by David Spell
“Let’s make our way down the block to the front of the building,” Hollywood, the combat veteran ordered, taking command. “Josh, you’ve got point. Major, you follow him and I’ll bring up the rear. Keep watch for any more tangos showing up. The ones in DC were all armed with AKs and wearing suicide vests.”
The Afghan, Ghaazi, sat in the passenger seat of the burgundy Dodge Caravan, his AK-47 pointed at the floor. Abdi, a Somalian refugee, was behind him in the middle seat and the black American, Darius, was driving. No one had uttered a word on the drive from the safe house, each man alone with his thoughts as he prepared to sacrifice his life for Allah and the jihad.
The Afghan didn’t know what his companion’s motives were. His was very simple: redemption. He had failed Allah ten years earlier. At the time, he had been in a militant cell near Kandahar tasked with planting IEDs and ambushing American patrols. He had only been seventeen-years old at the time and had failed to kill any of the infidel soldiers.
Ghaazi had even had a couple of opportunities to shoot the enemy as they patrolled his village. He was ashamed to admit that he had been too scared to pull his rifle out from under the bed and cut the soldiers down. He still felt shame and embarrassment from his failure. The American Special Forces soldier who had trained them at the safe house might even have been one of the ones that he had let live. The man had not given them his name but had spoken to Ghaazi in Pashto, obviously having spent time in Afghanistan.
Now, older and more mature, Ghaazi felt at peace with himself and with Allah. He believed that Allah had forgiven him and was giving him a second chance to redeem himself. Today, I will not fail. Today, I’ll enter Paradise and claim my seventy-two virgins, he thought with a smile.
As Darius got them closer to their target, coming in from the east on Market Street, the three men could see the smoke cloud over the courthouse. The intersection was blocked and traffic was backing up in all directions. The other two cars containing the additional members of the Trenton team were approaching from different directions so that they could all have the most impact.
Three blocks from their destination, traffic came to a halt. Darius put the minivan into park, turned it off, withdrew the key, and reached for his own rifle.
“This is it, brothers,” the American Muslim said. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot. May Allah give us success!”
The Afghan pulled the charging handle of the AK to the rear and let it go forward. He motioned for the others to follow him as they exited the van and started moving up the sidewalk towards their destiny.
Matthews led the way out of the building onto the sidewalk, his 9mm Glock 17 held in a low ready stance. He wished he had his rifle and body armor but Estrada was right. A trip to the underground garage would have taken too long. He and Hollywood both pulled their Loudon County, Virginia, Sheriffs’ Department badges from under their shirts and let them hang from their chain in plain view.
All of the instructors for Century Tactical Solutions had been sworn in as reserve deputies for the local SO. In return, Century provided yearly training and qualifications for the department. Even though New Jersey was a long way from Virginia and the two visitors had no jurisdiction in Trenton, they hoped their badges might keep them from getting shot by friendly fire.
Now that they had a plan, the three men were able to put their own injuries and pain on hold. Once outside, the sounds of screams, sirens, and horns honking filled the air. Josh looked both ways, scanning for threats as he led them onto the crowded sidewalk. Market Street was packed with cars unable to move because of the blocked intersection at Market and Lincoln Highway. The area was full of people rushing towards the front of the courthouse to see what had happened. It was going to be difficult for police and fire to fight their way through this traffic, Josh thought.
Sudden movement caught Matthews’ attention just as Major Wilson and Estrada followed him outside. Three men with AKs were less than fifteen yards away running towards them, civilians moving aside at the sight of the heavily armed men. Hollywood saw them just as Josh challenged them.
“Police! Drop your weapons,” the former SWAT officer ordered, raising his Glock.
The lead man, who appeared to be from the Middle East, squeezed off two shots from his AK at Estrada. Hollywood was still moving and the 7.62x39 rounds barely missed him, striking the stone wall of the courthouse. The former LAPD cop’s pistol barked and the terrorist’s head snapped back, blood spraying his two companions. Hollywood was fifteen feet closer than Josh and immediately shifted his aim to a skinny, dark-skinned man further to the left. Rafael’s first 9mm hollow point struck him in the mouth and the second punched through his nose, sending him tumbling to the ground. As the remaining gunman was about to pull the trigger of his rifle, Josh fired a single shot from the Glock, striking him in the forehead. The terrorist collapsed in a heap next to his companions, his AK clattering to the sidewalk.
They watched the downed gunmen for a few seconds, looking for any signs of life. Estrada could see that each of the terrorists was wearing what looked like an explosive vest. He didn’t want to leave the bodies unattended. Someone might inadvertently attempt first-aid and set the explosive devices off.
“Major Wilson, can you stay with these suspects? I don’t want anyone to touch the bodies until the bomb squad has deactivated those vests. Josh and I’ll go on around to the front to see if we can help.”
The senior deputy started to protest, but the Hispanic warrior had taken charge and obviously knew what he was doing. Both of the SWAT instructors had performed as seasoned vets, cutting the three heavily-armed wannabe killers down before they could hurt anyone.
“Sure,” Wilson nodded. “Hurry in case there are any more of these bastards!”
Matthews and Estrada sprinted towards the front of the courthouse. From across the street, two uniformed figures rushed towards them. Hollywood and Josh stopped, keeping their pistols pointed at the ground and holding their badges out.
“We’re cops!” Matthews yelled, as the officers stopped ten feet away.
The newcomers both held AR-15 rifles with the muzzles at the low ready in case the two armed men turned out to be threats.
“What happened? Was that you guys shooting back there?” a dark-haired man with sergeant’s stripes asked, motioning with his thumb back down the block. The patches on their arms identified them as belonging to the Trenton Police Department.
“Yeah, we took out three tangos,” Hollywood answered. “AKs and suicide vests. Major Wilson is staying with the bodies so those vests don’t get set off by accident. We need to get around to the front of the building. We were inside for the explosion and I’m guessing it was a car bomb, but there was so much damage, we couldn’t even get to that side of the building. The guys we just killed were heading that way. They would’ve shot a bunch of people and then blown themselves up.”
Both officers’ eyes widened in surprise at the idea that they were under attack.
The sergeant nodded at his partner. “Call dispatch and let them know we’re with two deputies moving to the blast location on foot.”
The sergeant saw the blood on the other two men’s faces. “How bad are you guys hurt?”
Josh shrugged. “We can’t hear too good and we’ll have a hell of a headache later but we’re good to go.”
Sergeant Russo had assumed that the two deputies worked for the Mercer County SO. Matthews and Estrada weren’t going to take the time to correct him. Hollywood and Josh felt much better about their situation now that they had uniformed officers with them.
After Officer Dorsey had relayed the information to their HQ, the city officers led the way, their ARs ready for action. As they rounded the corner, they were all stunned by the carnage. A wide, gaping hole allowed them to see inside the destroyed lobby and records department of the municipal building.
An overturned van smoldered at the bottom of the steps. Bloody bodies were scattered around the sidewalk. A number of veh
icles that had simply been driving past on Lincoln Highway sat motionless in the street, their windows blown out, their occupants dead or seriously wounded and still trapped inside.
Four police cruisers, two fire trucks, and one ambulance had managed to get to the location before the traffic gridlocked. The first responders had rushed inside the courthouse, looking for the injured and wounded. A number of people had been trapped under the rubble, in some cases an arm or leg sticking out from underneath the debris. The responding police officers had not given any thought to the possibility of more terrorists, focusing on trying to help as many victims as they could.
The intersection was completely blocked with traffic stopped in every direction. People filled the streets as they abandoned their cars to see what had happened or even to offer their assistance. Sergeant Russo and Officer Dorsey stared at the scene not sure where they could do the most good.
Josh and Rafael both looked outward, wondering if any more terrorists were planning on making an appearance. The problem now was that with the crush of people rushing to the location, the protectors could not see beyond where they were at. A gunman or suicide bomber could get right up to the scene and let loose with their AKs or detonate their vests without being detected.
One of the fire engines had stopped in the middle of Lincoln Highway, almost directly in front of the municipal building.
“Sarge!” Matthews motioned to the big red vehicle, “Can you and Dorsey get on top of that fire truck and use the optics on your rifles to look for more bad guys? With the roads being clogged they’re going to have to come in on foot.”
“Good idea,” Russo replied. “Come on, Dorsey!”
In seconds, the officers were high enough to be able see over the traffic in all directions and had an excellent vantage point to provide security for the scene.
The other four terrorists had also gotten caught in the clogged streets caused by the car bomb. Jasmine and Hakim had driven in from the south but were stopped a quarter of a mile away. The American woman was driving with the Algerian in the passenger seat.
They had debated for several minutes as to whether or not they should abandon their beige Toyota Corolla and proceed on foot. Jasmine was from Trenton and understood the traffic patterns. The reason that they weren’t moving was because Calaso had successfully detonated her bomb. There was no way that this was going to get any better.
“I think we should wait a few more minutes to see if the traffic clears up,” Hakim suggested.
“It’s not gonna clear up. We need to walk! Come on,” she told her companion, pointing at the clock on the dashboard. “We need to get to the courthouse. We’re supposed to launch our attack in two minutes.”
“You’re a very bossy woman,” Hakim grumbled. “Muslim women are supposed to be more respectful.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Look, asshole, we’re probably gonna to be dead in the next fifteen minutes. I don’t want to hear any of your misogynistic shit.”
The Algerian glared at his partner, furious that she would speak to him that way. Before he could reply, however, she was out of the vehicle, taking the keys with her. She grabbed her AK-47 out of the backseat and chambered a round. Without another word, the American started walking as quickly as her cancer-ravaged body would allow. She wasn’t wearing a suicide vest like her partner, but she understood that today would be her last day on earth. Hakim angrily picked up his own rifle and followed, continuing to curse his partner.
Jasmine was only a nominal convert to Islam, hating the way that women were treated in the religion. She had been one of the founding members for the Black Lives Matter chapter in Trenton. BLM had been a way for her to fight back against the system that had oppressed her. Jasmine had been in and out of jail since her teens, for everything from shoplifting to prostitution to drug charges.
After being diagnosed with terminal ovarian cancer the year before at the age of forty-two, the woman had begun looking for something to believe in. Christianity was the white man’s religion and she had spent the last ten years fighting back against what she saw as systemic racism in American society. Even though she recoiled against some of the Quran’s teachings on women, at least Islam was a religion that catered more to black people.
Her last doctor’s appointment had revealed that the cancer had moved into other parts of her body, giving her just a few more months to live. When their leader had recruited her to strike a blow against the racist Trenton police and the court system, she knew this was an answer to her prayers. Now, Jasmine’s death meant something and would, hopefully, be quick and painless as opposed to wasting away as the cancer ravaged her body. Plus, the hundred thousand dollars that her mother would receive would allow her to move out of the bad neighborhood she had lived in her entire life.
Ja’mar and Leon were also not getting any closer to their target. Their silver VW Passat hadn’t moved in over five minutes, coming in from the west on Highway 29 near where it merged onto Market Street. The black smoke cloud rose over where they wanted to be, almost half a mile away.
“Man, we need to get over there. We gonna be late!” Ja’mar said, from the passenger seat.
“You in that big of a rush to die?” Leon asked.
“I want to go kill some cops and then I’ll be looking for my virgins. Them girls ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em!”
Leon sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s leave the car. Grab your rifle and let’s go shoot some pigs.”
Both men were wearing explosive vests and were committed to becoming martyrs. They had converted to Islam while in prison, Ja’mar for armed robbery and Leon for attempted murder. While many prison conversions didn’t last, the two felons truly believed that Islam was the way, that Mohammad was Allah’s prophet, and that by dying they would help to start the holy war that was needed to purge America of her many sins. The money would also be a blessing to their families and the seven children they had fathered between them with five different women.
Their AK-47s were up and ready as they started towards the Mercer County Municipal building. After running down the shoulder of Highway 29 for a quarter of a mile, they climbed the median and cut across the northbound lanes of the highway. Now, they just had to cross the massive parking area of the New Jersey Department of Agriculture. The far side of the lot actually exited directly in front of the courthouse onto Lincoln Highway.
“Hey, stop right there!” a voice yelled behind them, startling the gunmen. “Police officer! Drop your weapons!”
A young, off-duty African-American state police officer had watched the two armed men sprint onto the compound of the Department of Agriculture. He had just pulled his black Ford Mustang GT into the parking area from Market Street, intending to cut through to the courthouse to see if he could be of service. The men with AKs hurrying towards the crime scene caught his attention.
The soldiers of Allah turned, immediately opening fire at the officer as he triggered his own weapon, a 9mm Smith & Wesson M&P pistol. Two AK rounds slammed into the cop’s chest. He screamed in pain but kept pulling the trigger of his M&P even as he fell to the asphalt, one of his hollow points catching Leon in the abdomen, just under his explosive vest. The thug crumbled to the pavement, blood pumping out onto the ground. He stared at Ja’mar with wide eyes.
“I’m hit bad, bro,” the felon managed to grunt.
Ja’mar walked over to the fallen police officer, where the young man stared up at the AK with wide eyes, his life slipping away. The felon smiled and shot him point-blank in the face. After getting back to his friend, he shook his head.
“That punk cop is dead, bro. Them virgins still gonna be waitin’ on you. I’m gotta keep moving. Sorry, man. I’ll see you there.”
Leon didn’t acknowledge his companion, staring up at him through lifeless eyes. Ja’mar turned away, jogging towards the courthouse, ready to face his own destiny.
“Sarge! You see that?” Dorsey pointed over the top of his AR-15 down Lincoln Highway.
The two officers were crouched in the back of the fire engine, their rifles braced on the stainless steel rail that encircled the empty hose compartment of the truck.
A woman and a man, both carrying rifles, were moving their way, three hundred yards south of their position. The female had a pained but determined look on her face as she moved down the middle of the road between stopped cars.
The male had an olive complexion and sported short, dark hair with a bushy black beard. He was utilizing the sidewalk, keeping some distance between himself and his partner.
“Yeah, I see them. I’m watching the guy, you keep an eye on the woman. It looks like he’s wearing a suicide vest. What about her?”
“It doesn’t look like it,” Officer Dorsey answered, peering through his Aimpoint optics. “She’s wearing a BLM t-shirt but I can’t see a vest.”
The suspects closed to two hundred yards. Sergeant Russo knew they needed to stop them but didn’t want to set off another explosion. If the male detonated that vest, it would kill or maim everyone around him on the sidewalk or in their cars.
“Whenever you get a clear shot on the woman, take her out,” Russo ordered. “I got the guy.”
“You sure, Sarge?” the younger officer asked, unsure of himself. “They haven’t threatened anyone yet. Do we have enough to use deadly force?”
As Dorsey continued to observe the black woman getting closer and closer, a white man exited his stopped vehicle and pointed at the armed female as she approached him. Without slowing down, she pulled the trigger, the male falling beside his car, a shocked expression on his face.
“Oh, my God!” The young officer exclaimed, flipping the safety off on his rifle and lining up his shot.
At a hundred and fifty yards, Dorsey placed the red dot high on the woman’s chest and squeezed the trigger. The impact staggered her but she did not go down, raising the AK-47 and firing three rounds towards the courthouse. The police officer fired again, the second 5.56mm soft-point hitting the terrorist in the abdomen, doubling her over, and sending her to the asphalt.
