” Angela said with a faint smile.
“So you’re suggesting we link up with your crazy partner and this rag-tag militia group to stop the terrorists?”
“Yes,” Angela said. “It’s the only way I know to stop this.”
Burke gave no immediate response, but he didn’t object, either. Angela hoped that she had reached him. There was really no other option in her mind. She needed Martinez, and she needed Burke to get to Martinez.
The road stretched on, flanked mostly by dimly lit trucker joints, sad and solitary in the barren desert. A road sign indicated that they were nearing El Paso, just twenty miles ahead. Wherever Burke had hidden his weapons, he wasn’t taking any chances.
Angela asked him if he was on board. She didn’t want to push him, but she needed to know. Every minute was critical.
“As long as I get to put a bullet in Asgar’s head,” he responded.
Angela took it as a yes. She felt relieved. Stubborn Burke had come around after all. He signaled to a side railing with reflectors on it, and told her to slow down. She pulled onto the shoulder and stopped, and he hopped out. He said nothing as he ran off into the darkness toward a line of sand dunes fading from her vision. She imagined him tunneling underground to retrieve his arsenal. The thought amused her.
Peculiarities aside, Burke was her best bet to stop the terrorists. Together they would avenge her husband Doug, and all the others. Burke had proven himself in that regard. Whatever anguish he was holding inside over the death of his family at the hands of terrorists seemed to have fueled an unstoppable vengeance in him. Angela knew the feeling well.
Burke circled back to the car a few minutes later, cradling his M240B machine gun and carrying a duffel bag over his shoulders. She popped the trunk as he made his way to the rear of the vehicle and placed the items inside.
Where are we going to get more ammo? she wondered.
He slammed the trunk shut and got back in the car, out of breath and wiping his face clean of sweat and dirt with a handkerchief.
“Good to go?” Angela asked.
“Yep,” Burke said. “Let’s go.”
Angela circled around and drove off in the direction they had come from. The thought of getting back to her daughters filled her with anticipation, more than everything else, and yet, she was curious about what else he had stowed in the trunk.
When he didn’t offer any information, she finally asked, “What’s in the duffel?”
“Papers. Documents. Anything I could find. We’re going to get these bastards.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said. “Can you help me find my partner?”
Burke thought to himself, holding his chin up. “I can contact some people, higher-ups, and get a line on him. I’m not officially a wanted man yet.”
“Thank you,” Angela said.
Burke stared ahead and then grabbed his cell phone, turning it on. “My question is… will he be able to find us?”
They raced down the empty road as the night sky blended into gray. Morning was upon them, with the New Mexico state line in the distance. The approaching day brought grave concern. Anything was possible, and Angela was convinced that her life, among the lives of countless others, was hanging in a fragile balance and quickly nearing its tipping point.
Dallas, Texas
Monday, 10:00 a.m.
The beginnings of the Memorial Day outdoor festival were off to a busy start. Oak Cliff Park was packed with various vendor booths and stands. There was face painting, American flags, and barbecue pits. There was a stage set up in the middle of the field, with music featuring a local bluegrass band. A World War II veteran was scheduled to deliver the festival’s opening comments, with an introduction by the Dallas mayor himself. People had arrived from all over. Families flowed in at a steady rate, eager to take part in the festivities.
By late morning, there were already over five hundred people gathered in the park, and their numbers were growing. A comforting breeze filled the air as the sun beamed from the blue, cloudless sky. Everything was coming together at a steady rate. People were there to enjoy themselves in defiance of terror alerts and whatever troubling developments that were taking place in the real world.
Lines of booths offered everything from giant pretzels and beer to cotton candy and apple pie. Children gathered near the inflatable bounce house, eager to get inside, as their parents walked by hand in hand. Contestants lined up at a nearby sack race, while others gathered to compete in the tug-of-war contest. The festivities were somewhat marred by the overwhelming presence of law enforcement. Dallas authorities weren’t taking any chances. Barricades surrounded most of the park, with police dispatched in large numbers to keep watch over the crowd.
The Oak Cliff Park Memorial Day Festival wasn’t the only event besieged by an overwhelming security presence. The terror alert reached far and wide across Texas. The mosque shooting had intensified concern from city to city, but cancelling the festivities wasn’t an option. Most believed such a drastic measure would give the terrorists far more credit than they deserved.
Kareem al Rashid sat at the wheel of his rental van outside Oak Cliff Park, carefully eyeing the event from the parking lot. He was alone, but that wasn’t the plan. His partner, Adnan, had apparently backed out and was nowhere to be found. Adnan was supposed to be his look-out, and most importantly, he was supposed to offer a diversion. They knew that security would be tight at any public event following the terror alert. The fact that their leader, Salah Asgar, had pushed the attacks up had made things even more difficult, but Kareem agreed with the decision. The time to strike was now. The Americans had to be taught a lesson.
He sat in the van, cool air conditioning blowing on his face while calling Adnan’s cell to no avail.
“Coward,” Kareem said under his breath. “Traitor.”
The problem with some recruits, Kareem believed, was that their time in America had made them too soft. They feared death, whereas Kareem was ready to embrace it. To be martyred in the eyes of Allah was an honor. Adnan, it seemed, had felt differently.
“Where are you?” Kareem said into the phone, leaving a message. “I went to your apartment and you weren’t there. Now I sit here waiting. You’re going to mess up the entire operation.” He paused, fuming. “If you do not show up in five minutes, I will see to it that everyone knows.”
He hung up feeling outraged and desperate. His supposed partner was avoiding him. That much was clear. Kareem stared ahead, trying to gather his thoughts as the fe
stival continued in the distance. He felt the sting of betrayal and a growing paranoia from within. Perhaps Adnan had been apprehended. Maybe he was telling the authorities about the attack plan right now. There was no sense in waiting any longer. Kareem had to act.
The remote trigger rested on the empty passenger seat where Adnan was supposed to be. The back of the windowless van housed fifty-five pounds of explosives—several pressure cooker bombs linked together through wiring and packed with enough nails and ball bearings to mortally wound or maim the crowd. The sheer brutality of the attack would send panic throughout the city. But it wouldn’t stop there. Other drivers were positioned and prepared to strike at soft targets throughout the state. Ten men, five targets. That was the plan. There was Dallas, San Antonio, Austin, Houston, and El Paso. And it was the first of many strikes to come.
Kareem knew the time was approaching, and without Adnan, he’d have to drive the van through the field without a diversion. And there would be no coming back. True martyrdom was near. He bowed his head in silent prayer, prepared to do what was necessary. All he needed was the signal. He raised his head and stared out into the park, seeing not a peaceful festival under the glow of sunshine, but a potential target.
It wouldn’t be easy getting through the barricades. And the police officers on site were armed with rifles. They could easily take him out before he made it across the field. Kareem’s main target was center stage. From there the impact of the explosion would spread to the most people. Those who weren’t initially killed by the blast would be horribly maimed. Only a few lucky ones would make it out unscathed.
Kareem turned on the ignition as his heart pounded with anticipation. It was best to be ready. He knew that there was no calling off the strike. Asgar had made it clear enough. The cell phone resting on his leg vibrated. He grabbed the remote trigger without even looking at the text. One swipe of the screen, and the message told him exactly what he must do: The time is now. May Allah provide you strength, brothers.
Kareem backed the van out and idled for a moment in place, examining the obstacles ahead. There were several police officers standing in front of the barricades, searching the bags and purses of those waiting entry into the festival. He’d have to draw as little attention to himself as possible until the time was right. They could easily shoot out the tires or riddle him with bullets, but he felt strangely empowered as a vessel of Allah’s will.
He drove ahead up the parking lane, nearing the park entrance. No one seemed to take notice of his steady approach. His hands gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. With a deep breath, he pressed down on the gas as the tires skidded on the pavement and the van barreled forward like a guided missile. Heads turned his way.
Although prepared, the police looked up, surprised and taken off guard. In mere seconds, the van was upon them, screeching toward the barricades and toward frozen, shocked faces. Quick to react, several festival-goers jumped out of the way. Fathers yanked their children to the side, shielding them. The police spread out and raised their rifles, shouting at Kareem to stop.
Kareem ducked down in his seat with his face at the steering wheel. All he had to do was to keep driving. Shots rang out, blasting through the windshield. Bits of glass fell onto Kareem’s hair as his foot held down the gas pedal. He balanced the wheel the best he could with one hand on the trigger device. Then came the point of impact. A loud crash sent the van rocking from side to side, almost turning over. Kareem was thrown back against the seat, then forward, hitting his head on the wheel as he tried to hold his grip.
People screamed and ran. He had breached the security line, and felt a joyous surge of accomplishment. The van shook and pounded as pieces of barricade flew by. Gun shots rained on all sides of the van. The passenger-side window shattered as the back windows burst into pieces. Though full of holes, the windshield remained intact.
Kareem lifted his head from the steering wheel just in time to see terrified fair-goers leaping out of the way and running to the sides. He was determined to plow through anyone who got in his way. The van was still moving forward fast. The collective screaming of stunned families began to spread throughout the field as the crowd parted to make way for the speeding van, dispersing in a frenzy and literally running for their lives.
They can run all they want, Kareem thought.
With the stage in view and only seconds until detonation, they weren’t going to make it far. Bullets flew through his driver’s-side window, hitting him in the shoulder. More rounds blasted through the windshield, pummeling his chest in rapid, violent bursts. His body seized as he hacked up blood while shouting a furious scream.
“Allahu Akbar!” he screamed, squeezing the remote trigger clenched in his blood-soaked hand.
The fifty-pound explosion decimated the field in an instant. A fiery ball erupted into the sky as ball bearings and nails tore through the unsuspecting crowd gathered at a distance, beyond the hundred others already reduced to charred corpses and ash. Terrified screams erupted throughout the park as crowds dispersed in mass panic, trampling over one another, trying to out-run the heat of the explosion, pushing against their backs. The festival stage was engulfed in flames as parts of the van frame dropped from the sky and into the crater formed by the explosion.
Mutilated people lay among the dead—men, women, and children, some with arms and legs missing, stunned in their helplessness. The explosion had destroyed everything in its path. It was a slaughter beyond even Kareem’s wildest dreams. And it was just one of many similar attacks occurring simultaneously throughout the state of Texas. There was no denying that the United States was now at war. Memorial Day would never be the same.
6
The Phone Call
Angela was in her hotel room when she first heard of the attacks. In the room next door, Burke had been working for the past few hours trying to learn Martinez’s location. Fear gripped her heart when the news reported the death toll from Dallas and San Antonio: 1,120. Car bombs had hit both city festivals, synchronized to deliver the most damage possible at the same time. As horrifying as the news was, the terrorists hadn’t fully completed their mission.
Three separate attacks were prevented at festivals in Austin, Houston, and El Paso. One terrorist was apprehended during a mandatory vehicle search outside the entrance of the El Paso fairgrounds, while the other two drivers were shot and killed before they could unleash their attacks in Houston and Austin. This bit of news was of small consolation when so many others had been killed or injured in horrific improvised vehicle explosions.
Angela suspected that Asgar had chosen so many soft targets knowing that the odds of hitting all would be unlikely. He was a sick, devious man, and she regretted not killing him herself. Then again, she had never seen him and wasn’t entirely sure if he had even been in the compound when they rescued her daughters.
She clutched the remote in her hand, standing in front of the television in shock as an emotional newscaster delivered the latest report.
“Eyewitness reports say that two separate drivers stopped at nothing to drive their vehicles at top speed into the festival crowds to detonate their explosives. One shaken woman said the carnage looked no different to similar terrorist attacks in the Middle East. No group has claimed responsibility for the attacks, but with one driver currently in custody, officials hope to get some answers soon.”
Angela was eager to hear a name or see a photo of the apprehended driver. If anything, to answer the obvious question of who was behind the attacks. She knew very well who was behind them and wondered why the news was being slow to report it. As she stood frozen on the carpet under her bare feet, tears streamed down her cheeks. She was crying and didn’t even realize it.
“What happened, Mom?” Chassity said, exiting the bathroom after a shower. Lisa was still in bed, curled up against a pillow, silent in her thoughts.
Angela shook and turned to Chassity, frightened. She had never felt so on edge. It
wasn’t the world she wanted her daughters raised in. “There’s been an incident…” she said, hesitating. “An attack…”
Chassity moved quickly to the television, drying her hair with a towel. Flames consumed the television screen. A running ticker accompanied the ominous sight with a current death toll of 1,125.
Angela had seen enough. She turned the television off despite her desire to learn as much about what happened as she could. The attacks were just the beginning of Asgar’s plan. His notes indicated as much.
“Why’d you turn it off?” Chassity asked, frustrated.
Angela pulled her near and hugged her. “Some bad people killed innocent people at some festivals. That’s all you need to know right now.”
“The terrorists?” Chassity asked.
“Yes, honey. The terrorists.” She kissed Chassity’s head as the girl’s arms went around her back. “We have to leave soon. I’m taking you and Lisa to somewhere safe.”
Chassity pulled away, eyes watering. “But I want to go home. I’m sick of this hotel room.”
“It’s too dangerous right now,” Angela said. “But we will go home once this is all over.”
Lisa rose from the bed, interested in their conversation. “Can we stay with Grandma and Grandpa?”
Angela turned to her with sadness. “I’m sorry, honey. We don’t have time to drive all the way to Pittsburgh, and I don’t want either of you on a plane.”
Chassity glanced back at the empty television screen. “What do the terrorists want? Why are they attacking us?” Her voice rose in a panic.
Angela bent down and placed both hands on Chassity’s shoulders. “They are at war with us.” She then looked over to Lisa and back to Chassity, stern and serious. “Listen to me now. I’ve got to talk with Mr. Burke in the other room. I want you to stay here and watch your sister. Be ready to leave soon.”