by Chase Austin
A man standing near the showroom of Nike saw the toddler running and then his eyes moved towards Taha. His face suddenly drained of its color.
Almost at the same time, Tiffany’s mother found that her daughter was not at the bench and instinctively looked around to find her. She soon found her. She watched Tiffany’s short ponytail waving behind her as she ran, and then she saw where Tiffany was going, moving towards a man standing not far from where she was seated.
His left hand was raised in the air holding the detonator, and his eyes were fixed on Tiffany.
Tiffany’s mother got up with a jerk; her shopping bags fell on the floor. She opened her mouth to scream but the horror of the moment froze the sound in her throat, and she watched helplessly as her child approached death.
Within a few seconds, almost everyone on the first floor froze. Watching Taha, they all knew what was going to happen. They could not run. They could not hide. They could only watch and pray to their Gods, wherever they were.
The four security guards at the entrance watched Taha from behind and slipped out of the door to save themselves. Little did they know that the IED was going to wipe out not only the building they were paid to guard but also everything in the five hundred yards radius around it.
Taha watched as the needle raced towards zero in his watch.
Five seconds.
He ignored everyone, only watching Tiffany, who, now closer to him, bent to pick up his red jacket. Getting up with the red jacket in her hand, she looked straight into Taha’s eyes. A cackle escaped her lips. Taha involuntarily smiled. It was the effect of a child’s laugh that he couldn’t help himself but smile with Tiffany. A tear rolled down his left cheek.
Two.
Taha looked at the mother.
“No!” she screamed, finally.
One.
BOOM.
Part 2
Chapter 18
Maryland, United States
Hundreds of questions spun in the air and Helms hoped that he would get some answers once Basit landed on American soil, but for the rest of them, he had to act now. He picked up his phone and dialed Samuel Baker’s number. Baker was the White House Chief of Staff.
“Baker, I need to talk to the President. This is an emergency.” Helms was right off the bat from the word go.
“Who’s this?”
Helms didn’t know how to respond to this. It took him a moment to realize that the man on the other side wasn’t joking. Samuel Baker, the White House Chief of Staff, didn’t have the number of the NSA director. The whole thing reeked of stupidity and scam.
Are these the same people who are ruling this country? he asked himself.
“This is William Helms — Director, NSA. Get me the President, right now.” Helms somehow bottled his anger. He couldn’t let his emotions take over his rationality.
“He is on his way for a game of golf with the President of North Korea. You’d have to wait for it to get over.” Baker spoke calmly while sipping his coffee.
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard me, but this is an emergency.”
“Every Tom, Dick, and Harry comes to the White House with this or that emergency. I cannot let the President get distracted by them.”
“Listen, you piece of shit, either you get me the President right now or I will make sure that your career is over before this day ends,” Helms thundered.
Baker took some time to respond, and then Helms heard him snigger. “The President has specifically asked me to keep morons like you away from him, so you can try, but I think it will be you who will be facing the axe,” Baker hissed on the phone.
This was the first time in his life when Helms wanted to strangle someone with his bare hands. Baker wasn’t just an idiot but also had a false sense of supremacy about his reach and power. But if what he was saying was true? If it was then the President had taken the cold war against his own men, too far.
What should he do? Leaving things in the lurch and hoping them to take shape on their own wasn’t an option here. He had always been a doer, and whether they knew it or not, the people of America needed more people like him for what was about to come.
The conversation with Baker had him worried. What if all of Washington was against him? He personally had no qualms about getting in the bad books of the White House or Capitol Hill but if it hampered his ability to get through the bureaucracy and reach the final decision-makers, then it was a problem, and a huge one at that.
He needed to check if he or the agency was being alienated from the decision-making. His next call was to the United States Secretary of Homeland Security, who didn’t pick the phone. His personal assistant did, who promised that she would make sure that her boss reverts to Helms soon.
Helms then dialed Raborn, who disconnected his call. He tried again and was shunned again. It was frustrating. He felt he was confined in an invisible cage from where reaching out to anyone was impossible, but he had to try. There wasn’t any other option.
His next call was to Patrick Mattis, the United States Secretary of Defense, who picked his call on the third ring.
“Hello Bill, how are you?” Mattis sounded chirpy.
“We have a situation. My sources in Afghanistan have intel about a massive attack on the American soil today. The President is incommunicado. You need to take this to him and request an urgent meeting.”
“Bill, hang on a second. I’m sure this is just another hoax. America today is not like the America of 2001. There is no 9/11 happening on our soil ever again. I heard you were on leave so just relax for a day. I’m heading out to my office. I’ll see if I can reach out to the President. You know he is busy with the North Korean President.”
“Hoax or not, we need to consider any such threat with absolute seriousness. And let me worry about my off-day. At the bare minimum, we should begin checking all pickup trucks, box vans, and semi-trucks headed into the major cities. We should also consider increasing security at the transport hubs and crowded places.”
“Which cities are your talking about?”
“All the tier-1 cities, starting with New York, Washington…”
“Don’t be stupid, Bill,” Mattis interrupted him. “We don’t have enough manpower and you know that. and also, we can’t just shut our cities without any credible intel.”
“This information is credible, and this is an emergency. You need to tell the President that this is happening today, whether he likes it or not. If you want me in DC, I can be there in an hour.”
“Helms, I don’t think that there is any need to spend taxpayers’ money on unnecessary travel expenses. You should stay in Maryland, I’ll see what I can do.”
This was unusual. “Patrick, is there anything that I am not aware of?” Helms asked.
“Bill, it’s not that.”
“Patrick, we have known each other for twenty-five long years, and you know that I take bad news better than anyone else. If there is one, I would expect it from you to tell me on my face.”
“Bill, listen to me, do not come to DC and do not stay in your office. Go home and spend time with your family. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Patrick, it’s not about me or my family, it was never about that and you know that. I called you to tell you that my intel is legit. It’s your call now. If I don’t get a call from the President in fifteen minutes, I’ll need to find other ways to get this message out.”
“Listen, Bill, don’t do anything rash. I told you to take it easy. Let me talk to the man and I promise to get back to you as early as possible.”
“Fifteen minutes, Patrick. That’s all I can give you.”
“Bill. I hear you, let me talk to the President. I’ll call you back.” Mattis didn’t wait for Helms’s response. It took Helms a few seconds to realize that Mattis had hung upon him. Was he really going to talk to the President? He decided it was better to deliver a summary report to Mattis just in case.
A moment later, Helms’s office door opened. It wa
s Andrew. “Sir, you need to see this.” He switched on the television.
The newscaster was hysterical. “A minute ago, two near-simultaneous explosions have been reported at Phoenix and San Diego.”
This was much worse than what Helms had estimated. The attacks had begun, and the world’s most powerful nation wasn’t the least bit prepared for them.
Chapter 19
Washington DC, USA
The warning came in while the majority of Washington was in a weekend morning mood. The duty officer in the White House Situation Room received the call from the CIA Ops center. Within minutes, phone lines were buzzing around the capital and beyond. Calls went to Walter Raborn, the CIA director and the agency leadership. Simultaneously, security details were rousted, motorcades were sent out, and key players in the National Security were ordered to get to their respective offices immediately.
Patrick Mattis had just got off the call from Helms when the bad news reached him, and he was the first cabinet-level official who received it. Between his call with Helms and the bad news, he had three or four minutes which he spent thinking about what he would tell Hancock, or whether he should even tell him anything.
But now there wasn’t any option.
Alone in the backseat, Hancock was deep in thought on what he should do next when he absent-mindedly read the scrolling tape at the bottom of the television screen. News about some hotel in some city. Which city he didn’t know, didn’t care, but then he started to pay attention.
Five blasts in three American cities, all within a span of minutes. A shopping mall and a luxury hotel in Phoenix, two malls in San Diego and a luxury hotel at Indianapolis were hit by what seemed at the moment like a suicide bomber attack. The names of the shopping malls and the hotels were on the screen.
Hancock was dumbfounded. He had only a vague concept of something like this happening to elevate his chances, but he hadn’t properly considered the repercussions, if anything like that ever happened. It was a far-fetched idea unless someone took it upon oneself to deliver it to him. And now someone had taken it upon oneself to deliver it to him, and he had no clue what he should do with it! The situation was unprecedented, and he was painfully out of his depth.
The initial death toll is somewhere around 900 people with more 2000 wounded, the scroll at the bottom read. The 9/11 attacks had a death toll of 2,996 people with more than 6,000 injured. The nature of the blasts was not immediately clear and there were no immediate claims of responsibility.
As his motorcade kept moving towards the golf course, Hancock was still lost in thought when his phone rang. It was Walter Raborn, Director of the CIA. He was the right person. He could help him. Hancock picked the phone before the third ring.
“Mr. President, have you…?” Raborn asked, stopping in mid-sentence.
“I know. Walt. ” Hancock said nothing further. He knew it was an emergency but what he would do now was the question.
“A team of the best CIA agents is already on the hunt to know how it started,” Raborn said, trying to steer himself clear of any political mess that these events would result in.
“Walt, join me in the Situation Room in thirty minutes. I have asked Baker to make some calls.” Hancock lied about calling Baker, but he couldn’t be seen as indecisive to his subordinates.
The Situation Room, officially known as the John F. Kennedy Conference Room, was a 5000 square-foot conference room and intelligence management center in the basement of the West Wing of the White House. Run by the National Security Council staff for the use of the President of the United States and his advisors, it was used to monitor and deal with crises at home and abroad. The room was equipped with secure, advanced communications equipment for the President to maintain command and control of U.S. forces around the world.
“Yes, sir,” Raborn responded.
“Thank you, Walt.” Hancock disconnected the call. He then spoke on the microphone to move the cavalcade to the White House. He needed to do something else too.
He opened his social media account and wrote: “I strongly condemn the cowardly attacks on our people today.” And pressed the publish button.
Chapter 20
Union Square Park, Manhattan — New York
Khalid and his partner emerged out from the public restroom with heavy rucksacks on their shoulders. Richard’s gaze had never left them from the moment they had emerged out in the open again. Their edgy body language and shifting gaze made Richard extremely uncomfortable. His eyebrows squinted with surprise. Something wasn’t right and he could sense that. He hastily combed the crowd for Lily. She wasn’t there where his eyes had left her. He instinctively got up. He had to find her.
Khalid and his partner, unaware of Richard’s movements, shifted the weight of the rucksack onto one shoulder while unzipping it. Their other hand drew inside the bag and emerged out holding an assault rifle.
Despite the distance, Richard instantly recognized the weapon. He knew what it meant, yet he couldn’t believe that this was happening.
The militants wasted no time opening fire. Shooting from the hip, targeting the crowd in precise controlled bursts while moving in opposite directions in a semi-circular arc. Their walk was confident and unhurried. Their targets were the thousands of hapless protesters and people who were in the park — men, women, and children.
The other three pairs were already in position. Their rucksacks open. Weapons out.
Seven of the city law enforcement officers were leisurely observing the gathering when they overheard the first burst of shots to their right. They instinctively turned and saw two twenty-something active shooters with assault rifles firing at the crowd. Seven 9mm semi-automatic SIG Sauer P226s instinctively popped from holsters.
What they didn’t realize was that they were not dealing with just two shooters. Another pair of shooters, covering the Union Square West, were keenly eyeing the officers. As soon as they saw the seven men getting ready for some action, without second thoughts, two suppressed barrels turned towards the uniforms. The barrels breathed forty rounds in the next few seconds. The first twenty hit four out of the seven officers squarely on their chest, rib cage and face. Dead before they could know it. The three others took cover behind the nearest stationary vehicles. The barrels moved with them and the next twenty bullets pierced the steel sheath of the cars, but the officers were still safe. They quickly understood one thing, these kids were not just some amateur school shooters. They needed immediate backup.
One of the three officers took out his radio and yelled, “Multiple active shooters at Union Square Park. Heavy casualties. Shooters are armed with assault rifles, possibly AK-47s.”
Another duo covering the North flank saw the three uniforms taking cover behind vehicles from the bullets coming down from the West. They both looked at each other and without exchanging a word, aimed their Kalashnikovs at their new targets. With their backs exposed, the three officers were sitting ducks for this duo. The guns blazed and the three officers’ bloodied bodies hit the ground limply.
At the Union Square Park, the chaos was maddening. Men, women, the elderly and children ran in every direction for cover. It was screaming madness. The cries of fear, helplessness, and pain sounded as if someone was pouring molten lava into one’s ears. But what the ones running away did not know was that they were running from one shooting pair only to get in the zone of the next shooter duo.
No one knew who the shooters were or why they were shooting mad.
Even before the first shot was fired, Richard’s primal instincts had been to get to safety, but his love for Lily made him run to find her first. But he could not fight the rising wave of a maddened crowd. He got kicked in the gut and another kick crushed his knee. The blows were unexpected, and he hit the ground hard. As soon as he touched the ground, five people tumbled over him like falling pins. A barrage of bullets whooshed over. He didn’t realize it at that time but the five people who fell on him were all dead. And with that they crushed ever
y hope of his finding Lily. A few feet away from him, a pregnant woman squealed for help. Richard could see the blood on her maxi dress, but he was helplessly stuck. He looked at her with whatever degree he could manage to lift his head up. Their eyes met, and a bullet blasted through her skull.
The shooter’s laugh ricocheted in the air. Richard suppressed his screams, digging his face into the dirt, hoping that he was invisible from the shooter’s gaze. It was primal instinct at play, of self-preservation. Thinking about his family and Lily, his tears kept disappearing in dirt and blood.
