by N R Brooks
Finally, shortly after 8pm, I looked out to see that the space they were parked in was empty. There was just barely enough sunlight to see both yellow lines of the parking space. The time had finally come. My body was instantly feeling flush as the adrenaline hormones coursed through my veins. I turned the TV off, left my room and made way for my car where my rifle and the accessories were located.
I had everything packed in a cheap gig bag for a guitar to look as inconspicuous as possible. I made sure nobody was outside with me and made way for the parking lot next to the hotel in the commercial building plaza. When I was hidden from view of the hotel and its many windows, I turned and walked south to hide within the wooded copse surrounding a section of the tiny creek.
I silently laid the gig bag down and removed the rifle and darts. I had already loaded up three darts days earlier in Manhattan in preparation for this day. Neither Atta nor Omari were large guys. Honestly, Marwan is probably one of the larger guys in the whole group, and even he is short, just somewhat portly due to his love for food. I didn’t want to kill them, just knock them out. I would rather go slightly over on the dosage rather than under. Fail to give them enough and my plan would fall apart.
I settled on a 2.5cc dosage. It shouldn’t cause an overdose but should be enough to at least make them loopy and compliant. Best case scenario: one or both of them fall asleep.
Just like earlier, I had no clue when they would return. I just knew they would at some point. Again I was reduced to sitting and playing the waiting game.
As I waited, I realized I could never be a big game hunter. In addition to the fact that I hated harming animals, much less shooting one, I was so fucking bored.
That boredom remained for nearly two hours. The only positive was despite my excruciating boredom, I was never at risk of falling asleep. I was way too amped up on adrenaline and stimulated nerves to do that. I felt like a soldier on the battlefield in the middle of a firefight—at least what I would think one would feel like.
When I finally saw a car that looked like the blue Nissan I saw earlier I immediately assumed my position to aim my rife and shoot. I made sure I was fully enveloped in shadows and looked through the little scope on my rifle. I decided to hit Omari first since he was the obstacle I needed to clear to get to Atta. If I wasn’t able to get Atta, at least his accomplice would be incapacitated and unable to put up any resistance.
When Atta parked the car, Omari was the first to get out. I lined him up in the sights of my scope and aimed for his ass cheek. While less effective for tranquilizing someone, the padding of the ass as well as the thicker clothing should make it so he barely feels the dart, or if I am lucky, not feel it at all.
I waited for a clear shot. He turned around and I saw he had a plastic Walmart bag in his hand. When I had a clear shot on his ass cheek, I pulled the trigger. The rifle shot and made a plink sound similar to a pellet gun. I kept my scope lined up on Omari and saw the dart whiz in a straight line and hit him right where I aimed. Perfect shot.
I had no time to waste. If he felt it and saw that he had been struck with a dart, they would be alarmed and most likely begin running. I loaded another dart as quickly as I could into the chamber and pumped the rifle with air for a second shot, this time into Atta. I looked through the scope and saw that Omari did indeed feel the dart hit him. I aimed my rifle at the same location on Atta, and when I had a clear shot, I pulled the trigger to hear a second plink and watch as the red tail of the dart flew in a straight line to stab Atta in the ass cheek.
I kept watching through the scope to verify I had hit my target. Another perfect shot. I set the gun down and hid behind a tree trunk in case the two men looked in my direction. After a few seconds, I peeked around to see both men running into the hotel. I was perfectly fine with this. The more they run, the faster the chemical is going to pump through their system.
I was in no hurry as I expected at least five to ten minutes for the Ketamine to fully take effect. This was plenty of time to pack everything back into the gig bag and walk over to where their car was parked. I found both darts lying on the ground, the plunger on both fully sunken in the dart chamber meaning both men received the full dosage.
I placed the darts in the gig bag and walked to my car to put the bag in the trunk. The entire time I walked in a slow casual stroll to draw little attention. I closed the trunk of my car, put my hands in my pockets, walked to the side entrance of the hotel, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Our rooms were close to the end of the building, only a couple doors down from the side entrance. When I reached the second floor, I looked for the room located in the same position as mine and had to smile when I saw that there was a key card laying on the floor right next to the door. One of them must have already started feeling the effects of the drug and dropped it without realizing it. They both must have run as fast as they could into the building as well as up the stairs. They were generous enough to most likely speed up the reaction time by at least a minute or two. I would have to give them my thanks later.
I picked up the key card, gently slid it into the electronic lock and cracked the door open as quietly as I could. I peeked my head inside their room to see both of them sitting on the same bed, the heels of their palms pressed to their eyes as if they were trying to keep from seeing something. Both men were swaying slightly as if they were drunk. I stepped into the room, closing the door gently and walked up to both of them.
“Hello, guys,” I said with a sinister smile on my face. I admit I was feeling pretty cocky at this point.
Both of them looked at me and had the look of someone who had just chugged an entire fifth of whiskey and was finally feeling the full effect of it. These guys were probably feeling pretty damn good right now. Or on the verge of freaking out.
I squatted down at eye-level with Atta and looked directly at him.
“You and I have some business to attend to,” I say to him right before I punch him in the nose as hard as I could, knocking him unconscious.
I had never punched anyone square in the face before. Once again, the movies made it seem much different than reality. It actually hurt my hand quite a bit.
I stood up and gave an equally punishing swing into the face of Omari who also flopped to the side, unconscious. I heard something snap after connecting with the bridge of Omari’s nose. I wasn’t sure if it was a bone in my hand, or the cartilage disconnecting from the bone in his face. I felt no pain this time, but that was no indication of a healthy hand. I was far too pumped up on hormones at this point to feel any pain right now.
I looked through Atta’s luggage and found a letter handwritten in Arabic. It was approximately 5 pages, so I assumed this was the infamous “Last Night” letter Omari wrote and copied for all of his fellow hijackers. I took the papers and folded them up and put them in my pocket. I sifted through Atta’s pockets and found his cell phone. I would need this later.
I lifted Atta and slung him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I peeked into the hallways to make sure nobody was wandering or peeking out their doors and carefully walked as quietly as possible out of the room and down the stairs to exit the building. Once outside, I walked faster and threw Atta in the back seat of my car. He was pumped up with plenty of Ketamine that he shouldn’t wake up for at least an hour.
I got in my car and took a ride out into the wilderness, far enough away that nobody would hear any screams as I was pretty sure there would be plenty after this little adventure.
I rarely smoked cigarettes. Usually, any time I had one, I had also had something to drink. That too was incredibly rare. This would be another one of those rare occasions. I was lying on the hood of my car, smoking a Camel Wide from a pack I purchased earlier in the day. For some reason, I just felt like now would be an appropriate time for a victory smoke.
As I was exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke, trying to make smoke rings, I heard a rustling sound. It looked like Atta was finally coming around.
“Well good morning, sunshine. Looks like you are finally waking up to the world again.”
Atta was moving, if only slightly. His head was bobbing back and forth like a newborn baby who hasn’t yet developed sufficient strength in its neck muscles.
“Uhhh…..wha…”
“What’s that? I can’t understand you.”
Atta was sitting down at the base of a tree, his hands wrapped around the trunk and tied together on the other side with a pair of shoelaces. I doubled up on the laces just in case he develops some anomalous robot strength after waking up from his Ketamine trip.
“Wha….where…” he managed to get one complete word out.
“Where? You mean, where are you? Hell if I know. I’ve never been here before. Sorry, I’m not much help.”
“You…”
“Me? You recognize me?” I was actually having fun with this. It was like speaking to a baby.
“You. Florida.”
Atta was finally able to hold his head straight to look at me, squinting somewhat. I imagine he was still struggling with double vision.
“Yes, I was in Florida. I lived with your friend Ziad for almost a year.”
“Ziad…Where is Ziad?”
“Oh, if he was telling me the truth, he should be back in Germany about now. I managed to convince him that his loving wife and his family were far more important than killing thousands of innocent people. You know, common sense type stuff. Probably nothing you would understand, am I right?”
“What?” He was finally trying to move the rest of his body and now realized that his hands were tied up on the other side of the tree trunk he was hugging. “Why am I tied up? Who are you?”
“Ah, I see you are finally coming to. Alright, it is time to get to business.” I hopped off the hood of my car and threw my cigarette down and stepped on it. “So, Mohamed. Or should I call you Mr. Atta? Or how about Amir since that is what your friends call you.”
“What do you want?” He now had his normal face of cold, steely eyes and straight pursed mouth. The only expression he knew.
“Tell me if this rings any bells. Two sticks, a slash, and a cake with a stick upside down.”
This got his attention very quickly. It was the code he gave to his contact over the phone back in Germany to signal that 9/11 was the day everything would take place. He immediately stared at me with his deadpan face as if he were trying to intimidate me.
“What would you know, pig?” He said with a sneer.
“If I were to take a wild guess, I would say that you and your pals are planning something naughty on 9/11. Nice riddle by the way, pretty clever. But now, I am going to give you the chance to reconsider.”
“Never. You and your kind will get what you deserve. With or without me. It is Allah’s will.”
“Right, I’m sure that is a wonderful bedtime story your mommy puts you to sleep with, but I have a better idea. I want you to tell your buddy Marwan that the plan is off. No crashing airplanes, no killing people, and no paradise.”
I held his cell phone in my hands that I had swiped from his pocket back at the hotel. I pressed the directional buttons to scroll through his call list until I found Marwan. I was surprised he actually made contact names.
“Here we go. Marwan. I am going to dial his number, and you will tell him it is off.”
I pressed dial and listened for it to begin ringing. When I heard someone pick up, I put the phone to Atta’s ear. He remained motionless, just staring at me without making a sound.
“Tell him,” I whispered to Atta.
Atta didn’t move an inch. I’ll give it to him, the man had conviction. Unfortunately for him, conviction was not going to be an accepted form of currency tonight.
“Say it!” I whispered louder with evident anger.
He only moved his head to point directly at the tree and closed his eyes, silently reciting something to himself I couldn’t hear. Knowing what I did about him, it was most likely some religious recitation he was performing.
I bitterly ended the call to Marwan and walked to my car. I opened the trunk and pulled out a tire iron that was part of the spare tire kit that came with the car. I threw the cell phone in the back as that was not going to get the results I was hoping for.
“Okay, you don’t want to do this the easy way? I guess we will have to make sure you never fly a plane ever again.” I walked over to Atta and showed him the solid bar of steel in my hand. I didn’t tell him what I intended to do with it, but I didn’t need to. Whatever my intention, the result was going to include pain. Lots of it.
Atta opened his eyes and looked at me. “If you kill me now, I will become a martyr for Allah and will join him in paradise. I do not fear you, or anybody.”
I had to laugh. “Whatever you say, man. I can’t believe you people still believe fairy tales like that, but whatever helps you sleep at night. Anyways, I don’t intend to kill you. Unlike you, I don’t play that way. I do, however, plan to see how much pain you can endure. How does that sound?”
Again, he did not seem the least bit intimidated. He merely scoffed and closed his eyes again to whisper to himself.
“I am going to tell you one last time. Tell Marwan the plan is off.”
Nothing. Not even a flinch. Just closed eyes and silent murmuring.
“Alright, don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.”
I gripped the tire iron with both hands, gave myself some good leverage with my feet, and swung the bar, the curved end smashing right into Atta’s forearm, reducing both his ulna and radius bones into massive compound fractures.
This resulted in not a scream, but a rapid exhale and a winded sounding grunt from Atta as if a balled fist had been slammed into his gut. But I wasn’t through yet. I swung a second time with equal force and smashed the humerus bone in his upper arm in the same fashion, a loud snap being heard indicating a full fracture. This time, Atta let out a scream that would have scared off any wildlife within a mile radius.
“Are you going to do it? Are you willing to talk now?” I yelled. I made sure we were far enough away from civilization that nobody would hear us for miles.
Atta said nothing but he was no longer silent. He was inhaling and exhaling rapidly with minute whimpers being heard in between. I gave him one more chance to speak up.
“If you don’t say anything, I am going to do the other side.”
He continued his whimpering and his pained breathing.
Without saying anything further, I walked to the other side and swung the tire iron into the middle of his forearm, destroying the bones beneath the flesh. I could physically see the damage as his arm was deformed with an abnormal bend in the middle where the bar struck. Atta was now letting out deafening screams as a result of the pain.
“You know the drill by now. Are you going to do what I ask?”
“No! Allah will strike you down, and avenge us all.” He yelled, flinging spittle from his gasping mouth.
“Wrong fucking answer!”
One more swing of the tire iron and his other arm was now a useless casing of meat, blood, and splintered bone fragments.
“Man, you sure can take a beating. Are you enjoying this or something? Does this give you a hard-on?”
I could see now that he was crying from the pain. Everyone has a limit, and we clearly crossed his. I have to admit though, I probably would have submitted after the first swing.
Atta was speaking in full sentences now, but I couldn’t understand any of it. He was clearly speaking to me in Arabic.
“Look, you know I don’t understand a word you are saying. For all I know, you could be telling me Oswald wasn’t the lone assassin who killed Kennedy. But that is not the answer I am looking for.”
He continued rambling in Arabic. I was getting nowhere with him, and it was starting to really piss me off. I decided to untie his arms and apply the maximum amount of pain I could inflict.
I bent down and released the shoelaces from his hand
s which caused his useless arms to simply flop to the ground. I pulled him away from the tree and grabbed both of his hands.
“One last chance, Atta. Are you going to do what I ask? Or do you want to play patty-cake?”
Either he had the strength of will like none other, or he was in so much pain that he was incapable of answering. Whatever the case, I once again did not receive the answer I was looking for. I held both of his hands, and rapidly flopped his arms up and down like they were bed sheets as hard as I could, causing all of the fractured bone splinters in his arms to jostle and grind, pinching and tearing muscle tissue, turning his limbs into jellified meat casings. The pain I was inflicting had to be unbearable. At this point, his arms were bleeding quite heavily, most likely from pieces of bone piercing through his skin from the violent shaking and flopping of the appendages that used to be arms.
Atta screamed for the first few moments from the agony I was inflicting until shock overwhelmed him and he fell unconscious once again.
While I wasn’t able to get him to order Marwan to abandon the mission, I was able to successfully—and most likely permanently—decommission Atta from ever flying again. Or from feeding himself with a spoon.
I grabbed a marker I had purchased the night before while roaming the town, trying to kill time. Across Atta’s forehead, I marked in large block letters:
I AM AN AL-QAEDA TERRORIST.
I took the blanket from the emergency road kit in my trunk and wrapped his bloody arms up in it and shoved his dead weight body in the back seat again. I threw the tire iron back in the trunk and drove off back towards the city.
Once we made it back into the outskirts of Portland, I pulled up to the back of a dark gas station that had already closed for the night. I dragged Atta out of the car and set him beside a filthy dumpster and removed my blanket from his arms. He was still unconscious from the beating he endured so he was thankfully silent. I took the handwritten Arabic letter from my pocket, rolled it up and stuffed it in his back pocket where it would be easily visible to whoever finds him. With useless arms, I doubt he would be going anywhere in a hurry. He would sit here whimpering, trying to find a way to nurse his mangled limbs.