Monday Night Jihad

by Elam, Jason; Yohn, Steve

  “Are you ready, mighty warrior?” his brother asked.

  “I will be there with you on earth and in heaven, Aamir. That’s all I can say.”

  “Are you still having doubts about—?”

  “Stop!” Abdel thrust his hand in front of his brother’s face—a clear sign of disrespect, but he didn’t care. “Don’t say any more. I told you I would be there with you. Leave it at that! Now, let’s prepare ourselves.”

  Abdel pretended he couldn’t see Aamir’s darkening face as he crossed the room to where the vests were stored. I’m just frightened, he told himself. There’s nothing wrong with that. Even Muhammad was frightened after Gabriel first visited him. As he walked back carrying the first of the vests, he reassured Aamir, “I love you, my brother. There is no one else I would rather be entering glory with than you.”

  Abdel briefly met his brother’s eyes, then quickly looked away as Aamir took the vest from him.

  “Turn around,” Aamir softly commanded him. Abdel obeyed, and Aamir lowered the dark green vest over his head. The nylon material rested on the new white T-shirt that covered Abdel’s upper body, which, along with the rest of his body, had been shaved completely hairless during a ritual cleansing process they had both participated in prior to their predawn prayer. Aamir reached around to the Velcro straps in the front and pulled them tight around Abdel’s back.

  In the closet hung a red and green flannel shirt that Aamir now brought over. While Abdel held the detonator in his hand, his older brother helped him slide his arms through the sleeves. He was very careful not to snag the long wire that connected to the vest. Before buttoning the cuffs, Aamir used surgical tape to attach the detonator to Abdel’s forearm. They would cut the tape prior to walking into the mall.

  As Abdel repeated the same process with Aamir, the silence became heavier. Both men were lost in their own thoughts. Abdel visualized the plan over and over. He thought through all the possible contingencies. What would they do if they were stopped at the doors? What if one of their compatriots failed to complete his mission? What if he froze?

  “All good acts are from you, my Lord,” says our prayer. Is this a good act? Or could what I’m doing actually be wrong? The ninth sura of the Koran says, “Fight them; Allah will punish them by your hands and bring them to disgrace” and “Fight those who do not believe in Allah, nor in the latter day, nor do they prohibit what Allah and his apostle have prohibited, nor follow the religion of truth.” We do not have the power to fight them with tanks and planes, so we use what we have. Is that not just?

  Again the sound of the ball bearings and the screams of the people drowned out his thoughts. The smell of blood filled his nose. He closed his eyes and saw the bodies of children—innocents. But are they really innocent? Will they not grow up to be infidels? Again he saw the tiny faces covered in blood. Yes, they will probably grow up to be infidels, but for now . . .

  Aamir’s grunt at the pull of the tape on the sensitive skin of his recently shaved arm snapped Abdel back to reality. My course is set. My destiny awaits me. Allah, if what I am doing is right, give us success. If what I am doing is wrong, please forgive me. Abdel looked into his brother’s eyes, and this time he held his gaze.

  * * *

  9:15 a.m. CST

  “JIM!” Scott Ross’s voice rang through the cubicles and echoed into the offices on the outer rim of the second-floor CTD headquarters.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of intercoms?” Jim Hicks grumbled as he came running to the workstation Scott had taken over. He couldn’t help taking a glance at the striking Tara Walsh standing right behind Scott.

  “I didn’t know where you were,” Scott absentmindedly apologized.

  “Yeah, who would have ever expected me to be in my office?”

  “I tried to tell him,” Tara said.

  “Okay, okay,” Scott said. “Just shut up and listen. Tara and my team came through! We’ve got names, and we’ve got faces!” Scott stared at Hicks, waiting for a reaction. After ten seconds things got uncomfortable.

  “Are you going to tell me or what?” Hicks growled.

  For a moment, Scott’s mind flashed through many of the “or what” responses that were available to him. He mentally selected one that had to do with Hicks’s eternal destiny, very hot places, and French Canadians, allowing it to blend into his internal monologue. A slight grin at the corners of his mouth was the only evidence of what for Scott was a very rapid and very satisfying exercise.

  Scott spoke as Tara passed pictures to Hicks. “We’ve got four names. Each one may or may not be involved. Iskandar Bogra from Pakistan. . . . Here’s your boy, Kurshumi. . . . And the last two bring an interesting twist—Aamir and Abdel al-Hasani, Saudi brothers who first popped onto our radar screen at a bad-guy training camp in Pakistan.”

  “Have we seen anything of these men since the border crossing?”

  “You ask the right questions, my friend,” Scott said, picking up more photographs from his desk. “Here are two pictures taken within four hours of each other. Do you recognize the guys? Here’s Mr. Bogra, and here’s brother Aamir. Now for the punch line: these were both taken at the Hawthorne Avenue bus station right here in Minneapolis. If I’m not mistaken, the Hawthorne station is where you found one of Kurshumi’s packages.”

  Hicks hit the intercom and called the ops teams together for a briefing in five minutes. Looking at Scott and Tara, he said, “Thanks, you two. You may have just saved a lot of lives.”

  He turned to go back to his office, but Scott grabbed his arm. “Jim, I want in on the op.”

  Hicks’s face took on a condescending air. “I hate to burst your bubble, sport, but this isn’t like shooting pellets at the birds in Granddaddy’s backyard. Go back to your computer screen and let the big boys handle ops. This is real war with real bullets and real blood.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, sport,” Scott spat out as he tightened his grip on Hicks’s arm just enough to make him wince. “I spent six years with AFSOC, two of them hunting hajjis in Afghanistan. I’ve drawn blood and I’ve lost blood, and the only reason I’m still standing here today is that I drew more than I lost. I found these guys, so let me finish the hunt!”

  Hicks and Scott locked eyes, both waiting to see if the other would flinch. Finally Hicks shook his arm free and said, “Air force special ops, huh? I thought you guys were just glorified weathermen.”

  “Why don’t you try me and find out.”

  The older man smiled, then chuckled. “Pretty rough talk for a guy with a pooch,” he said, patting Scott’s stomach. “Okay, c’mon, tough guy. We’ll get you geared up.”

  Scott smirked to himself as he followed Jim down the hallway. From what he had heard of the man, he might have been the first person to have caused Jim Hicks to back down since before the Nixon administration.

  Saturday, December 20

  Mall of America

  Bloomington, Minnesota

  3:20 p.m. CST

  The wait since gearing up this morning had been terribly long. But now that they had arrived, Abdel felt a surge of excitement and destiny. A thin layer of ice crackled under the tires as Aamir pulled the rented Dodge Stratus into a space in the south surface parking lot at the Mall of America. Snow was falling, and the wind was blowing. Allah truly does control the weather, Abdel thought as he wrapped his dark blue knit scarf around his face.

  He undid the snap on the sleeve of his jacket and waited for Aamir to cut the tape. The scissors had been sitting on the dash, and the cold metal touching his skin sent an icy surge of adrenaline through his body. When it was done, he held the small red-button-topped cylinder in his left hand. He then mirrored the process with his brother, cutting the layers of white tape, being very careful not to catch skin.

  Only one thing was left to be done. Inside Aamir’s shirt, Abdel felt a small metal box attached to the hidden vest. He gently flicked a toggle switch on the box, arming the vest. Aamir did the same to his.

  �
��Remember, we will part ways at the escalators,” Aamir reviewed. “You will go to the fourth floor and position yourself by the escalator across from the cinema. I will get in line at the Timberland Twister roller coaster. At exactly 3:30, I will go to be with Allah. Thirty seconds later, one of our brothers will join me from the second floor. Thirty seconds after that, you come to meet me in heaven. Together, we will watch from on high as the last martyr joins us from the entrance to the east parking garage. Abdel, my dear brother, remain strong and show no mercy to those who deserve no mercy. And, whatever you do, when you hear the first blast, don’t look down; it will only steal your courage.”

  Their final hug was extraordinarily long. Neither brother wanted to let go of the other for the last time. Finally, after looking in each other’s eyes, they separated. They zipped their jackets, pulled on their gloves, and stepped out into the icy black slush. Together they crunched their way from the car. There was no need to lock the doors.

  * * *

  Scott Ross’s bladder was screaming. He was really beginning to question the wisdom of having taken up a position next to Healthy Express. In his hand was his third mango smoothie since arriving here just before 10 a.m. That was about five and a half hours ago. He shifted his legs back and forth, trying to ease the pressure. Across the way, he could see Jim Hicks standing in the window of American Eagle Outfitters. He knew that if he asked for a potty break, he could pretty much kiss any respect from Mr. Navy SEAL good-bye.

  Although police or CTD agents were covering the many entrances to the mall, Scott had picked the south entrance on a logical hunch. It was one of the four main entrances, which would allow the perps to blend with the heavy foot traffic. He knew they wouldn’t be coming in from the east or west parking garages; the protection from the elements that the parking garages provided would go directly against their desire to bundle up as much as possible. The decision for south over north had basically come down to his preference for smoothies from Healthy Express over frozen desserts from Freshens Yogurt. I guess too much frozen yogurt could have created a whole different set of problems.

  * * *

  Sweat poured down Abdel’s face and froze on his cheeks as the two brothers approached the entrance. His whole body was on edge. A sudden commotion to his right caught his attention. His thumb shifted to the detonator button. Looking over, he saw an older lady sprawled out on the sidewalk, bags spread all around her. A man was leaning over her, trying to help her back up.

  “Easy,” Abdel heard his brother say softly to him.

  They waited for the doors to clear; then Aamir held the door and the two men entered.

  The blast of hot air was almost disorienting when coming in from the frigid outside. The scents of peppermint, cinnamon, and popcorn filled Abdel’s senses. He automatically assessed the situation. It wasn’t the moving people he was concerned about; it was the stationary ones—people who could be watching for them. But as he scanned the surrounding areas, all he saw were a few teenage girls talking on their cell phones, a scruffy-looking guy in a trench coat hanging out at the juice bar, a family dividing up their cash, and singles and couples passing by, carrying bags of expensive, worthless junk out to their cars. They’re the lucky ones, Abdel thought. They made it out alive. But look at the thousands of people who won’t be so lucky.

  * * *

  All Scott’s old AFSOC training was coming back to him: his body control, his mental focus, his ability to rapidly process a potential target to know whether to move in or to stand down. It’s too bad old Pach isn’t here for this. He’d be—

  Suddenly his heart froze at the same time his adrenaline spiked. Walking right toward him, unwrapping a blue scarf from his face, was Abdel al-Hasani. The taller man next to him had to be his brother.

  He brought his smoothie to his mouth and spoke around his straw into the comm system on his wrist. “Boss, I’ve got the al-Hasani brothers.”

  Scott saw Hicks look his way; then he deliberately shifted his eyes to where he could still see the al-Hasani brothers, knowing Hicks would follow his gaze.

  A moment later Scott heard Hicks’s voice in his earpiece. “Everyone on comm, this is Hicks. Only essential chatter. All teams high alert. We’ve got a visual on the al-Hasani brothers. Four Team and Six Team, get ready to follow up our takedown. Everyone else, find any others.”

  Scott locked eyes with Hicks across the corridor and again heard Hicks’s voice, this time directed only to him. “Okay, easy does it, Weatherman. If these guys suspect anything, it’s all over.”

  Slowly, the two men slipped out after their prey.

  * * *

  As the brothers bumped and pushed their way through the crowds, the detonator Abdel carried felt heavier and heavier. The pressure of his grip increased to keep the cylinder from slipping out of his shaky, sweaty hand. He carried it as he’d been taught, with his thumb next to the button but not on it—too big a chance for an accident. This attack was perfectly planned to cause the greatest amount of terror among the shoppers in the mall . . . and the people of America. It wouldn’t do for the bombs to go off too early.

  What was that? The trench coat man is moving. Abdel’s thumb instinctively twitched. Steady. They can’t know we’re here. Just keep it together. The man seemed to be looking straight ahead. Relax. He doesn’t even notice me. Why should he?

  * * *

  Jim Hicks walked out the door of American Eagle and slid in purposefully behind the larger of the two brothers. Come on, Aamir, give me an opening, he thought. He glanced to his left and saw Scott gradually shifting his course to come up behind Abdel. Not bad moves for a flyboy.

  As the two men slowly followed the brothers through the bustling crowd, Hicks’s mind raced. He had no doubt that the hand buried deep in a pocket of the terrorist’s parka held a detonating device. How to separate the device from the hand without the bomb going off was the seemingly impossible question.

  Hicks looked ahead and saw an escalator. Going up will make it even harder for the snipers to get a clear shot. We gotta move fast. Think!

  He shot a glance toward Scott. As he did, he saw Aamir give his brother’s arm a squeeze, then break right, skirting the escalator. Hicks followed him, while Scott stayed with the younger man. Quickly glancing at Scott boarding the escalator immediately behind Abdel, he thought, Why’d I let a rookie in on this? If he takes him down too soon, the commotion will cause this guy to detonate. Patience, Weatherman. Patience.

  * * *

  Aamir al-Hasani knew that clutching his brother’s arm just before they split up had been against the rules they had established, but he couldn’t help it. The pride he had in his brother and in his family was overwhelming. He glanced one last time at his brother going up the escalator, but instead his eyes locked with the man behind Abdel. Isn’t he the man in the trench coat from the juice store?

  Aamir saw something in the man’s eyes—recognition. He knows who we are! The plan’s been betrayed! His thumb moved over the red button. Allah, this isn’t the plan, but I must do it now!

  Throwing open his jacket, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “Allahu ak—”

  * * *

  Hicks saw Aamir look up at Scott and knew that he had been made. But he also realized that the detonator was now out in the open. He had just seconds to act. “Code red! My guy! Take the shot! Take the shot!”

  A CTD sniper who had been following Aamir with his crosshairs and half depressing the trigger of his M24 SWS eased his finger back the rest of the way. The 7.62 mm round exited the barrel of the rifle traveling at 2,800 feet per second and a tiny fraction of a second later exploded the head of Aamir al-Hasani.

  * * *

  As they reached the top of the escalator, Scott saw what was happening on the ground level, but the noise of the mall had kept Aamir’s cry from Abdel’s ears. However, the surrounding din would not drown out the screams of the mall patrons when they recognized what had just happened.

  Instinctively, Scott acted
. He slid his knife out of the sheath in the small of his back, grabbed Abdel’s left arm, and drove the ASEK’s five-inch blade deep into the man’s armpit. That moment of shock was all Scott needed to pull Abdel’s hand out of his pocket and sweep his legs out from under him. Then, pulling the blade out, Scott shifted it to his other hand and drove it through the back of Abdel’s wrist and into the wood of a bench. The detonator dropped to the ground.

  * * *

  Hicks dove for Aamir’s lifeless left hand and removed the detonator, acting more out of instinct than need. Quickly glancing up the escalator, he saw that Abdel was down, and his left hand was pinned to a wooden bench with a combat knife. Scott was leaning over the younger brother with a handgun pressed to his forehead. “LOCK DOWN! LOCK DOWN!” Hicks commanded into his comm, giving the order for all entrances to be closed. He was grateful to see Six Team converging on Scott’s position.

  People were screaming and running all around him. Hicks pulled out the neck chain holding his badge just so no one would get the wrong idea about what was happening and try something foolish.

  Suddenly, Hicks’s insides churned, and the glass all around him shook. An instant later a deafening noise assaulted his ears. Hicks looked up at Scott, but the explosion was too distant to have come from Abdel.

  Hicks ran in the direction the shock wave had come from as Scott bounded down the up escalator and jumped over the handrail from eight steps up. Getting through the mass of panicked people was nearly impossible. Parents were searching for their children in the amusement park. Others were running and pushing, trying to get to the parking garages. Here and there were individuals and small groups who, stunned by the mayhem, just sat down, unsure of what to do.