Robert and Ali wasted no time making arrangements to visit Imam Jabril.
“Hamid in Quetta returns your greetings and asked about you,” Robert began.
“Good man, Hamid.” The imam smiled, but still looked fierce under his dark eyebrows. He led them out to the backyard without explanation. They sat on plastic chairs under a large tree, continuing the conversation. The imam had several questions for both Robert and Ali, who related their experiences in the Afghanistan camp.
“But graduation provided the highlight of the trip, Imam.” Ali beamed. “You should have been there. With five students setting off five bombs, the sky nearly fell in! We became real jihadists in the desert of northern Baluchistan.”
A long discussion covered many ideas, including, as Robert expected, the difficulty of acquiring bomb-making equipment and material.
“The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives registers and controls RDX and even the chemicals to make it,” the imam explained. He smirked with a mischievous look. “But I may have a possible source of bomb material for you.”
Robert’s heart raced as his eyebrows shot upward. The imam explained that he could put Robert and Ali in touch with a person in Butte, Montana, who worked in the explosive department of a large mining company there. “They use C-4 in their open-pit mining operations. Some shipments of material actually contain a bit more C-4 than their paperwork shows. Their shipments also include detonators, detonator cords, and timers. My friend has been able to collect some of this extra C-4 and accessories over time, and I just learned that he has enough hidden away now to make a powerful bomb.”
Robert with Ali noted the distance from Seattle to Butte, Montana. Six hundred miles. “Should take less than twelve hours.”
Ali had never traveled in a red Corvette let alone one with the top down. He seemed to revel in the experience as they cruised through the warm wheat fields of Eastern Washington. Robert glanced at his friend, who smiled as though they were enjoying a Sunday afternoon drive.
Guided by the security measures they learned in Pakistan, they made contact with the imam’s friend without even knowing his name or seeing his face. They paid for and then found the materials as directed in a note. The C-4 and accessories lay in a flat box hidden under a large box behind a bulldozer. Robert’s mind whirred as they spent the night at a motel in Butte.
“Man, that’s incredible!” Robert said, shaking his head as they headed toward the western Montana mountains. “Really, too easy. I couldn’t imagine, you know, how we’d ever get the chemicals and lab equipment along with a place to put everything together without arousing suspicion.”
“All six bricks of C-4 look just like what we created in Afghanistan,” Ali remarked. “They should make for quite a blast. Where are you thinking of putting them?”
Robert had considered this for a long time, discussing target selection with his Afghan leader as well as Imam Jabril. He wanted to make a statement to the U.S. government and to American Jews to quit bankrolling the Israeli government in their oppression of the Palestinians. But more than that, he wanted America to stop dominating Muslim lands, including the two countries they had just left—and Iraq. He believed his choice would shake up the establishment in the West. His act must speak to the world. “I’m putting the bomb in a synagogue to make my point.”
“Awesome! Will it to go off with lots of Jews in the synagogue?”
“No, Ali. You can’t blame the little people. I’m just after the leaders and the rich. I hate ’em. If there is a rabbi or two that gets in the way, well that’s OK. It’s not my fault. It’s the U.S. government who caused it. So I think it would be best to have it go off maybe like an hour before their Sabbath service on a Friday afternoon.”
“Do you have a synagogue in mind?”
“Yeah, there’s one just north of the university. People around there see lots of students from many parts of the world carrying backpacks, you know, and I wouldn’t arouse suspicion carrying a student backpack. Like, I’d wear a hoodie anyway. The synagogue would be open just before people come.”
“So when do you think you would do it?”
“I’ll need to scout the territory. But I think within ten days. Maybe the second Friday of May.”
Ali and Robert stashed the C-4 and accessories in a rarely used room in the basement of their house. Concrete, dank, musty smelling, and dark. No windows. Perfect place, Robert decided. On Wednesday they chatted after dinner when the others had left.
“Are you still planning on a couple of days from now?”
“Yeah. I checked out the synagogue last Friday. I didn’t see anybody around at five p.m. in the main auditorium or the vestibule just inside the front door. I’m thinking I can get the detonator and cord into the C-4 bricks and tie them together. I’ll carry it ready to go in my backpack. Then I’ll just have to activate the timer for five thirty and, you know, it’ll be a breeze.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The whole thing will be hidden in the backpack sitting out of sight in the corner of the vestibule behind a bookcase.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Yeah, I am, but I’m also determined. It’ll echo around the world and be heard by the leaders I want to get to. I’ll teach ’em a lesson!”
“How will you get away from the synagogue without raising questions?”
“I’ll just walk down the street. I want to be close by when it goes off, but maybe a block away so I can see the results. It should at least blow the front off the synagogue, and maybe bring the whole building down.”
“Cool! Do you need me to pick you up in your car?”
“No, it’ll be better to be on foot and just be one of the startled people who come running to see what happened. I’ll hang back from the crowd, you know, and disperse with them when the police barriers go up.”
“Sounds like you have the bases all covered. So Friday at five-thirty it is!”
“Right, Ali. I’m ready!” It suddenly hit him. He would actually do it. An explosion that would reverberate around the world.
Ali rose from the table, shaking his head. “I can hardly believe you really are going to be the next jihadist in America after 9/11. Allahu Akbar!”
Chapter 10
The campus burst with color in the Seattle spring. Following an afternoon lab session, Ashley approached Najid, who seemed to be adjusting very well to his teaching role in the zoology lab. He stopped collecting a few dissecting instruments left on the black soapstone counters as he chatted with several students who had stayed behind. She waited as they finished their conversation and left.
“Hi, Najid. How about going to the HUB for some tea?”
“Sounds good. You know, no one has explained why it is called ‘the HUB.’ ”
“It stands for Husky Union Building, I think. You know the meaning of Husky?”
“Is it a dog from Alaska?”
“Yeah. We call it a mascot … um … it’s hard to explain. Every college has one, usually an animal, like the Texas Longhorns. Uh … longhorns are cattle with big long things on their heads. You probably have them in Israel.”
“I’ve never seen one.”
“I’ll show you a picture sometime. Anyway, let’s walk to the HUB. It’s so pretty with the red and purple rhododendrons in bloom.”
“They are wonderful. I’ve never seen any plants like them.”
“They don’t grow very well in Oklahoma either. They need cool weather and lots of rain.”
As they strolled by lawns and gardens resplendent with color, Ashley inquired about Najid’s family, their church, and their living situation. Sitting down in the HUB Café, filled with students at both long and short tables, Ashley enjoyed the view beyond the large windows looking east toward the Cascade Mountains. With their tea, Najid opened up a bit.
“My father is a farmer … but, ah … we don’t have a farm anymore. But he still takes care of an olive grove. My mother—”
“Why doesn’t your family have a
farm anymore?”
“It is a long story, Ashley. It happened many years ago, and I can’t tell you now.”
“So where is it that you live?”
“Outside a town called Genigar, not far from Nazareth. Most people know about Nazareth in Northern Israel. We live in a small house now, three bedrooms.”
“Do you have Jewish neighbors?”
“Not close now. They live on a hill above us. It is hard to explain to you, but they live on the top of the hill with a wall around it. A highway separates us, and we can’t be on that road. But my friend David, who lives there, used to come down to spend time with me since I couldn’t go up to his house.”
“How did you get to know each other?”
“We both went to a Christian school because that was the best school in the area. Palestinian schools aren’t good. But you could pay to go to the Christian school no matter what religion—Muslim, Jewish, Druze, or Christian. And both our parents wanted us to get the best education.”
Ashley stopped asking questions long enough to sip her tea.
“Where in Oklahoma do you come from, Ashley?”
She still had a hundred questions to ask Najid, but realized she should share a bit as well. “Oklahoma City. We are not popular here in Seattle. We just stole the local basketball team called the Sonics. They are now the Oklahoma City Thunder.”
“Oh! Did you come in with guns firing like thunder, like the western movies?” Najd’s eyes twinkled. “With horses?”
“Right, Najid, like thunder and lightning. We had a shootout and dragged the team away.”
They both laughed, lightening the mood. He told her of the young lady in the freshman lab who couldn’t find the frog’s heart. Ashley enjoyed Najid’s sparkle as he tried to keep a straight face describing the lab adventures. He seemed to enjoy talking to her, and told stories of his own foibles in Haifa. At least she had learned a bit about Najid and his family.
The close ties of Christians with the Jewish people and their common heritage in the Bible had stirred Ashley. Most early Christians were Jews. She had cried repeatedly while reading “The Diary of Anne Frank” and Corrie ten Boom’s account of her family tragedy in Nazi concentration camps, killed for their sin of hiding Jews from the Nazis. Ashley grew passionate about the Jews as her heart ached for their suffering and for their contributions.
Najid and Ashley walked to the “Ave” for lunch, and while waiting for the traffic light to turn green on 15th Avenue, she began. “Najid, have you ever been to a synagogue?”
“Oh yes. We have them in Nazareth.”
“Do you understand Hebrew?”
“Sure. I have no trouble understanding them.”
Ashley shook her head and chuckled to herself. How many languages did he know? She steered Najid to a Greek restaurant, a small well-lighted two-room place on University Avenue. The garlic and cumin smell tantalized her. “Oooh, I love Greek food!”
As they settled down over lunch, she asked him, “What would you think about going to a synagogue here in Seattle?” Her eyes twinkled and she cracked a smile.
“I’ve never thought about attending one here. Why do you ask?” Najid moved his glass to allow the waitress to bring his lunch plate. The cucumbers showed at the ends of the pita bread enclosing them.
Ashley furrowed her brow. “Well, I’ve been doing some studying about how we Christians owe so much to the Jews for the past—all they gave through the Ten Commandments and the prophets. But such terrible things have happened since then. It gets confusing. Particularly in your part of the world.”
“I agree. It is—”
“But Najid, the trouble now, the unrest in the Middle East that you personally face, doesn’t that bother you?”
“Yes it does.” He paused and tightened his lips. Then he looked at Ashley and nodded. “But I’ve decided to put that aside here in America.”
“If I told you that our church supports Israel one hundred percent in the current conflict, what would you think?”
Najid stared silently out the window as they both started eating. He began slowly. “That is a choice people make. I hope your church is well informed with the facts. Sometimes I see tour groups of Americans in Israel visiting the historical sites where Jesus lived and worked. Most of these shrines have beautiful stone churches, but tourists don’t connect with the people who live there. They get back on their bus and go to their hotel. I think of how Peter once called Jesus’s followers ‘living stones.’ The tourists see the dead stones in many shrines in Israel but don’t meet the living ones.”
“A lot of Americans tour the Holy Land,” Ashley said. “You mean they never get to hear the experiences of people who have actually lived there for a long time?”
“I think so, but I’m not sure. You’d have to go yourself to determine that.”
“I’d love to. You make me want to go there.”
“Ashley, you would be most welcome to stay as a guest in my family home.”
She remembered Najid’s mentioning their small house and understood the generosity of the offer. Ashley smiled and nodded. “Thank you. Maybe someday. But right now, I want to know more of what the Jewish people think. How do they feel about the generous support Israel gets from people in some of our American churches?”
“So that is why you want to go to the synagogue?”
“Yes, but also just to learn more about them. I’ve never been to one.”
“I would be glad to go with you sometime. I could translate the Hebrew for you so you could understand the rabbi.”
“Oh, Najid, that would be awesome! There is a synagogue not too far from the U-district, and we could meet there. Maybe on a late Friday afternoon just before their Sabbath, toward sundown. I looked it up on the Internet, and this particular one has their Kabbalat Shabbat at six p.m.”
He pulled out his smartphone and studied it for a moment. “Next week I think would be fine.”
“Great, let’s plan on that unless your schedule changes. I’ll confirm with you on the day before and text you the address if we don’t meet in the lab. We can get together in front of the synagogue at five-thirty on Friday, that’s the second Friday in May. You better show up now that you promised.” Ashley chuckled, raising her eyebrows, eyes dancing. “You know that ninety percent of life is just showing up!”
“Really?”
“Could be true, Najid,” Ashley said with a wink. “At least Will Rogers from Oklahoma thought so.”
Ashley left the freshman zoology lab at ten-thirty for a coffee break in the grad student lounge. She found Najid huddled in deep conversation with Ethan over his cup of tea. He looked up and grinned.
“Did you get my text message about the address?” she asked.
“I did, Ashley. I’m looking forward to it. That’s today, right?
“You got it. I’ll plan to meet you in front of the building at five-thirty so we can talk a bit about what to expect before we go in.”
“OK.” Najid seemed to enjoy talking like an American. He resumed his conversation while Ashley turned to get her coffee.
Chapter 11
The plan flowed without a ripple. No one appeared as Robert, heart pounding in his chest, walked in the front door of the synagogue toward the right-side corner at the front of the building. He found the vestibule empty, decorated in muted tones, lighted by several stained-glass windows, and brightened by a menorah holding seven scented candles on a nearby table. Very quiet, the space had a pleasant smell. He strolled toward a large bookcase filled with books along the front wall and stood between it and the side wall in the corner, well hidden. Easing out of his backpack, he put it down gingerly. Hands shaking, he adjusted the timer for five-thirty p.m. and connected it to the detonator cord inside the backpack. As he slipped out the front door unseen, he heard someone walking in the rear rooms of the building.
Robert, forcing himself not to run, strolled casually to the nearby sidewalk and across the street, stopping under a large
tree in front of a modest 1930s house. His dark-blue, hooded sweatshirt hid all but his eyes, nose, and mouth. He waited for three minutes. At five twenty-nine he watched as two young people walked toward each other. They met and stopped to talk directly in front of the right corner of the building, separated from it by a narrow garden of bushes and small trees. The girl, blonde and pretty, stood with her back to the building. She looked up and caught Robert looking at her. He quickly averted his gaze. The young man from the back reminded him of Ali. He shrugged. They’d just be part of the collateral damage.
Robert turned and walked away at a normal pace, face flushed, determined not to panic. When he had reached the middle of the next block, a huge explosion ripped the air around him. He felt the blast and turned to see the synagogue come down in a huge gray plume of dust and debris. Flames shot from the rubble. Robert’s heart pounded with excitement, hardly able to take in the phenomenal success of his mission. He had never experienced an adrenaline rush like that, even when he’d tried crack cocaine.
The blonde girl lay on the sidewalk as the man kneeled over her and waved wildly. People rushed from their houses and soon chaos enveloped the scene. Within moments sirens screeched as the fire grew higher. Robert followed the crowd, drawn like a magnet, pressing in closer to the site then finally making a path for the police and fire trucks. A Medic One van raced forward as the crowd parted, stopping where the girl lay. Paramedics transferred her within a minute to a stretcher, IV running, and drove away, sirens blaring.
Robert watched as firemen controlled the flames and began with police to search the cooler rubble for victims. Smoke and dust filled the air. He smiled, taking in a deep breath at the smell. The bomb succeeded beyond his expectations. All the training and careful planning had paid off. He felt his face flush and heart race. It would make world headlines. Jihad once again in the United States, this time on the opposite coast from New York. He hadn’t done well at Cornell, but at slipping past Homeland Security, he had excelled when others couldn’t. He would be honored by brother jihadists around the world, admired for his exploit even if they didn’t know who did it.
Living Stones Page 4
