One cargo ship dropped its load at Boston Harbor, in Massachusetts. Another ship dropped its load at a dock in Panama. The third cargo ship dropped its load somewhere in Brazil.
Members of various sleeper cells took the cargo and delivered it accordingly, then immediately got busy assembling their contraptions. Instead of using briefcases or metal canisters, which might cause panic if seen, fast food paper bags were used for this diabolical endeavor.
To the naked eye, if anyone chose to investigate, they’d discover nothing but used napkins, greasy hamburger wrappers, French fry holders, and empty soft drink cups inside the crumpled-up bags. But if lids were removed from the empty drink cups, plastic containers would be found inside that were engineered to let the sarin slowly but surely seep through them.
Once that objective was achieved, the deadly agents would be aerosol-sprayed into the atmosphere and would begin at once wreaking havoc on humanity and the environment, destroying every living being within its reach.
Since there would be no explosions to propel the deadly agents outward (like there would be with Phase Three later)—their range would be 100 feet at most—the toxic packages needed to be distributed in highly concentrated areas so many humans would be exposed to it.
Mindful of this, those chosen to carry out this mission deposited the fast food bags in trash receptacles in shopping malls, supermarkets, convenience stores, fast food restaurants, hospital lobbies, hotel lobbies and convention centers.
Many more were placed on trains and at train stations, buses and bus depots, taxicabs and airports.
Those chosen for this mission were battle-hardened veterans, fanatics in every sense of the word. Only their American friends, co-workers and neighbors didn’t know it.
While most were of Middle Eastern origin, they didn’t resemble your prototypical terrorists. Most had lived in the United States for many years and were highly educated, even receiving their degrees from America’s top universities.
They were doctors, lawyers, government officials, business owners, religious leaders and law enforcement officials. Some were even professors at the places from which they’d received their college degrees.
These men were well-disciplined, kept low profiles and had multiple identities. They were skilled at covering their tracks, making them white collar jihadists in every sense of the word.
Because they were highly respected, any red flags that may have possibly gone up when they first moved into their communities, had long since been lowered.
In short: they were the last individuals most would ever suspect of committing such evil. Which is why they did all the running around in public, while those who’d recently relocated to America, from other countries, remained out of view of the public eye.
Now in hiding, those responsible for carrying out Phase One—also dubbed the Flight 11 Project honoring the five still highly-revered fallen heroes on Flight 11, which was the first airplane-turned-missile to strike the Twin Towers in Manhattan on that fateful day—were forbidden from contacting anyone on the outside. It was just too risky.
They would remain in total lock down for 21 days, just in case, wearing protective gear provided by the masterminds in charge of birthing this lofty plan. By then, most airborne agents would be cleared from the earth’s atmosphere.
With no mobile devices, laptop computers, TVs or radios at their disposal to help pass the time, they would read the Quran day and night, fast and pray without ceasing that Allah would deliver overwhelming victory into their hands this time.
They praised Allah for choosing them for this glorious mission. They knew their god would never ignore the prayers of his bravest front-line soldiers, especially when on their knees in enemy territory. How could he?
No, Allah would never let such bravery and loyalty to go unrewarded.
With millions of American infidels hopefully hours away from being wiped off the face of the earth, this was the first step to ultimately unearthing their still-hidden weapons of mass destruction, to include nuclear weapons.
Then they would begin at once imposing their will on all infidels everywhere, starting with Salvador Romanero.
For added inspiration, four rows of framed pictures of the nineteen fallen 9/11 heroes were hung on safe-house walls.
Above them were these words, this credo: “Stand firm and inspect your weapons. Know the plan well. Vow to accept death. Purify your heart and cleanse it of all stains. Let your breasts be full of gladness. To Allah we shall return.”
To further safeguard these hideouts, the walls and ceilings were sealed with a thick kerosene coating. If the enemy ever learned their whereabouts, with a simple strike of a match, any location could easily be burned to the ground in just minutes.
Phase Two, also known as the Flight 175 Project—honoring the five fallen heroes responsible for hijacking the second airplane-turned-missile to strike the Twin Towers—would actually come as a result of Phase One.
Everyone soon-to-be exposed to the deadly toxins would unknowingly help the cause by spreading it to everyone with whom they made contact.
Even the clothing they wore would release the deadly nerve gas into the air long after being exposed to it. Whether this happened at home, the supermarket, the mall, or at the many fireworks festivities planned nationwide, mattered not to them.
The main thing was that they exposed as many infidels to the colorless, odorless deadly agents as possible this day.
Even foreigners visiting the U.S. would do their part by infecting many around the globe when they traveled back to their home countries in the days ahead.
If they lived that long...
Phase Three, also known as the Flight 77 Project, would commence at precisely 9:11 P.M. EST! This part of the mission involved another group of jihadists, one thousand men and women in all, honoring the five fallen heroes on the third flight to pulverize America that day, when the plane struck the Pentagon.
In just a few short hours their actions would create unspeakable carnage. Mass hysteria would ensue, once again ensnaring the godless nation.
If everything went as planned, their actions would serve to decrease the American population even more, ultimately bringing America to her knees.
The time chosen to carry out this part of the mission—9:11 or 9/11—was purely symbolic.
Phase Four, honoring the fallen heroes of Flight 93—whose efforts fell short when American infidels stormed the cockpit and crashed the plane in a field in Pennsylvania, curtailing their efforts—would commence 21 days from now, once the atmosphere was cleared of all deadly toxins.
With customized extended-life breathing apparatuses affixed to their hazmat suits, they’d be free to move on to the next phase of their all-out attack on the United States and Salvador Romanero.
But for now, as the deadly agents slowly melted the one million plastic containers in which they were stored, Phase One was well under way, even if the outside world didn’t know it yet.
Soon, very soon, as Americans and Westerners in all other countries left their homes to meet with family members and friends to celebrate the first infidel children being born, deadly chemical agents would start filling the lungs of so many.
But in the United States, the biggest bang wouldn’t come until 9:11 p.m. Then the countdown would be on to see how many would ultimately become their slaves in the afterlife...
Allah willing, the first step toward that lofty goal had just been taken.
With their task completed, all they could do now was hope and wait and pray for success...
45
AT 9 P.M. EST, MILLIONS of spectators were gathered in cities and towns on the East Coast of the United States, to watch fireworks and celebrate new life. Millions more were already gathering in all other time zones in the Western Hemisphere.
Aside from the much smaller crowds—due to the fact that nearly half of the American populace was now gone—it very much resembled past Independence Days or New Year’s Eve celebrati
ons.
While there weren’t any children among them just yet, seeing the numerous handheld signs, banners and T-shirts, with pictures of newborn babies on them—including the first American child, Salvador Rodriguez, from Seattle Washington—coupled by the fact that many pregnant women were out celebrating with them only added to the overall elation everyone felt.
News cameras and reporters focused more on expectant mothers than anyone else. Naturally they were given the choicest locations from which to recline.
The deadly odorless agents stored inside the 1,000,000 plastic containers had already been released into the atmosphere. Millions had already been exposed to the highly-contagious agents without even knowing it. By the time they became aware, it would be too late. Most would die gruesome, painful deaths.
Totally oblivious to it all, Salvador Romanero recorded a simulcast video message to be played in every time zone just before the fireworks went off. Finally, it was America’s turn to celebrate Universal Children’s Day.
The Miracle Maker appeared on huge screens up and down the East Coast, wherever fireworks would be lit, and said, “Greetings, global citizens! Has there ever been a better time to be alive than right now? I think not! As we celebrate the very first Universal Children’s Day, let us raise our glasses and toast the many brave women out there for making this moment possible! My dear ladies, we are truly indebted to each of you. And now, let the celebration begin! Enjoy the fireworks! May you all be blessed in my name!”
At that, the celebration was on. Music blared through speakers as fireworks were launched into the evening sky.
Strategically placed among the crowds on the east coast were the 1,000 Islamic terrorists chosen to carry out Phase Three. Half were men and half were women posing as couples, so they would blend in even more.
The women chosen for this mission weren’t of Middle Eastern descent like their counterparts were. They were radicalized Americans who looked every bit a part of the American melting pot as everyone else. But they hated America just as much as their comrades in arms did.
Each of the 100 locations having festivities on the East Coast had jihadists among them. Crowd sizes varied. Naturally, the bigger the crowd the more jihadists assigned to it.
Their orders were specific: spread out so the vast-majority of spectators would be in harm’s way, and don’t cause any unwanted suspicion beforehand.
But knowing what was about to happen, it was impossible to conceal the strained expressions on their faces. In just a few minutes, with powerful explosives strapped to their bodies, they would create their own fireworks spectacular of sorts and leave this planet with a big bang, hopefully killing countless infidels in the process, including pregnant women.
Allah willing, those who weren’t blown to smithereens by the powerful explosives would die in the coming days from exposure to the aerosol-sprayed toxins. Either way, they would walk into eternity and have countless slaves catering to their every whim.
Every male would have 72 pure virgins assigned to them. The women involved in Phase Three wouldn’t have male virgins assigned to them. But once they were reunited with their husbands in the next world, they would appear infinitely more beautiful to them.
Those who never married on Earth would be able to marry any man of their choice in paradise. Or so they were told...
Knowing death was certain, these jihadists made “last testament” videos explaining their actions as retaliation for Muslims worldwide who were victims of the daily atrocities at the hands of the infidels, especially Salvador Romanero. All expressed their willingness to die as martyrs for Allah the great.
Come daybreak, their videos would be widely distributed for all to see.
At precisely 9:11 p.m, at the height of the fireworks festivities, the 1,000 men and women with explosives strapped to their bodies shouted, “Allahu Akbar!” at the top of their lungs, just as the bombs were remotely detonated, creating ear-splitting roars at each location, sending body parts—including their own—all over the place.
Chaos ensued...
IN CHADDS FORD, PENNSYLVANIA, after another full day of reinventing the land, so to speak, some at safe house number one were too exhausted to watch the fireworks on TV. They chose to sleep instead.
Everyone else met at the church pavilion to watch the festivities in Philadelphia on the big screen. As pyrotechnics blazed above the City of Brotherly Love, numerous explosions suddenly went off simultaneously. The camera broadcasting it to viewers in the region shook violently, as if an earthquake had just occurred.
The person holding it must have been killed because the camera fell to the ground on its side but kept broadcasting at a 45-degree angle. Viewers at home didn’t need to tilt their heads sideways to see the unspeakable carnage unfolding on their TV screens. Dead bodies and body parts were strewn everywhere.
The cameraman must have been relatively close to one of the explosives because the ground upon which the camera lay was severely charred and soaked with blood.
Even among the turmoil, there were no screams. After the explosions, the only sounds viewers at home heard was the music blaring through speakers and the fireworks still going off. Both were programmed and wouldn’t stop until the last fireworks were shot out of the cannons for the finale.
It was quite eerie seeing so many dead and disfigured bodies on TV, as celebratory music blared through speakers.
Similar scenes were being broadcast up and down the East Coast of America.
Clayton Holmes was the first to snap out of it. “Everyone back to the main house now!” he barked. “Go straight to the basement and change into hazmat suits and gas masks. Hurry before any possible radiation clouds reach us!”
“What about the others?” Travis Hartings asked.
“I’ll take care of it!” Braxton Rice raced back to the house and put on a Level A hazmat suit, steel-tipped boots, and chemical-resistant gloves, then loaded a truck with hazmat suits and drove off to the cottages where ETSM members were sleeping.
The first door Rice pounded on was Mary Johnston’s. When she opened the door and saw him wearing protective gear, she was frightened for her life. “Put this on quickly then go to the main house,” he ordered. “Don’t ask any questions! Just do it!”
Rice raced back to the truck and drove off to the next cottage.
Meanwhile, back at the house, as everyone raced down to the basement, Brian went upstairs and knocked on his mother’s door. He knocked earlier to invite her to the church pavilion for food and to watch the fireworks, but she never bothered opening the door.
Since arriving at safe house number one, Sarah Mulrooney never left her room. She refused to eat and didn’t want to be bothered by anyone, including Brian.
Brian knocked harder. “Open the door, Ma! It’s an emergency!”
Hearing the panic in her son’s voice, Sarah climbed out of bed and opened her bedroom door. Her hair was unkempt, and she had deep dark bags under her eyes, from too much crying and lack of sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“There were multiple explosions in Philadelphia during the fireworks celebration. Many were killed. I saw it all on TV. Looks like the work of suicide bombers. Clayton fears the air may be toxic. We need to go to the basement and put hazmat suits on, in case radiation clouds come our way!”
When Sarah hesitated, Brian yelled, “Now, Ma! We gotta hurry!”
It worked. Sarah followed her son down the stairs in total silence, sort of wishing she was among the many now dead. Being blown to pieces by a suicide bomber suddenly sounded like a good way to leave this miserable planet.
Knowing she had eternal assurance, it would be a quick and easy way to get to Jesus without committing suicide.
Upon reaching the basement, Charles Calloway handed them hazmat suits to put on.
“What do we do now?” Tamika Moseley said in a panic. Even with her protective gear on, everyone could see her chest heaving up and down. She had difficulty breathing.
“Pr
ay, and constantly check for radiation in the atmosphere,” Doctor Meera Singh said calmly. Her voice betrayed her trembling body.
Tom Dunleavey placed a hand on Tamika’s head and started praying for her until her breathing stabilized.
After a while, everyone went up to the living room. The TV was turned on. First thing they saw were the words: EXPLOSIONS ROCK ENTIRE EAST COAST! MILLIONS FEARED DEAD!
Sarah Mulrooney dropped her head and wept silently, knowing New York City was among the death and destruction. She felt completely powerless.
Dr. Lee Kim was seated next to Travis Hartings, “What about the website timeline?
Hartings sighed, then shot a desperate glance at Clayton Holmes.
After taking a moment to think it through, Holmes said, “Shadow Revelation six, verses two through eight in a lighter shade of red like you did with Revelation four and five in the past. With so much death and destruction, it’s hard knowing which of the four horsemen is responsible for what.
“For now, let’s assume it’s a combo of all four. Once the dust settles, if it settles, we’ll ask God to sort it out for us. Until then, the light red shade will be the safest bet.”
“You got it, Clayton.”
“While you’re at it, you might want to reach out to ETSM members around the world and let them know we’re okay. Also, check and see if our brothers and sisters on the East Coast are safe as well.”
“Already heard from Nigel Jones, Amos Nyarwarta and Xiang Tse Chiang. I told them we’re safe for now. They’re praying for us.”
Clayton Holmes sent a text message to his aunt Evelyn, letting her know they were all fine. Holmes was relieved when she quickly replied, informing that she and Deacon Ernest Stone were both safe.
After being released from the hospital in Atlanta a few days after the peace treaty signing, Deacon Stone was taken to the cabin in Tennessee, so he could be placed in the care of ETSM doctors and nurses.
The Countdown Begins Page 31
