by James Hunt
Kareem backed the van out and idled for a moment in place, examining the obstacles ahead. There were several police officers standing in front of the barricades, searching the bags and purses of those waiting entry into the festival. He’d have to draw as little attention to himself as possible until the time was right. They could easily shoot out the tires or riddle him with bullets, but he felt strangely empowered as a vessel of Allah’s will.
He drove ahead up the parking lane, nearing the park entrance. No one seemed to take notice of his steady approach. His hands gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. With a deep breath, he pressed down on the gas as the tires skidded on the pavement and the van barreled forward like a guided missile. Heads turned his way.
Although prepared, the police looked up, surprised and taken off guard. In mere seconds, the van was upon them, screeching toward the barricades and toward frozen, shocked faces. Quick to react, several festival-goers jumped out of the way. Fathers yanked their children to the side, shielding them. The police spread out and raised their rifles, shouting at Kareem to stop.
Kareem ducked down in his seat with his face at the steering wheel. All he had to do was to keep driving. Shots rang out, blasting through the windshield. Bits of glass fell onto Kareem’s hair as his foot held down the gas pedal. He balanced the wheel the best he could with one hand on the trigger device. Then came the point of impact. A loud crash sent the van rocking from side to side, almost turning over. Kareem was thrown back against the seat, then forward, hitting his head on the wheel as he tried to hold his grip.
People screamed and ran. He had breached the security line, and felt a joyous surge of accomplishment. The van shook and pounded as pieces of barricade flew by. Gun shots rained on all sides of the van. The passenger-side window shattered as the back windows burst into pieces. Though full of holes, the windshield remained intact.
Kareem lifted his head from the steering wheel just in time to see terrified fair-goers leaping out of the way and running to the sides. He was determined to plow through anyone who got in his way. The van was still moving forward fast. The collective screaming of stunned families began to spread throughout the field as the crowd parted to make way for the speeding van, dispersing in a frenzy and literally running for their lives.
They can run all they want, Kareem thought.
With the stage in view and only seconds until detonation, they weren’t going to make it far. Bullets flew through his driver’s-side window, hitting him in the shoulder. More rounds blasted through the windshield, pummeling his chest in rapid, violent bursts. His body seized as he hacked up blood while shouting a furious scream.
“Allahu Akbar!” he screamed, squeezing the remote trigger clenched in his blood-soaked hand.
The fifty-pound explosion decimated the field in an instant. A fiery ball erupted into the sky as ball bearings and nails tore through the unsuspecting crowd gathered at a distance, beyond the hundred others already reduced to charred corpses and ash. Terrified screams erupted throughout the park as crowds dispersed in mass panic, trampling over one another, trying to out-run the heat of the explosion, pushing against their backs. The festival stage was engulfed in flames as parts of the van frame dropped from the sky and into the crater formed by the explosion.
Mutilated people lay among the dead—men, women, and children, some with arms and legs missing, stunned in their helplessness. The explosion had destroyed everything in its path. It was a slaughter beyond even Kareem’s wildest dreams. And it was just one of many similar attacks occurring simultaneously throughout the state of Texas. There was no denying that the United States was now at war. Memorial Day would never be the same.
The Phone Call
Angela was in her hotel room when she first heard of the attacks. In the room next door, Burke had been working for the past few hours trying to learn Martinez’s location. Fear gripped her heart when the news reported the death toll from Dallas and San Antonio: 1,120. Car bombs had hit both city festivals, synchronized to deliver the most damage possible at the same time. As horrifying as the news was, the terrorists hadn’t fully completed their mission.
Three separate attacks were prevented at festivals in Austin, Houston, and El Paso. One terrorist was apprehended during a mandatory vehicle search outside the entrance of the El Paso fairgrounds, while the other two drivers were shot and killed before they could unleash their attacks in Houston and Austin. This bit of news was of small consolation when so many others had been killed or injured in horrific improvised vehicle explosions.
Angela suspected that Asgar had chosen so many soft targets knowing that the odds of hitting all would be unlikely. He was a sick, devious man, and she regretted not killing him herself. Then again, she had never seen him and wasn’t entirely sure if he had even been in the compound when they rescued her daughters.
She clutched the remote in her hand, standing in front of the television in shock as an emotional newscaster delivered the latest report.
“Eyewitness reports say that two separate drivers stopped at nothing to drive their vehicles at top speed into the festival crowds to detonate their explosives. One shaken woman said the carnage looked no different to similar terrorist attacks in the Middle East. No group has claimed responsibility for the attacks, but with one driver currently in custody, officials hope to get some answers soon.”
Angela was eager to hear a name or see a photo of the apprehended driver. If anything, to answer the obvious question of who was behind the attacks. She knew very well who was behind them and wondered why the news was being slow to report it. As she stood frozen on the carpet under her bare feet, tears streamed down her cheeks. She was crying and didn’t even realize it.
“What happened, Mom?” Chassity said, exiting the bathroom after a shower. Lisa was still in bed, curled up against a pillow, silent in her thoughts.
Angela shook and turned to Chassity, frightened. She had never felt so on edge. It wasn’t the world she wanted her daughters raised in. “There’s been an incident…” she said, hesitating. “An attack…”
Chassity moved quickly to the television, drying her hair with a towel. Flames consumed the television screen. A running ticker accompanied the ominous sight with a current death toll of 1,125.
Angela had seen enough. She turned the television off despite her desire to learn as much about what happened as she could. The attacks were just the beginning of Asgar’s plan. His notes indicated as much.
“Why’d you turn it off?” Chassity asked, frustrated.
Angela pulled her near and hugged her. “Some bad people killed innocent people at some festivals. That’s all you need to know right now.”
“The terrorists?” Chassity asked.
“Yes, honey. The terrorists.” She kissed Chassity’s head as the girl’s arms went around her back. “We have to leave soon. I’m taking you and Lisa to somewhere safe.”
Chassity pulled away, eyes watering. “But I want to go home. I’m sick of this hotel room.”
“It’s too dangerous right now,” Angela said. “But we will go home once this is all over.”
Lisa rose from the bed, interested in their conversation. “Can we stay with Grandma and Grandpa?”
Angela turned to her with sadness. “I’m sorry, honey. We don’t have time to drive all the way to Pittsburgh, and I don’t want either of you on a plane.”
Chassity glanced back at the empty television screen. “What do the terrorists want? Why are they attacking us?” Her voice rose in a panic.
Angela bent down and placed both hands on Chassity’s shoulders. “They are at war with us.” She then looked over to Lisa and back to Chassity, stern and serious. “Listen to me now. I’ve got to talk with Mr. Burke in the other room. I want you to stay here and watch your sister. Be ready to leave soon.”
“Where are we going?” Lisa asked.
The fear in her voice broke Angela’s heart. She didn’t like leaving them in th
e dark, but the truth was that the answers just weren’t there. The only thing she was sure of was that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better.
“I don’t know yet,” she answered. “But we won’t be staying here any longer.” She walked toward the door in haste, fueled by rage and sadness. “I’ll be right back,” she said, opening it. “I love you both.”
She closed the door, wanting to scream into the parking lot below. Traffic beyond the hotel moved along at a steady pace. The air was still and the sun beamed from behind a passing cloud. The normality of the world before her was deceiving. Everyone was a potential target. She hated to admit it, but the terrorists were winning. She turned to the room next door and pounded on the door so hard that the bottom of her palm stung with pain.
“Burke!” she shouted. “Open up!”
“Come in!” he said.
She opened the door to find him pacing his room, cell phone against his ear and the television on detailing the attacks.
“We weren’t quick enough,” she said, walking in.
He motioned her to close the door.
“Thanks,” he said into the phone. “I’ll call you back once we find him.” He ended the call and then lowered the phone. She could see in his eyes that he was just as outraged as she was, though a little more composed. Angela couldn’t stop shaking.
“That was Ed Erickson with the NSA. I’ve got an address now on Martinez.”
“We should have left hours ago,” she said. “I told Drake about this and he wouldn’t listen. He said that the terror alert was enough. Apparently it wasn’t!”
“Just calm down,” Burke said. “I’ve been working this since we got back. I can’t just find a man under government protection in a matter of minutes. It takes time.”
“I understand,” Angela said with her voice shaking. Footage of crowds running from the Dallas explosion filled the screen. It was pure pandemonium. “I want to take the girls to wherever they have Martinez. At least they’ll be safe.”
“They have him in a safe house. We can’t waltz in without a good reason. Also, I’ve been told that both of us on are the FBI’s radar. They’ve started connecting the dots.”
Angela bit her lip with worry, pacing the room. “What would they possibly want with us at this point?”
“You know very well. We’ve interfered with their investigation, and whether you like it or not, they’re not happy about it.”
“I respectfully question their priorities,” Angela said. “My daughters are scared enough as it is. There has to be some way to get to Martinez without getting caught.”
“Messenger pigeon might work,” Burke responded flippantly.
Angela crossed her arms. “I’m serious”
“So am I,” Burke said. “We have to get in contact with him. Wherever we call him from, they can track it. I have a few friends in high places, but they’re not going to be able to cover for us much longer.”
“So we call him from the hotel and then get out of here,” she said.
“If he answers.”
Angela went right to the phone to make good on her word. She had his number memorized simply from trying to reach him so often during the past couple of days. She dialed the number and it went to voicemail. She looked at Burke and shook her head as he sighed in response.
The unrelenting carnage remained on the television. The sound was muted, but it had no less impact on her. There were lines of ambulances outside the fairgrounds in San Antonio as paramedics tended what seemed like hundreds of injured people, bandaged and bloody, of all ages. ISIS was truly the most hideous monster on earth, in her opinion. Countless children’s lives had been cut short in an instant for no reason other than ISIS’s barbaric love of conquest.
She hesitated as the voice mail notification beeped. Where would she even start? “Captain Martinez, please call me back immediately at this number.” She looked down and read the number taped on the phone. “505-260-9989. I’ll be waiting.”
She hung up and looked over to Burke, who had his eyes on the television. “He’s going to call back,” she said. “I know it.”
“If not, are you ready to go it alone on this thing?” Burke asked, staring at the screen.
“We know the targets. And we’ve seen how the terrorists can thwart heightened security. Can’t you contact your people and tell them that the nuclear power plant is next?”
“I did,” Burke said. “And they told me it’s one of hundreds of suspected targets. They’re doing the best they can, so they say.”
“So we’ll go there. With or without Martinez.” She looked around, flustered, as the question of what to do with Chassity and Lisa reentered her mind. “My daughters will have to stay here. Chassity is old enough. It’s our only option.”
Suddenly the phone rang, much to Angela’s surprise. She started for it, but Burke told her to wait. Her hand hovered over the receiver as she glared at him impatiently.
“If that isn’t Martinez, you need to hang up.”
Angela nodded and picked up the phone, waiting for whomever it was to speak first.
“Hello?” a man’s voice said. It sounded like Martinez, but she wasn’t sure. He was talking quietly as though he had gone into some private place or another room to make the call. “Angela, is that you?”
“Captain Martinez, yes,” she said.
“How the hell are you?” he said, surprised. “Sorry I haven’t returned your calls yet. I’m in a tight situation. The Feds advised me to keep our cell phones off. Part of the whole protection thing, I guess. Gloria isn’t taking it too well.”
“You got my message?” she asked. Burke approached her, listening.
“Yeah. Just so happened that I snuck away to check my phone a minute ago. I’m in the bathroom now.”
There were a million questions she wanted to ask him, but she didn’t have the time. But the first thing she needed to know would determine the next step of their plan.
“Where are you?”
“Some safe house,” he said, after a pause.
“What state and city?”
“Not far from Albuquerque. They moved us pretty fast. I heard something about Doug and your kids. Are they all right?”
She was shocked that he hadn’t heard. Even more shocked that he was still in the same state. It was the best news she had received in what felt like a very long time.
“We need to talk,” she said with urgency. “Is there somewhere you can meet us? Somewhere you won’t be tracked?”
“Angela, what happened?” he said, detecting the frightened tone in her voice. “I can barely walk. Those bastards really messed me up good.”
She had nearly forgotten the condition he had been in last time they saw each other. His battered, semi-conscious body was enough to demonstrate just how ISIS treated their prisoners. Burke leaned closer to Angela and made a signal with his fingers for her to wrap it up.
“Before we meet, I have to ask you two questions,” she said. “Can you help me stop the terrorists, and can Gloria watch the girls while we do it?”
Martinez took a breath, seemingly taken by surprise at the enormity of what she was requesting.
“I-I don’t know. How do you plan on stopping them?”
“I’m with someone we can trust. He helped me rescue Chassity and Lisa. But we can’t do this on our own. We need your help. And we need the help of your Outlaws.”
“You need to tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.
“Will you meet with us? That’s all I need to know. Then I’ll explain everything.”
After a long sigh, Martinez continued. “It’ll be tough, but I’ll see what I can do. Where are you?”
“Las Cruces,” she said. “And we’re on our way.” She thought of the time he had beckoned her to meet with him. The night before her world had been torn apart. Now, she felt, he could repay the favor. “Know of any good diners we can meet at?” she asked, hoping to jog his memory.”
&n
bsp; “It’s going to take a few hours for you to get here. But I’ll tell you what. Meet me at The Frontier Café. It’s just outside Albuquerque, right off of I-25.”
“Got it,” Angela said as Burke hovered over her with the look of an impatient father. “Thanks, Captain Martinez. You’re our last best hope.”
“Not sure what you’re thanking me for yet, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he said.
She assured him that he would know everything soon and they said their good-byes. She then hung up the phone as Burke stepped away and went back to the television, turning it up. Apparently, there was a development.
“So he’s good to go?” Burke asked, watching the screen.
“Sounds like it,” Angela said. “I hope it pays off. We’re using valuable time even meeting up like this.”
The reporter on the screen spoke with alarm. “ISIS has officially claimed responsibility for the Memorial Day massacres throughout Texas. In a prepared statement posted on a foreign website, the terrorist organization said the attacks were in retaliation for the mosque shooting early yesterday morning that claimed fourteen lives.”
Burke turned to Angela, shaking his head. “Figures…” They knew, however, that the attacks had been planned long before there was a mosque shooting. ISIS reveled in manipulating the media.
“The president is expected to speak shortly on the terrorist attacks as the Dallas and San Antonio areas continue to reel from the massive death toll and numerous injured. We go now live in San Antonio to Jake Johnson, who is at the scene of one of the two attacks.”
Burke muted the television and tossed the remote on the bed. “ISIS will play this for all it’s worth. We’re looking at a major war on the horizon.”
“If they get to that nuclear power plant, they’ll get everything they wanted,” Angela said. There had been no reports about attacks anywhere else in the country. Every attack seemed to focus on Texas. Perhaps their sleeper-cell network only extended so far. Angela walked to the door, feeling overwhelmed. There was no timetable to Asgar’s ordered strikes. They could happen anywhere at any time.
