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Authors: Roger Hayden, James Hunt
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brother,” Sefkh said. “The bombs are already in place. We need to head south. Our contact will be meeting us there.”
“It is time for prayer, Sefkh,” Kasaika replied harshly. “Or have you forgotten why we are doing this? Why so many of our brothers and sisters have died? Or the oppression and ridicule these westerners have done to our people, our religion, our way of life?”
“We have not forgotten,” Zet replied. “But I’m sure Allah will forgive us this blasphemy for our greater purpose.” He loaded a magazine into the rifle and slung the weapon over his shoulder. “After all, we do all things in his name.”
“ La Hawla wala quwata illa billah, ” Kasaika replied. “I have not forgotten, but I think I may be the only one who hasn’t.” His voice boomed, and the room filled with quiet where there had once been the busy scuffle of routine.
Sefkh stepped between Kasaika and the circling mob of stern looks. “Everyone, please. My brother is right.” He clasped Kasaika on the shoulder. “It would be unwise to break our laws and tradition in such a moment.” Sefkh was the first on the ground, and with him praying, the others soon followed. The last to lower himself was Zet, and he did so with disdain on his face.
Once the prayers were said, Kasaika and the men rose from their positions, and Sefkh received the first confirmation that the bombs were in place. “We have thirty minutes. We must hurry.”
***
The garbage truck rumbled along the downtown streets of Boston, the air brakes squeaking whenever the driver slowed and stopped. Two men rode on the back, and at each stop they looked for their physical marker of where to set the bomb that they pulled from the back of the garbage truck’s carrier. The bags were no bigger than a backpack and placed strategically all over the city. Small enough to stay out of view, large enough to inflict damage.
The empty sidewalks and streets were easy to navigate. Early Saturday mornings offered minimal congestion, which is exactly what they wanted. No one to call and offer suspicious tips, all law enforcement still too groggy and tired to have any real vigilance. With the dew still fresh on the morning grass and leaves of the city, it was a perfect time to strike.
Bombs were placed at power sub-stations, bridges, water utilities, market places, federal and state buildings, and the port. The blasts of the bombs were minimal, but the initial structural damage wasn’t what was so critical. All they needed to do was stir the pot enough to trigger a lockdown of the city. Once Boston was clogged to keep anyone from getting in or out, there would be enough chaos to get away with almost anything they wanted.
The garbage truck came to a stop at a red light, no traffic heading in either direction. The massive vehicle rumbled even as it sat still. The driver checked the side-view mirrors and saw the distinct black and white of a police vehicle pulling up in the left lane beside them. The driver looked to his partner in the passenger seat, exchanging a wordless glance.
The police cruiser stopped right next to the garbage truck. The cab of the garbage truck was too high for them to see the police officers and vice versa. The driver gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The red light glowed its steady crimson, and the driver flexed his fingers over the wheel then glanced back down at the cop car.
A drip of sweat rolled down the side of his face and then, just as the light turned green and the truck lurched forward, the lights on the cruiser flashed red and blue, and the two Egyptians exchanged the same look of terror. The driver slowly turned right, pulling over to the side of the road.
The inside of the garbage truck’s cabin was bathed in the blue-and-red lights flashing in the side mirrors. The driver reached for the pistol next to him. He kept his hand low, concealing it from view, and then flicked the safety lever
“It is time for prayer, Sefkh,” Kasaika replied harshly. “Or have you forgotten why we are doing this? Why so many of our brothers and sisters have died? Or the oppression and ridicule these westerners have done to our people, our religion, our way of life?”
“We have not forgotten,” Zet replied. “But I’m sure Allah will forgive us this blasphemy for our greater purpose.” He loaded a magazine into the rifle and slung the weapon over his shoulder. “After all, we do all things in his name.”
“ La Hawla wala quwata illa billah, ” Kasaika replied. “I have not forgotten, but I think I may be the only one who hasn’t.” His voice boomed, and the room filled with quiet where there had once been the busy scuffle of routine.
Sefkh stepped between Kasaika and the circling mob of stern looks. “Everyone, please. My brother is right.” He clasped Kasaika on the shoulder. “It would be unwise to break our laws and tradition in such a moment.” Sefkh was the first on the ground, and with him praying, the others soon followed. The last to lower himself was Zet, and he did so with disdain on his face.
Once the prayers were said, Kasaika and the men rose from their positions, and Sefkh received the first confirmation that the bombs were in place. “We have thirty minutes. We must hurry.”
***
The garbage truck rumbled along the downtown streets of Boston, the air brakes squeaking whenever the driver slowed and stopped. Two men rode on the back, and at each stop they looked for their physical marker of where to set the bomb that they pulled from the back of the garbage truck’s carrier. The bags were no bigger than a backpack and placed strategically all over the city. Small enough to stay out of view, large enough to inflict damage.
The empty sidewalks and streets were easy to navigate. Early Saturday mornings offered minimal congestion, which is exactly what they wanted. No one to call and offer suspicious tips, all law enforcement still too groggy and tired to have any real vigilance. With the dew still fresh on the morning grass and leaves of the city, it was a perfect time to strike.
Bombs were placed at power sub-stations, bridges, water utilities, market places, federal and state buildings, and the port. The blasts of the bombs were minimal, but the initial structural damage wasn’t what was so critical. All they needed to do was stir the pot enough to trigger a lockdown of the city. Once Boston was clogged to keep anyone from getting in or out, there would be enough chaos to get away with almost anything they wanted.
The garbage truck came to a stop at a red light, no traffic heading in either direction. The massive vehicle rumbled even as it sat still. The driver checked the side-view mirrors and saw the distinct black and white of a police vehicle pulling up in the left lane beside them. The driver looked to his partner in the passenger seat, exchanging a wordless glance.
The police cruiser stopped right next to the garbage truck. The cab of the garbage truck was too high for them to see the police officers and vice versa. The driver gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The red light glowed its steady crimson, and the driver flexed his fingers over the wheel then glanced back down at the cop car.
A drip of sweat rolled down the side of his face and then, just as the light turned green and the truck lurched forward, the lights on the cruiser flashed red and blue, and the two Egyptians exchanged the same look of terror. The driver slowly turned right, pulling over to the side of the road.
The inside of the garbage truck’s cabin was bathed in the blue-and-red lights flashing in the side mirrors. The driver reached for the pistol next to him. He kept his hand low, concealing it from view, and then flicked the safety lever
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