The Bombmaker: A Michael Thomas Thriller

by Gavin Reese

  “As you first offered, priest, our fates are entwined, but not in the way you had hoped! Time draws near, and eleven explosive-laden backpacks await their impending destiny only a few yards from us. I had hoped to spread them all across the city, but Allah had a better plan for their usefulness. Today, I will ascend to Paradise from here, and you and all the imposters gathered in the false mosque below us will fall into your own eternal hells. It must be His plan for this to have come to fruition, yes?”

  Incredulous to the sudden and unexpected turn of events, Michael stood in place while his brain spun like a Rolodex in search of a solution that wouldn’t present itself. He’s been playing me the whole time, and I fell for his lies. “What, why, why go through this--”

  “Now,” Abrini called out, “I will give you the chance to humble yourself before Allah in the final moments of your life! It is the same blasphemous choice you offered me, is it not? You should have known better, priest, than to waste time converting a soldier of Allah at the very moment of his ascension to Paradise! Your mysticism is nothing but heresy! This moment, the culmination of my lesser jihad against you unbelievers and Crusaders, it is the one missing piece I needed to make amends for the failings in my life. I’ve paid my zakat, I’ve made my pilgrimage, I’ve prayed beyond the mandate, and I’ve adhered to the words of Allah. It brings me no pleasure to send you and the others to hell, but it does bring me undeniable joy to have completed everything Allah demands to secure my place in Paradise.”

  Michael stepped closer to his subject. “Abdel, tell me how to stop the devices.”

  “You can’t.” The bomb maker shook his head despite the restraints. “They’re active, and there is no kill-switch. I set them to detonate by phone, but I also installed and activated backup timers. No matter what happens today, I have guaranteed my bombs will detonate and target the greatest heretics, even if no one else. Our physical destruction is as divinely inevitable as tomorrow’s sunrise.”

  Unexpected grief contorted Abrini’s face before he continued. “I wish there was another way, I do, priest, but unfortunately for all of us, there is not. This is not what I want, but I have no choice as a slave to Allah. It is what He ordained, and I am powerless to question it, I can only choose between my eternity and yours. Perhaps now, the remaining believers will see the promised One Great Day and establish the final caliphate on earth. If you blasphemers would only submit, then none of this violence would any longer be necessary.” Tears streamed down the sides of his face. “Allah Akbar!”

  Michael stepped closer and feared he had no time left to alter Abrini’s engineered outcome. I have to appeal to his humanity! “No, Abdel. There is another way. You’re a good man at your core, in your heart, and you can’t want to murder these peop--”

  “People? If we’re the same, priest, why does Allah specifically proclaim Jews and Christians are cursed swine and apes, that only a few of you are not filled with deceit and can be trusted?”

  The fear and guilt Michael saw wash over him moments ago disappeared as easily as they’d arrived.

  “He foretold us," Abrini loudly professed, “‘The hour of the end times will not be established until you fight with the Jews, and the stone behind which a Jew is hiding will call out, ‘O, Muslim! There is a Jew hiding behind me, so kill him!’ When judgement day arrives, Allah will provide every Muslim a Jew or Christian to kill so none of us enters into hellfire.” He paused and raised his voice as though reassuring himself. “And so, Allah has given me you. You, priest, by your mere proximity, you will have the honor of being my first kill!”

  Michael swallowed hard and spoke through his fearful uncertainty of which moment would be his last. “Your text is wrong, Abdel. We’re not slaves, and we aren’t commanded to kill for our own salvation.”

  Abrini spat at him. “‘Allah is an enemy to those who reject faith in him. Make war on them until idolatry shall cease and Allah’s religion shall reign supreme.’” He looked away, and Michael heard reluctance and hesitation in his voice. “Prepare thyself, priest, your judgment is imminent.”

  Michael fought to suppress his rage over Abdel’s murderous treachery and refused his impulse to kill him. His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he kneeled next to the man and desperately pleaded his case. God, give me the words! “What of free will, Abdel? If you have no choice in anything that happens, or that you do, then some portion of humanity is fated to go to hell. How can that be the intent and desire of a merciful and loving God?”

  “Allah has granted us your precious free will, with the conditions that we accept Islam and praise Him alone, subjugate yourselves to the Muslims, or die upon our blades for your refusal. There is no fourth option, but humanity remains free to choose from among those three.” His tone confirmed Abdel’s increasing arrogance. “I hold out faith for your salvation, priest. You think you failed, but you have proved Allah’s superiority over the Christian and Jewish abominations!”

  Michael abandoned his futile efforts and focused on escaping and evacuating the building. I can’t stop Abrini from killing himself and dying a mass murderer, but I might limit his victims.

  Abrini followed Michael’s scan of the room. “You can’t get out, priest. We will meet our fated judgements together. Mohammed ordered the deaths of Jewish leaders for the blasphemy of writing verses that mocked him, and he rejoiced in their deaths. Now, I will get to rejoice in yours for your attempted interference with Allah’s wishes!”

  Michael stepped into Abrini’s bedroom and found a butane torch on the far side of the dresser. He picked it up and shook the bottle to confirm it still held liquid gas. After retrieving a nearby lighter, Michael ran over to a fire suppression sprinkler near the front door, opened the butane valve, and ignited the fuel vapor.

  hhssssssssss

  He reached up and held the flame on the system’s heat sensor. Tense seconds passed with no result. An alarm sounded in the hallway outside the door, and a deluge of dirty, rust-colored water sprayed from the overhead sprinkler, doused Michael in its metallic slime, and extinguished the torch. Everyone else gets the head start I don’t deserve!

  “Are you ready to die, priest?” Abrini looked especially pleased with himself. “Are you ready to meet Allah and face the consequences of your failed and arrogant life leading believers away from Him?!”

  Michael stepped out from under the spray and relit the torch. A short, blue flame resurrected itself from the spout.

  hssssssss

  He adjusted a knob on top of the regulator to increase the fuel output. The flame extended a foot beyond the spout and turned yellow-and-white as its temperature increased.

  shhhhhhhhhhh

  “God and I are good, Abdel, but I’m worried about you.”

  “There’s now no escape for you, just as you said there wouldn’t be for me!”

  Michael left the torch on, its flame hissing as he crossed the room toward his restrained subject. “You bombers are all the same. There’s always a failsafe, always a bypass. You’re gonna help me stop it. No one but you has to die today.”

  “That’s where you're wrong! I added detonation triggers to fulfill my obligations!” The man’s eyes widened, and he squirmed in vain to back away from the flame. “What are you doing?! You’ll only add to your conscience in your final minutes on earth!”

  Michael shook his head as he reached Abdel and waved the flame toward his chest. “You might be ready to die, but you planned for a quick and painless end. One way or another, you’ll tell me how to stop the timers.”

  “I’m sorry, priest, do what you will in the next five minutes, but you’re only leaving here in painless, high-velocity pieces. You may, of course, go out the window, although I believe you’ll dislike the landing.”

  May 11, 10:50am

  8 Rue du Corbillon. Seine-Saint-Denis, France.

  Five minutes, Michael told himself as he climbed out onto the small balcony, leaped up, and pulled himself back up onto the roof. Abrini gave up intel
he didn’t intend. The devices detonate at 1055. Four minutes to be safe. I can do a lot in four minutes!

  Michael sprinted across to the south side of the roof and dropped to the narrow concrete balcony below.

  THUD

  Despite landing on the balls of his feet and fingertips, the balcony flexed with the sudden application and force, and Michael jumped into the open doorway.

  With the klaxon siren barely audible in the background, a cacophony of urgent, frightened shouts erupted, and Michael looked around as he rose from the floor. The elderly Muslim grandfather who’d likely saved his life two days ago struggled to get up from a couch while his wife and grandchildren fled Michael’s intrusion. Their apartment was dry, and the fire alarm outside hadn’t encouraged them to leave. It didn’t trigger the whole system!

  “I’m sorry, but there’s no time,” Michael shouted at the man. “Get your family and leave the building, right now, there’s a bomb in your neighbor’s apartment!”

  “What, a what, bomb, wh--”

  Michael grabbed the grandfather’s left arm and guided him toward the door. “No time! Take your family out and tell the others on your way! Go! Now!”

  Michael recognized Abrini’s voice shouting through the closed and booby-trapped door across the small landing.

  “Allah yil’anek! God damn your devil, priest! God damn you!”

  The grandfather and his family hurried by, and the old man looked up at Michael after hearing Abrini’s curse. Michael descended the stairs behind them and wished the vulnerable group had someone sturdier to cling to. I can’t leave anyone behind. I have to be the last one out of the building, no matter what that means! If I would’ve called Gerard when I first got into the apartment, this might not be happening, so I have to make it right!

  Michael’s heart leapt when he saw a red fire alarm on the wall. Even if not for the familiar design, FEU-FIRE displayed on the top of its frame with TIREZ-PULL on the handle. He yanked on the white handle and continued downstairs.

  WE-AHH-WE-AHH-WE-AHH-WE-AHH

  The immediate, deafening alarm made the grandparents jump and their grandkids flee much faster. Michael stepped out onto the fourth-floor landing while the group continued toward the exits. He slammed several hammer-fists into each of the opposing doors to ensure he could be heard over the alarm.

  WE-AHH-WE-AHH-WE-AHH-WE-AHH

  Critical seconds passed with no reaction, so Michael reared back and kicked open the closest door.

  BOOM

  The cheap wood doorframe gave way and shattered into splinters, and the door slammed back against an interior wall. Michael rushed inside. “Get out! Get out! Everyone out!” He cleared each room and found no one. A quick sprint back out to the landing and another heavy boot opened the opposing door.

  BOOM

  Michael found that apartment empty, as well, and realized he couldn’t access the structure’s eastern apartments. He had to go to the ground floor hallway and find another set of stairs that would return him close to the devices he sought to escape. As he fled down to the third floor, Michael accepted the likelihood of his death. I want only to avoid damnation for failing the prevent the murder of anyone else! I WILL BE THE LAST ONE OUT!

  The doors to both apartments on three were open and curious children and parents stood nearby. Michael’s desperate descent convinced them of the legitimate urgency, and he soon followed their escape.

  Michael found one of those apartments open and empty, the other door had to be kicked open.

  BOOM

  Empty! Move!

  He again descended the stairs, taking three and four at a time in a barely controlled fall to move as fast as he could. I have to get everyone out and they need time to get behind some kind of hardened shielding! Dammit! I’m too close to the epicenter to survive the initial blast, much less the shrapnel and fragmentation. Just one more floor to go. He raced down the final flight of stairs toward bright daylight and an open doorway. Michael found both ground floor apartments open and empty, so he sprinted toward the east side of the building as the elderly grandfather emerged from a doorway ahead of him. “Hey! You have to go!”

  “So do you! Come with me! Now!”

  “I have to evacuate the other side, there’s--”

  “Stop! Those apartments are empty, no one lives there! The city condemned them because of flooding last winter!”

  Michael paused, unsure if he could wager his salvation on the man’s word.

  “Now! I don’t want to die here with you, but I will if you insist!”

  Michael looked deeper into the hall, and a sheet of plywood covered the east stairwell entrance. He turned, grabbed the man’s upper right arm, and they fled the building together. While half-carrying the smaller man’s weight, Michael rushed across the interior concrete walkway and feared the overhead building was as fragile as its balconies. He pushed harder to get them to salvation on the other side of the doorway. Just another three--

  May 11, 10:58am

  8 Rue de Corbillon. Seine-Saint-Denis, France.

  Immersed in a strange, black silence, Michael fought to regain his senses. Absent any sound, he experienced only suffocation. The once-familiar feeling resurrected the sheer terror of his near-drowning. His body’s chemoreceptors screamed at him to breathe and oxygenate his blood, but Michael couldn’t take in air. His lungs didn’t move, and the desperation of imminent death overwhelmed him.

  Michael’s eyes popped open, and he gasped in a deep lungful of chalky, debris-filled air. Blurry, indiscernible shapes and various colors moved about to his far left, and relative darkness remained over the rest of his consciousness.

  He blinked hard once, and then repeatedly did so. Michael’s visual focus returned, along with increasing control of his limbs and dexterity. Realizing he laid on his right side, he pushed up onto his right elbow and found himself in a gutter. With some pain, he could wiggle all his fingers and toes. A bloody gash poked through his torn left shirt sleeve, but he didn’t see the white of fatty tissue or bone.

  Michael’s back bumped up against a dirty white car, and he looked forward, back at the building he’d exited. Now broken and damaged, it no longer appeared to be the same structure. Thick gray dust filled the air. Where’s grandad? He was with me, wasn’t he?

  Several people walked around, closer to the building, but no one stepped inside. Although they appeared to cry and wail, Michael heard nothing. Have to find grandad and get the hell outta here. The place’s gonna blow any second, no time. No time. Michael stood up and leaned on the car for support. No. Time. Wait…it already, blew up.

  Michael gazed up at the building’s missing roofline and saw the whole west side of the top floor had vanished into a smoky, concrete-dust cloud that slowly descended toward the ground. He blinked hard again and felt tiny scratches in his eyes. Leaning more heavily on the car, Michael scanned his surroundings. Chunks of concrete, debris, furniture, and glass lay strewn across the sidewalk. A slight layer of thick gray dust covered everything in the immediate vicinity. People, but no bodies. No blood on anyone but me. Maybe we made it.

  His hearing slowly returned like his brain cautiously increased the allowed volume input from zero. A muffled wail from his right drew Michael's attention, and he saw the grandfather’s wife holding him eight or ten feet away, right next to the gutter. She sat in an unnatural position as though she’d collapsed there, and their grandchildren were nowhere around. Michael stumbled over to offer help, but his heart sank when he saw a thin trail of blood from both the man’s ears.

  His brain increased the volume, but at an infuriatingly slow pace. Michael dropped next to the woman, afraid for a moment to touch the man and risk making things worse for him. “Ma’am!” He felt himself shouting, but Michael sounded as if he’d managed only a hoarse whisper. “You have to let him lay flat!” No change, more wailing. “Ma’am!” Michael touched her right shoulder, and she reacted with frightened surprise. Her eyes changed to angry, hateful slits just b
efore she slapped his face.

  Already unstable and caught off-guard, Michael fell into the gutter and landed on his back against a parked car. He looked back at the grandmother, shocked that she’d struck him for trying to help, and noticed the growing crowd behind and around her. Through his muffled hearing, Michael could only pick up on the emotion in their voices and the body language, both of which conveyed belief in his involvement with the bombing.

  Michael struggled to rise from his vulnerable position and stand to defend himself.

  The first injection of pain shot through his right knee when he put weight on that leg, and a warm, liquid sensation descended from his left temple. Michael wiped at it with his hand, which returned the expected confirmation. Blood. No time to triage that right now.

  Still dazed, Michael knew he had to get away from the scene before the cops and medics arrived, and before the frightened crowd devolved into an angry mob. A flat, hard piece of metal caught his right elbow at his waist, and Michael realized he still had the suppressed pistol inside his beltline. He tugged the front of his dusty shirt down to keep it concealed. These people don’t deserve to be shot, probably not even if they resort to violence against me or--

  Michael’s thoughts stopped cold when Imam Siddiqi appeared in front of him. Much of the crowd then pointed at Michael and shouted at them both, alternately pleading for the imam’s blessing of their bloodlust and calling for Michael’s damnation. As the crowd encroached closer, Michael scanned for an escape route to the north. I have to get--

  poppop pop pop poppoppop

  At the first sound of the nearby gunfire, Michael dropped to the ground. Both he and the imam covered the grandparents, while everyone else around them scattered, desperate for their own protection.