by Mark Gilleo
“What are you doing?”
Ariana raised her voice. “You want to sit in?” she asked Abu.
“I did all the work,” Abu said in a surprisingly strong voice.
Ariana nodded.
Across the warehouse floor, Karim poked his head in the crowded sleeping quarters. “Make room. Feet off the floor.”
The three new recruits and Syed positioned themselves on the four cots in the sleeping quarters. Ariana pushed Abu, seated in the wheeled office chair, to the doorway of the sleeping quarters. She slid past the chair in the doorway, sat on the cot next to Karim, and unfurled the map on the floor.
The brothers glanced at Abu, who smiled weakly.
“I assume everyone here, with the exception of Syed, is familiar with the D.C. Metro?”
The younger brothers, Jameel and Omar nodded. Farooq grunted as if the question were preposterous.
Ariana paused and singled out Syed. “You are the only one who has not ridden the Metro before, so try not to get on the wrong train. You will all be given Metro cards with sufficient funds on them. You will not need to use the vending machines. Simply run the cards through the slot in the turnstile, arrow end first, face up.”
Ariana pointed towards the floor. “This is the map of the Metro system.”
“There are five lines. Green, Yellow, Blue, Red, and Orange.” She paused. “Is anyone here color blind?”
“Color blind?” Farooq asked.
“Yes, color blind. It affects nearly one percent of the population. Problems distinguishing between red and green run at a higher rate. Males are more commonly affected than females.”
Heads moved back and forth.
“Good. Then I won’t have to worry about anyone getting lost for that reason. There are around eighty stations in the entire system. Over half a million riders per day.”
“We will be focused on the Red, Blue, and Orange lines only. The Yellow line is a non-central line and the Green line runs through some of the rougher areas of town, which presents several potential problems.”
“Such as?” Syed asked.
“One, a well-dressed Middle Eastern man with a suitcase is likely to either stand out, or get mugged. Neither of which would be good.”
“I think I can handle a mugger,” Syed responded, running a finger across his throat.
“Yes, perhaps you could.” She looked at the younger brothers, two eighteen year olds with more faith and conviction in their eyes than muscle on their bones. “But not all of us are trained.”
“Let her speak,” Karim said.
“As I said, we are focusing on three lines. The Red, Blue, and Orange. There is only one spot where these three lines intersect: Metro Center. The name should be easy to remember. We will have three teams: Team Red, Team Blue, and Team Orange. I assume everyone can figure out the naming scheme.”
Omar, the brother with oversized eyes, chuckled.
“The Blue and Orange lines share the same track and the same platform at Metro Center. The platform between the two lower tracks is where a majority of the targets will be hit. Team Orange team will be arriving from one end of the station and Team Blue will be arriving on the same tracks from the opposite direction.
“The Red line intersects the Orange and Blue lines on tracks above the lower platform. This should make for good fall-out and maximize our kill potential. Syed, the D.C. subway is not like New York. The stations are cavernous, the platforms intersect on bridges. There are minimal tunnels. All things that work in our favor.
“There will be five of you. Each of you will be carrying two bags apiece. Three of you will be carrying suitcases, dressed like businessmen, with tickets to the airport or train station. The other two, Jameel and Omar, will be dressed like students. Duffle bags and backpacks. For those keeping up, we have two profiles: the students and the businessmen. We also have three teams: Red, Blue, and Orange. Does everyone understand?”
All heads nodded.
“I want the twin brothers on the Orange line. Team Orange. Students. Both of you will be going west. One of you will be dressed as a University of Maryland student. The other will be a student at American University. I want one of you on the second car from the front. The other will board the train on the second car from the rear. The appropriate clothes will be provided. You will look like students. Well-groomed, clean-cut students. Karim has all the pocket litter for you as well.”
“Pocket litter?” the thinner twin, Omar, asked. In the light from the lone bulb in the sleeping quarters his face seemed oddly elongated, like a stretched balloon, almost caricaturized.
“Pocket litter is papers and I.D. that makes you look legitimate. For this operation they are probably unnecessary, but we will consider it a precaution.”
Ariana pointed at Syed. “You are on the Blue line. Businessman. Team Blue. You will be going in the direction of Reagan Airport. I want you to ride in the middle car. It will likely be crowded, so force your way in if you have to. Between you and the twins, you will cover a majority of the lower platform.
“Karim, you and Farooq are on the Red line. Also businessmen. Team Red. Karim, you will be arriving from the south or east, depending on how you look at the map. Farooq, you will be arriving from the north. Both of you aim for the center car. When you exit the train, you will be on opposite sides of the tracks, with the Orange and Blue line platforms beneath you.” Karim looked at the eldest brother and their eyes locked in anticipation. Then they both smiled.
Ariana pointed at Farooq. “When was the last time you wore a tie?”
“It’s been a while.”
“Well, you will have a suit and tie provided to you shortly. Try not to fuss with the tie too much. It gives you away as someone who usually doesn’t wear one.”
Ariana looked around the room at her soldiers, making deliberate eye contact with Karim and Farooq. “I want you clean-shaven. I have put hair clippers and scissors in the bathroom. Either you do it yourselves, or I will help you.
“This is how it’s going to work. The routine will be the same for everyone. Everyone will be dropped off at a pre-selected location, in this case a designated Starbucks that is either across, next to, or otherwise in close proximity to the station I have selected.”
“Why Starbucks?” Syed asked.
“Because I don’t want anyone having to remember their location … Everyone will buy something to drink and a Washington Post. Don’t look around, it makes you suspicious. If you need to look at something, look at your watches. This is D.C.; people like to act as if they are busy. I want everyone to arrive at Metro Center on their designated train at 8:30 am. Do not panic if you are late by a minute or two. I will be tracking each of you. Oh, and don’t bring your coffee into the train stations. It’s one thing that will most definitely attract police attention.
“I will drop each person off from a minivan I have at my disposal. It will take between sixty and ninety minutes to get to all the locations and drop everyone off, which means your potential wait time is ninety minutes, so plan accordingly. Fill in the crossword puzzle. Do sudoku.
“The twins will be first. They will be dropped off in Rosslyn at the Starbucks across from the station. For the twins, it is a seven-minute ride from Rosslyn to Metro Center. At 8:15, Team Orange needs to be heading into the station. The Rosslyn escalator is long and takes an extra minute or two just to reach the trains.”
“Why 8:30?” Syed asked.
“Most of D.C. is government employees. We are fortunate that everyone arrives and leaves work at relatively the same time. 8:30 is near peak. 8:40 is probably the busiest time, but for simplicity sake, we are shooting for 8:30. Any questions, Team Orange?”
The fraternal twins shook their heads and answered, “No,” in near unison.
“Syed, you are Team Blue. You will be dropped off at Capitol South. There is a Starbucks next to the entrance to the station. You will be eight minutes out from Metro Center. You need to be in the station by 8:20.”
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br /> “Team Red,” Ariana said, pointing towards Farooq. “You will get on at Cleveland Park. There is a Starbucks just past the CVS. You are also eight minutes out. Be on the train by 8:20 as well.”
Ariana looked at Karim. “You are also Team Red. You will be dropped off last, in Chinatown. There is a Starbucks with the name written in both English and Chinese. You will be one stop away from Metro Center. One minute of transit time. Be on the platform by 8:25.
“Our main concern is the timing of the trains. Metro does not have a schedule. There is a published timetable but I have yet to see any train run in accordance with it. Trains are habitually late. They stop in the tunnels as a matter of course, a phenomenon that is unique to Metro. In virtually all trains systems in the world the only time trains stop in the tunnels is when there is an emergency. But here, well, it is a variable we will have to contend with.
“What I have tried to do is have everyone six to eight minutes away, and assume a three-minute wait time. Teams Orange and Red — if you get to the station before 8:30, I want you to get off the train, look a little lost, and hold your position at the end of the platform, as if you got off at the wrong station.
“For Team Blue, Syed, mill about as if you are waiting for someone, but stay in the middle portion of the platform. You will be key to the operation and the most centrally located. Regardless of anyone’s timing, do not panic. Keep in mind that Metro Center is crowded in the morning. No one should notice you whether you’re standing or walking. Metro employees are of no concern whatsoever. They have scraped the bottom of the employment barrel for these men and women.”
“Unless you are eating or drinking,” Karim added.
“Right.”
“I’ve seen dog patrols before,” Jameel added, shedding his New York Giants jacket. The room was getting warm, a combination of the six bodies shoulder-to-shoulder and the topic at hand.
“There’s nothing I can do about the dogs. I don’t know what substances they have been trained to detect and react to. If you see a K-9 unit coming your way, try to mix with the crowd. Don’t run. If the dog reacts to your bag, comply with the officer and give them your cover story. We are running on a pretty tight timeline, so the chance of being questioned in the small window of operation time should be very slim. If you are questioned, be polite, answer the officer, and be prepared.”
“What kind of explosives?” Syed asked.
“TATP. Made by yours truly. Also known as the ‘Mother of Satan.’ Sensitive to heat, friction, and shock.” Ariana looked around at her team and then added. “So be careful handling your bags.”
“How do we set them off?” Farooq asked.
“I will control the charge remotely. All of the bags are being tracked via a GPS system and my laptop. Once you all arrive at Metro Center, I will detonate the devices. The bags are loaded with directional explosive charges large enough to send their contents half the length of a six-car Metro train. The charges in the backpacks are set to blow out the sides, in both directions, not backwards. The charges in the suitcases will blow outward, towards the front of the suitcase and away from the suitcase wheels and the carrier if he is following usual luggage carrying convention.”
“How large will the explosion be?” Syed asked.
“The explosions will be large, but perhaps not lethal, unless you are standing in the way of the suitcase when it blows. The force will turn the top of the suitcase into a dangerous projectile. My goal is to spread the contents of the bags. This is best done through a directional discharge.”
“What about the contents?” Farooq asked.
“A powdery substance. That is all you need to know.”
“What is the estimated death toll?” Syed asked.
“Four trains, eight cars apiece, and three crowded platforms. Maybe an exposure of two thousand with the initial blast. But the beauty of this is the collateral damage. Once these bags detonate and people realize they haven’t been killed by the explosion or shrapnel, there will be mass hysteria. The rush for the exits will be fierce. Every person who has powder on their jacket, their bags, in their hair — everyone will become a human transfer agent. A delivery mechanism. So if two thousand people are impacted at Metro Center, it will be four thousand by the time they hit the street and come into contact with other people. Multiplying the effect of transfer agents, the number could be as high as sixteen thousand exposures by the time the original targets clean themselves off. By the time the bio-hazard teams arrive and figure out what they are dealing with, thirty-two thousand people could be exposed. Health workers. Colleagues. Good Samaritans. All on the way to their deathbeds with nothing but twenty-four to seventy-two hours of despair in front of them.”
“Brilliant,” Syed said.
Looks of fear crept across the twin brothers’ faces. Ariana tried to appease their concerns. “Don’t worry. I have an oral vaccine for you. A simple pill. Some of us have already been inoculated.” Ariana motioned her hand towards Abu. “This is what happens to someone who refuses. The choice is yours.”
Karim looked at Ariana. Her words from an earlier conversation rang in his ears. Indeed, she was no longer the girl he once knew.
“If there are no more questions, I will leave you all to pray and prepare. I will bring everyone their clothes, some money, their Metro cards, and pocket litter.”
“When do we go?” Syed asked.
Ariana checked her watch. “We have thirteen hours before detonation.”
Karim followed Ariana out of the room, past the slumping Abu who was still breathing, his eyes open and fixated on the three brothers in the sleeping quarters. Syed whispered to them about the importance of being calm under pressure. Not panicking.
Karim pulled Ariana to the side, out of earshot. “That was unnecessary.”
“What?”
“Giving those boys hope. Martyrdom is without fear.”
“Perhaps. But I cannot have them second-guessing things at the last minute.”
Karim thought and rubbed his beard. “Shave it off?”
“Yes,” Ariana answered. “I don’t want the others to think you are not following protocol. But you won’t be going into the Metro tomorrow. You will be with me. We have something else to do.”
She reached into the pocket of her oversized sweater and handed him a cell phone.
“This is what I need…” she started, leaning in close.
Chapter 55
The address is 9345, right?” Clark asked.
“I thought you were a number Jedi,” Lisa answered from the passenger seat.
“Just tell me if I am right.”
“9345 Georgia Avenue. Warehouse C,” she replied.
“We just went straight from the eight hundred block to the eleven hundred block.”
“And the neighborhood didn’t improve at all.”
“Well, we’re not stopping to ask for directions.”
“Usually I would call you a typical male for that comment.” Lisa looked out the window at the brick corner market with its riot doors pulled down to the sidewalk. The bars on the windows protected the store’s thick Plexiglass from projectiles and prying neighbors. A homeless man slept under a pile of fabric at the foot of a newspaper machine, the door to the machine long since ripped off. Garbage overflowed from the large trashcan at the corner of the store’s property. “But in this case, I’m with you. There’s no need to stop, much less ask for directions.”
“Let’s turn around and give it another look. It has to be here somewhere.”
Clark slowed down as the traffic light turned from yellow to red.
“I think you should come back in the daytime. I don’t even like stopping at the traffic lights.”
“That’s why I brought you. You have a gun, Criminal Investigator Prescott.”
“I have a gun, but it’s at home. Besides, I don’t think there is much tax evasion in this zip code.”
“Unless you count drug dealers. Like that guy there,” Clark said, p
ointing with his nose.
Lisa glanced in the same direction Clark indicated. A large figure dressed in a black leather coat lurked in the shadows of a doorway to an old hardware store. “How do you know he’s a drug dealer?”
“Because it’s twenty degrees outside and he’s just standing there.” A moment later a car pulled up to the stoplight, flashed its high beams, and rolled down its passenger window. The man stepped from the safety of the shadows, exchanged his goods for money, and returned to his covert position.
“Did he just do what I think he did? Right here in front of us?”
“I don’t think he was out shaking hands. Doesn’t look like a politician running for office to me.”
“Jesus.”
“Has nothing to do with it.”
The light turned green and Clark drove down the block before doing a three-point turn in the middle of the street. “One more pass and I’m calling it quits for tonight.”
“You don’t have to try to convince me.”
Clark slowed down at the end of the old hardware store. A small alley ran between the hardware store and the boarded up building to its left. On the brick wall was a small sign that read 9345, with an arrow pointing ominously into the darkness.
Clark made the turn and Lisa squirmed in her seat. “This does not look good.”
“The sign said 9345.”
“The sign should have said ‘call 911.’”
“Let’s just see where it goes.”
The Honda crept forward and Clark put on his bright lights. At the end of the building he was forced to turn left by the intimidating fence directly in front and to his right. The car dipped through a rut and the headlights bounced, beaming into the fenced lot ahead.
“Junkyards,” Lisa said.
“I see them.”
“Look for a place to turn around.”
“I’m looking.”
Clark followed the small road to the left and the narrow strip of pavement and dirt opened into a larger lot of the same making. Clark’s high beams cut across the darkness.
“God, it’s dark.”
“Like every source of light in the vicinity stopped working with Marion Barry.”