here, in the carriage, catching some as they stepped out and others as they stepped in. His would be the first blow to be struck. The second and third blows would be triggered by his actions, a series of attacks that would amount to a grievous blow against the infidels, deep in the heart of their country, right next to the seat of their democracy.
The scrum of passengers shifted and eddied as people elbowed their way to the carriage’s exit. A man told him to move out of the way, and a woman tutted at him, and as he took a pace to the left to allow them the space to squeeze by, he was pushed towards the exit himself. He disembarked, not really thinking, clutching the heavy rucksack to his chest. The tide of commuters carried him towards the opening that led to the main vestibule and the escalators that would take him to the surface.
He thought he saw Bashir.
The tide shifted, people bustling into his line of sight, and he couldn’t be sure.
He craned his neck.
‘Come on, buddy,’ a man said, nudging him.
‘Sorry.’
Aamir was bustled onto the escalator. He was breathing quickly, and his pulse was racing.
He looked for Bashir and couldn’t see him, even as they ascended. He gazed at the others: the long queue of people going down to the platforms on his left, the others heading up to the surface with him. Men and women and children. A woman staring at the screen of her cell phone. A man reading a book on a Kindle. A couple balancing a child’s stroller between them. A pretty blonde girl, not that much younger than him, a leather satchel hung over her shoulder.
No.
He couldn’t do it.
He turned back, closed his eyes and waited for the escalator to deliver him to the surface.
Hakeem’s train had rolled into the station five minutes before Aamir’s. That was what they had planned. He needed time to get into position. The rush hour was long since ended, but this was a busy station. He had seen Bashir get onto the train, but he had lost sight of Aamir in the scrum at Kings Cross. He was a little concerned about the young brother. It had been harder to persuade him that what they were going to do this morning was necessary. Mohammed had worked on Aamir; Hakeem thought that the young recruit could be relied upon, but he wasn’t as certain about Aamir as he was about Bashir.
Hakeem looked at the oblivious men and women around him. They were like cattle. They had no idea what was about to happen.
It gave him a wild thrill of excitement.
He walked from the platform into the vestibule that accommodated the escalators. He separated himself from the throng and found a place where he could wait without being too obvious about it. The plan called for him to stay here until Aamir had detonated his bomb. The boy would kill and maim dozens of the infidels in the confined space of the train carriage. His bomb would also cause panic and send hundreds of them dashing headlong to where he, Hakeem, would be waiting for them. He would press himself into the middle of the crush and close his eyes. He would pray to Allah that he would kill as many of them as he could.
He looked at his watch just as he heard the sound of the next train easing into the station.
This must be Aamir.
Not long.
Moments.
He knew this was a martyrdom operation and that he wouldn’t live beyond this day. He knew his span on this Earth could be measured in minutes now. Seconds. He was content with that. He was clear-headed and calm, prepared to sacrifice himself to the greater good. His blood would serve the caliphate, and the scripture was clear and unequivocal: he would earn a place in Paradise for his work .
He heard the sound of the train’s doors closing.
Now?
The train accelerated.
He looked at his watch.
He waited.
Nothing.
No explosion.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
Aamir should have been here by now.
He was trying to think what to do when he saw the boy on the escalator above him. His mouth fell open. Aamir still
The scrum of passengers shifted and eddied as people elbowed their way to the carriage’s exit. A man told him to move out of the way, and a woman tutted at him, and as he took a pace to the left to allow them the space to squeeze by, he was pushed towards the exit himself. He disembarked, not really thinking, clutching the heavy rucksack to his chest. The tide of commuters carried him towards the opening that led to the main vestibule and the escalators that would take him to the surface.
He thought he saw Bashir.
The tide shifted, people bustling into his line of sight, and he couldn’t be sure.
He craned his neck.
‘Come on, buddy,’ a man said, nudging him.
‘Sorry.’
Aamir was bustled onto the escalator. He was breathing quickly, and his pulse was racing.
He looked for Bashir and couldn’t see him, even as they ascended. He gazed at the others: the long queue of people going down to the platforms on his left, the others heading up to the surface with him. Men and women and children. A woman staring at the screen of her cell phone. A man reading a book on a Kindle. A couple balancing a child’s stroller between them. A pretty blonde girl, not that much younger than him, a leather satchel hung over her shoulder.
No.
He couldn’t do it.
He turned back, closed his eyes and waited for the escalator to deliver him to the surface.
Hakeem’s train had rolled into the station five minutes before Aamir’s. That was what they had planned. He needed time to get into position. The rush hour was long since ended, but this was a busy station. He had seen Bashir get onto the train, but he had lost sight of Aamir in the scrum at Kings Cross. He was a little concerned about the young brother. It had been harder to persuade him that what they were going to do this morning was necessary. Mohammed had worked on Aamir; Hakeem thought that the young recruit could be relied upon, but he wasn’t as certain about Aamir as he was about Bashir.
Hakeem looked at the oblivious men and women around him. They were like cattle. They had no idea what was about to happen.
It gave him a wild thrill of excitement.
He walked from the platform into the vestibule that accommodated the escalators. He separated himself from the throng and found a place where he could wait without being too obvious about it. The plan called for him to stay here until Aamir had detonated his bomb. The boy would kill and maim dozens of the infidels in the confined space of the train carriage. His bomb would also cause panic and send hundreds of them dashing headlong to where he, Hakeem, would be waiting for them. He would press himself into the middle of the crush and close his eyes. He would pray to Allah that he would kill as many of them as he could.
He looked at his watch just as he heard the sound of the next train easing into the station.
This must be Aamir.
Not long.
Moments.
He knew this was a martyrdom operation and that he wouldn’t live beyond this day. He knew his span on this Earth could be measured in minutes now. Seconds. He was content with that. He was clear-headed and calm, prepared to sacrifice himself to the greater good. His blood would serve the caliphate, and the scripture was clear and unequivocal: he would earn a place in Paradise for his work .
He heard the sound of the train’s doors closing.
Now?
The train accelerated.
He looked at his watch.
He waited.
Nothing.
No explosion.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
Aamir should have been here by now.
He was trying to think what to do when he saw the boy on the escalator above him. His mouth fell open. Aamir still
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