The Hammer of God

The woman started to tremble and then broke out in tears. Number 1 offered her his napkin. She dabbed her eyes and then stammered, “I…I want to thank you for, for…saving my life.” Then she cried again.

“Well, I have to go,” Number 1 said.

“Wait; I owe you so much.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“No, you saved me.”

“I really must go.”

“What’s your name?”

Number 1 was stymied; he thought quick, “Mahmoud.”

“Are you a Muslim?”

“Yes.”

“I take Muslim history as part of my Middle Eastern Studies degree,” she said brightening up.

“I am happy for you. Now I must go.”

“But wait, where do you live?”

“New Jersey. I hope you feel better. Now I must go.”

As she objected, he walked out. She sat there for moment and then bolted out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Keeps On Ticking

Halliburton 602 suitcase: $339 dollars.

Radioactive waste from the nuclear medicine department of NYU hospital: $5,000 bribe to a Palestine-born custodial assistant.

A willing suicide bomber to create a secondary diversionary tactic to avert attention from the main plot: priceless.

Number 1 was amazed at how America’s shameless advertising was infiltrating his mind. More astounding was that he found any humor at all in this sacred work.

As for Number 3, Rodney, now alone in the safe house, he finally knew his destiny as Allah had willed. The lead container in the package on the table, which held the four ounces of barium with its 70 rads of deadly instant cancer causing, super-carcinogenic radiation bursting to get out, was the key piece. The rest of the small package he was delivering was C-4 plastic explosive provided by the Syrian Army, or someone in it.

The way Number 1 explained it to him, the lead shielding had to be breached prior to detonation to make the most effective dispersal of this dirty bomb. Since it was Allah’s will that, in his earlier role in the attack, Rodney would die when the suitcase bomb was given life, he was prepared for death and looked forward to his reward in the afterlife. The gestation period of cancer being weeks longer than his life expectancy — which was one hour after he exposed the deadly metal to the air — meant he could handle with impunity this massive dose of radioactivity for such a short interval. That interval being the time between detonating the dirty bomb and being vaporized by the suitcase nuke along with a million or more New Yorkers and, more importantly, the financial center of the world.

Rodney, who from this point forward thought of himself only as Rashid, checked the NJ Transit schedule for the train he would take into Pennsylvania Station, then looked at his watch. It was a Tag Heuer. He chided himself for not thinking of this sooner, but his brother would have liked to have had this watch. He should have left it to him and used a cheap Timex instead, but it never occurred to him until now that the watch was going to melt.

As he left, Number 1 knew he had just added another dimension of trickery to his expansive and ingenious plot. Rodney’s unfortunate run-in with the police offered him a second opportunity to add deception and confound the enemy. The first diversion so meticulously planned and trained for would still be executed as well, in no small part because of the fatwah against its primary target.

Adjunct Professor Mark Keller was frustrated. Treasure Ann had moved in with him and he made sure to be careful to avoid any appearance of impropriety or favoritism as she was still taking his Middle Eastern Studies class. He even gave her above average grades for work she didn’t have to hand in. This is why it hit him so hard that she was suddenly enamored with some stranger who “interceded” while she was dizzy on the subway. After a lackluster session of sex, in which he felt she wasn’t trying, he confronted her.

“What’s the matter, Treasure Ann?”

“What do you mean? Nothing is the matter.”

“Come on; you are just going through the motions here.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“What could you possibly have on your mind?”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“No, really! Your school or grades can’t be a problem. I mean you are fucking your teacher…or at least going through the motions.”

“Look, don’t think I am not grateful for you taking me in after Gary was such a jerk.”

“Grateful? I am supporting you, feeding you, clothing you! I deserve more than just grateful!”

“You know what? I can’t believe you said that! How dare you throw that in my face! You asked me to move in. In fact, you instigated my leaving Gary. ‘Our relationship no longer feeds my emotional, spiritual, and essential self.’”

“You needed clarity and…”

“You needed to control me.” She walked away.