Arabian Deception
Page 24
“This latest mess I just came out of was more of the same. Although I came out of it all right, I don’t feel good about any of it, and I left with the feeling of wondering what the hell is really going on.”
“When I saw you last, you didn’t appear to feel that what you were doing was right.”
“I was definitely doing the right thing. It was the way it was done that was a bit unsettling.”
“I hope it’s over, really.”
“Same here,” Pat said. “Same here.”
THE END
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ARABIAN VENGEANCE
THE NEXT NOVEL IN THE ARABIAN ADVENTURE SERIES BY JAMES LAWRENCE
"Lawrence's action-packed tale highlights a smashing hero/villain coupling. A brisk, often entertaining story with a tough protagonist."
- Kirkus Reviews
Chapter 1
Brussels, Belgium
Ahmed Eleiwi zipped his leather jacket against the wind as he exited the Bruxelles Central Train Station and entered downtown Brussels. It was a Saturday afternoon and the station was crowded with visitors on their way to enjoy a sunny spring afternoon shopping and sightseeing in the Grand Place Square. As he passed through the main doors of the station, he drew a second look from one of the soldiers positioned in the entryway. Belgium’s response to the reoccurring terrorist incidents over the past year had been to station hundreds of military personnel throughout the city. In the congested downtown Brussels area, it was becoming increasingly difficult for a man Middle Eastern in appearance to travel unmolested. Ahmed was purposely carrying no bags to avoid arousing too much suspicion. Despite his efforts, the soldier signaled for him to come over and gave him a quick pat-down from top to bottom. Ahmed reminded himself that it was just a random search and forced himself to remain calm.
Despite his heart kicking into high gear, Ahmed slowly walked away from the guard and continued at a leisurely pace past the Hilton Grand Place Hotel and through the arch passageway, taking him into the square proper. As he entered the Grand Place, Ahmed stopped to get his bearings. Along one side of the rectangular cobblestone square, a rock band was playing on a stage set up against a building wall, midway along one of the sides. It was early afternoon, and the UNESCO World Heritage site was crowded with a festival atmosphere. Tourist guides hustled to corral their charges across the expanse to the many historical and architectural items of interest. It was Earth Day, and several hundred protestors, still wearing green shirts and carrying signs from the morning march, congregated near the stage. The protestors were drinking beer, dancing to the music and having a great time in the unseasonably cool weather.
The small square was bordered by four- and five-story gothic buildings made of grey stone and adorned with gold accents, archways and magnificent spires. He searched for the City Hall, with its distinctive nighty-six-meter tower holding the Archangel Michael. Having found his bearings, he confirmed he was in the northeast corner.
Ahmed looked west and found the Hard Rock Café sign only fifty meters from his location. He checked his cell phone and found a text: “3rd Floor, window.” Ahmed stepped inside the narrow restaurant entryway and walked through the souvenir shop to the hostess. Before she could offer to help him, Ahmed interrupted and volunteered that his wife was on the third floor, waiting for him. The hostess pointed him to the stairs. Slightly winded from the climb up the steep spiral staircase, Ahmed emerged from the stairs and surveyed the crowded third-floor dining room for Raghad. He spotted his Iraqi contact in the last table along the windows. He walked directly to her, gave her a peck on the cheek and slid into the seat across the table. Raghad acknowledged Ahmed and turned her attention back to the baby she was feeding in the high chair to her left.
Forcing a smile, Ahmed reached across the table and placed an affectionate hand on the baby’s head in greeting. The waiter came over, and although Ahmed had no appetite, he ordered a hamburger and a liter of Leffe Blonde Beer. The window seat had an excellent view of the entire square. Ahmed estimated the crowd at over six hundred in the confined twenty thousand square feet of space. His pulse was racing, and he began to sweat. His beer arrived, and he gulped it down and ordered a second potent Belgian Beer. When his glass was empty, he nodded to Raghad and reached down under the table to retrieve a heavy diaper bag. He struggled sliding the heavy bag across the wooden floor.
Leaving it concealed under the table, Ahmed opened the bag. His practiced hands found the safe to arm switch by feel, and he moved it forward into the arm position. Pulling the bag out from under the table, he slid out of the booth and walked away from Raghad and her baby with the heavy diaper bag on his shoulder.
Ahmed could feel Raghad’s eyes bearing down on him as he emerged from the restaurant and navigated his way through the heavy crowd toward the stage. He expected Raghad would wait until he was near the stage, where the densest cluster of people could be found, before triggering the explosive device. He could tell from people’s reactions that they were starting to notice the growing panic that was reflected on his face. No longer able to feign calm, Ahmed began to hurry, crashing into people as he scurried toward the stage.
With her baby in her arms and a remote control designed to look like a baby toy in her hand, Raghad watched Ahmed through a window. Seeing Ahmed’s panic, she ducked behind a nearby support pillar and triggered the device. Twenty meters from the stage, all six daisy-chained claymore mines, arrayed in a horseshoe inside the diaper bag, exploded. Each claymore, containing one and a half pounds of C4 explosive, launched seven hundred steel balls into the crowd with lethal force. In seconds, every person in the tiny square went from vertical to horizontal. The concussive force trapped inside the square shattered the windows of the Hard Rock Café and all of the surrounding buildings.
Raghad reappeared from the protection of the pillar to witness the devastation. The flying glass had lacerated the exposed and thinly covered skin of the people sitting closest to the windows. Screams and cries for help filled the restaurant.
Worst hit were the Earth Day protestors who had been gathered around the stage moments before. The activists inadvertently served as human shields as they absorbed the brunt of the lethal projectiles before they could reach the larger crowd. A Chinese tourist group was killed in its entirety when the focused spray from a single claymore hit them head-on while they were lining up for a picture.
The damage done by the blast was grotesque. In the first fifty meters fanning out from the stage, few of the bodies remained intact. It was a macabre sight of blood and dismembered bodies. When the last fatality was recorded nine days after the attack, the death toll would reach 174, with another 269 wounded.
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Other books by James Lawrence
ARABIAN VENGEANCE
ARABIAN FURY