Inside the room, Suleiman spoke thickly, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to belong and serve God."
"It's all right," Lucy replied. "In the end, you tried to do the right thing."
"What does that matter if I've destroyed the world?" Suleiman cried. He looked up at the digital market readout board. "I don't understand."
"What?" Lucy replied.
"It says trading has been temporarily suspended."
"The circuit breakers must have worked! The computer at the MetroTech wasn't destroyed." Lucy looked at the detonator, and then yelled to those standing outside the door. "Mom ... Dad ... you've all got to go, there's only a minute left!"
"The rest of you get out of here," Marlene demanded.
"Not without the two of you," Karp replied. "Fulton, take your guys and go. Right now, and that's an order. We're staying with our kid, but no one else is going to die here."
"Boss, I can't..."
"Get the hell out of here, Clay! Take Mariano with you.... Sorry, Dad, but you've got to go, too."
"Everybody out! Clear the building!" Fulton yelled. "Mr. Ciampi, come with me, please." The detective put his arm around the old man, and they took off down the hallway.
Marlene turned back to the computer room. "Think!" she shouted at Suleiman. "Didn't you watch him punch in the numbers?"
"No ... sorry ... it's the center of the universe."
"What did he say?" asked a voice behind Marlene and Karp.
"Jaxon!" Karp replied. "Get the hell out of here, there's a bomb about to go off."
"Not without Lucy. I'm the reason she's here. Now what did he just say about the center of the universe?"
"That's the code to stop the timer," Marlene explained.
Jaxon yelled to Suleiman. "Try three-nine-four-nine-two-one-two-seven." Suleiman looked down at the timer. He'd lost a lot of blood, and his finger was unsteady as he punched in the numbers and then pressed the "Enter" button to stop the countdown. "It didn't work. Twenty seconds." Jaxon thought again. "Try this! Three-nine-four-nine-three-two-one-two-seven-six."
Slowly, pausing to concentrate, Suleiman punched in the number. "Five seconds," he shouted as he pressed the Enter button again.
Lucy looked across at the three other women in the room. St. Teresa, Hazrat Fatemeh Masumeh, and Miriam Juma. All three smiled as if to welcome her. But the bomb didn't explode, and suddenly everyone was cheering. Marlene and Karp hugged and then embraced Jaxon.
"Uncle Espey, I love you!" Lucy shouted. "How did you know?"
"Easy. It's a riddle, but the first time I forgot to give the compass directions."
"What in the hell are you talking about?" Marlene asked, kissing him on the cheek.
"It's longitude 39°49' east and latitude 21°27' north," Jaxon explained. "The coordinates for Mecca, the center of the Muslim universe."
Karp laughed. "God, you've got to love these guys with a flair for the dramatic."
An hour later, a woozy, disheveled V. T. Newbury arrived at the law offices of Newbury, Newbury and White and rushed past the gaping receptionist to his uncle's office. In his mind, he saw himself leveling a gun at the old man's head and pulling the trigger, splattering the bastard's brains all over his million-dollar view of Midtown Manhattan.
Instead, he entered the room and quickly shut the door. "We were betrayed."
"My God, Vinson, what happened?" the old man said. He was nearly frantic for news of what had occurred at the Exchange. It was obvious that something had gone wrong with the plan—the market had not collapsed, and it was going to take some fast talking to mollify the rest of the Sons of Man council when they discovered how much of their money he'd lost selling off the group's stocks. They could recover from that—their assets went far beyond those in the stock market—more important was whether they'd been found out.
"We were betrayed," V. T. repeated. "The Sheik was carrying out our plan—I wish you'd told me about it first; I nearly got myself shot before he explained it to me. One of the bodyguards was actually a CIA mole. They waited for Al-Sistani to make his move."
The old man squinted suspiciously. "So you know what we planned to do?"
"Yes ... it was a brilliant idea, but someone talked or the CIA was on to it from the beginning. Karp and his wife, and Jaxon, they were involved, too."
"You understand why we created this event?"
"Yes, yes... of course, to save the United States from these fucking immigrants and the uneducated, filthy niggers and spies and Jews. But what do we do now?"
Dean Newbury ignored the question. "How did you escape?"
"I pretended I'd been held hostage. Al-Sistani was gone. It was pandemonium."
"What happened to Al-Sistani?"
"I don't know. He left at the beginning of the assault by the police. He might be dead."
Dean Newbury went to the bar and poured a brandy for himself and his nephew. "Don't worry. There's nothing to tie us to this. We're just a law firm and had no idea that this was going to happen."
V. T. accepted the brandy though the alcohol made the fire in his head bum hotter. "I hope I didn't mess up."
His uncle patted him on the shoulder. "Nonsense, my boy. I'm sorry that I didn't warn you about what was going to happen. There was a lot at stake and, well, to be honest, I wasn't sure you could be trusted."
V. T. looked up with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Uncle Dean. I'm completely on board with this. After all, something needs to be done or this country will be overrun."
"Indeed, and don't give it another thought.... You passed the test and we'll recover from this setback to try again." He raised his glass. "Myr shegin dy ve, bee eh. "
V. T. returned the toast. "What must be, will be."
EPILOGUE
Two days after the attack on the New York Stock Exchange, Roger "Butch" Karp stood looking out the window of his eighth-floor office. Below on the sidewalk, the worker bees were heading back to their offices from long lunch hours while the tourists milled about taking photographs, deciphering street maps, and dodging vendors and panhandlers. Life in the Big Apple continued with few knowing that if things had gone differently, those people on the sidewalks below, as well as everyone else across the United States, would be trying to figure out how to survive with their country in the throes of economic collapse.
According to an official joint press release from the New York Stock Exchange and the NYPD, an attack had been carried out by Islamic terrorists, some of whom had been wearing police uniforms. "The tragic event resulted in the deaths of a senior Exchange executive as well as a half-dozen employees of the exchange." Gotham City Bank floor manager Eric Eliaso was being credited, along with unnamed others, with thwarting the terrorists' intentions of crashing the market.
Trading resumed the next day. However, the Securities and Exchange Commission announced that it would issue new rules and regulations governing hedge funds. It would also launch an investigation into the security lapses, "as well as the investment bank and trading-firm misconduct," that had resulted in the near disaster.
The stock-exchange press release noted a simultaneous attack on a backup computer housed on the MetroTech in Brooklyn. There had been a number of deaths in this incident as well. Though no names were being released, since the matter was still under investigation, the dead included both security officers and what appeared to be homegrown terrorists. Federal agencies would neither confirm, nor deny that they had played any role in preventing an apparent bombing attempt. No one was admitting they knew anything about either of the two helicopters seen departing from the building.
One fallout from the attack was the Saudi reaction to the death of Prince Esra bin Afraan Al-Saud. The embassy issued a strongly worded denunciation of the failure of U.S. intelligence agencies to stop the assassination. However, the U.S. State Department pointed out that Saudi intelligence agencies had failed to identify plot "mastermind" Amir Al-Sistani as the brother of a known terrorist who'd t
ried two years earlier to attack Times Square. The statement implied that the Saudis were not as dedicated to the "War on Terrorism" as they liked to claim.
Various news agencies, starting with the New York Guardian in an article by Ariadne Stupenagel, connected the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Harlem and Imam Sharif Jabbar to the terrorists, though the mayor of New York City was quick to point out that most of the people in the congregation had been law-abiding citizens and immigrants. "If there was indeed a relationship between the terrorists and the mosque, it was from a small radical contingent," he said. According to unidentified police sources in Stupenagel's story, Jabbar was apprehended at a private airfield in New Jersey carrying two suitcases filled with cash. He was now facing a variety of state and federal charges, including murder and conspiracy to commit terrorist acts.
For the time being, the mosque was closed; the members of the congregation who wanted to continue as a group were meeting in an old storefront where prayer services were led by Mahmoud Juma. Stupenagel's story had quoted an unnamed source as saying that the body of Juma's daughter, Miriam, had been discovered in the basement of the mosque by police investigators.
"She was the real hero in all of this," said the source, who Karp knew was Lucy. "Information she provided enabled authorities to stop the terrorists before they accomplished their missions, and for that she paid the ultimate sacrifice. Before we condemn all Muslims for the actions of a few radicals, people should know that it was two Muslims, Miriam Juma and Suleiman Abdalla, who chose to do the right thing, for which we all have cause to be thankful."
That morning, Karp was buzzed by Mrs. Milquetost, who cheerily announced, "Ray is here to see you." Karp was delighted by his receptionist's sudden change in attitude toward his colleague, who he noted had not barged past her and instead waited patiently for her to announce his presence.
The day after the attack on the stock exchange, Karp called Mrs. Milquetost into his office and gave her a stem lecture about discussing office business with others. It turned out that her new boyfriend had been William "Bill" White of the law firm of Newbury, Newbury and White. Or should I say "former boyfriend," Karp thought; the attorney had been reported missing by his father, and there had been no word of him.
She felt horrible, of course. Now, not only had her boyfriend disappeared without a trace or a telephone call, but it turned out he'd been using her to spy on her boss. She was so distraught that even Guma had mercy on her. He'd walked into the reception office shortly after her dressing down by Karp and found her in tears. But instead of piling on, he'd pronounced her name correctly and taken her out for a cup of coffee.
As Guma had risen in her estimation, V. T. had fallen, thanks to his continued association with the firm that employed her former boyfriend. She, of course, had no idea that when Karp found his colleague in Trinity Church with the twins, the two men had managed to fit in a quick conversation about how to continue the subterfuge regarding V. T.'s relationship with his uncle. So far the plan seemed to have worked; V. T. had joined Dean Newbury in issuing a press release criticizing the New York District Attorney's Office for "intimating in the press that the firm of Newbury, Newbury and White was involved in recent events at the New York Stock Exchange." The DAO had not really intimated any such thing, only releasing a statement pointing out that Imam Jabbar was represented by the firm. "That's all we're going to say about the matter," Gilbert Murrow had said when the press called. "I'd refer you to his attorneys for any further comment."
The Newbury, Newbury and White press release had taken more umbrage at the insinuation that the partners had some foreknowledge of the NYSE attack due to its relationship with Jabbar. "This firm represents a great variety of clients and does not discriminate based on race, religion, ethnicity, or country of origin. The Al-Aqsa Mosque and Imam Sharif Jabbar are clients, and introduced the firm to the late Prince Esra bin Afraan Al-Saud, who was unfortunately one of the victims of these terrorists. We, too, are victims of the criminals who attacked the stock exchange, including attempted murder on partner V. T. Newbury."
Shortly after Guma had entered Karp's office that morning, there'd been a knock at the door of his office that led to the private elevator. Espey Jaxon had arrived to brief him on the latest.
The main character in the events at the Exchange, Amir Al-Sistani, had "disappeared." Jaxon had been trying to reach David Grale, so far with no luck, to try to arrange for the prisoner to be turned over for questioning. "We could learn a lot from him regarding terrorist networks," the agent complained. "Although I suppose that Mr. Grale does not feel the need to abide by the Geneva Convention prohibitions against torture, or the U.S. Constitution, for that matter."
"I think you're right there," Guma agreed. "Grale is in tune more with the Spanish Inquisition than with due process."
"Who knows what will come of that?" Karp added. "It could be that you'll eventually get more information than you might otherwise. When that might be, I don't know. Grale seems to go in and out of his fits of madness, and I think he's serving his own master, not us."
"Well, lucky for us, those urges coincided with our own strategy," Jaxon said. Although the signs had pointed to an attack on Prince Esra at Grand Central Terminal, Jaxon had not been certain that they'd guessed the location of the attack correctly, and that was why he had asked Tran to let his man implant the GPS microchip. Ivgeny had suggested the janitorial services trick when they informed him that Tran was at the MetroTech building. It was a stroke of luck that as one of his varied business interests, Ivgeny had part-ownership in the Little Odessa Janitorial Services Company. The van had gained him and his team easy access to the building.
Since the prince would also be making a public appearance at the stock exchange, Jaxon had asked Grale if he'd mind keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity in that vicinity. Jaxon had realized that despite the supposedly higher security level, the NYSE would make as good a target as Grand Central.
According to Dirty Warren, who'd filled Karp in later, they'd been fortunate that Booger had been watching the backside of the Exchange building for several days from his panhandling position in front of Trinity Church.
That's where he'd been when he saw the black man with the white face—the one they now assumed to be Suleiman Abdalla, aka Justin Rhodes Jr.—enter the church.
The young man had wished him "Salaam," but Booger didn't give it much thought until he saw him again the day of the attack. First he saw him entering the church early in the morning when the church first opened its doors; he saw him again an hour or so later, going into the Exchange dressed in a janitor's uniform. Suspicious, Booger had entered the church and made his way down to the tunnel, where he discovered evidence that someone had been inside it. He followed the tunnel down to its terminus at the stock exchange, where he found flashlights. He then went to find Grale, who was waiting with his men in a place that would allow him quick access to the Exchange and Grand Central.
Now, frustrated by his inability to reach Grale, Jaxon joked that maybe he needed to put the Karp-Ciampi clan in danger. "Then he'll show right up," he said.
"Well, you better hurry. After this weekend it's only going to be the boys and me," Karp said. Marlene had talked her father into a road trip to New Mexico, where they'd drop Lucy off in Taos. "I think he's more inclined to save the women, especially Lucy, who he'd like, I think, to be his Queen Persephone to his Lord of the Underworld persona."
If there were any "winners" from the attack, Marlene's dad qualified; he seemed rejuvenated, especially when asked repeatedly by the twins to recount his "battle with the terrorist."
"Geez, Grandpa," Zak said admiringly at dinner the night after the attacks. "You were just like a ninja with those knitting needles."
"Ninja? The heck with that... U.S. Army Big Red One all the way!"
"You were pretty wonderful, Grandpa," Lucy added. "That terrorist, Mousawi, would have killed Suleiman before the bomb was stopped and I'd be dead ... and a whole lot worse
."
As Mariano basked in the glory of his grandkids' adulation at the dinner table, Karp spotted Marlene standing off to the side, watching with tears in her eyes. He walked over and put an arm around her. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm great and Pops is even better. Guess I won't be hearing much about him being worthless and no good to anyone for a while."
After Jaxon and Guma left, Karp's next visitor was a very nervous Kenny Katz. It had been two days since the end of the Jessica Campbell trial and the jury was still out, and his young protégé was convinced that something was wrong. "Maybe there's a holdout. Maybe it means a hung jury or even acquittal." Karp urged patience. "The jury had a lot to consider. If they're taking their time to be thoughtful, that's okay. We did everything we could to present the facts; now it's up to them."
Karp went outside to get a hot dog from the vendor across the street in Foley Square park. A group of the usual street people had set up camp and appeared to be helping themselves to a large selection of cold cuts, breads, fruits, and beverages. He spotted Dirty Warren and Booger among them and walked over.
"Hi Warren," he said. "What's going on?"
"Hey Karp ... oh boy ... just a picnic with some of our friends," the little news vendor said. "Some guy ... fuck shit piss ... gave Booger forty bucks' worth of food stamps in front of Trinity Church the other day. We decided to ... your mother's a whore crap ... throw a party. Join us."
"I've already got lunch but I'll stick around for the company."
"Great! Hey, everybody, look what the ... balls vagina ... the cat drug in!" Warren looked up at Karp. "I got one for you. In what movie does Val Kilmer ... oh boy oh boy ... say, 'I'm your Huckleberry, and that's just my game?' And in what... titties boobs thanks for the mammaries ... role?"
"Tombstone," Karp replied, his mouth full of hot dog. "He was Doc Holliday."
"Ah shit... that was too easy."
"Well, today it's just as well; otherwise you might have tripped me up. By the way, if you happen to see David Grale, would you let him know that I'd like to talk to him about a certain guest of his?"
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