Tom Avitabile - The Hammer of God

As she entered the apartment, the smell of pot hung heavy in the air; that substance having also played a huge role in her transition to becoming one of the “cool” people. Then she heard a moan — a female moan. Impulsively, she stormed into the bedroom, her bedroom. There was Gary getting a Lewy from the Tramp! He was so wasted, he didn’t even hear her gasp. But the Tramp did. She just turned and, without missing a stroke, looked right into Ann’s eyes as she was consuming Ann’s boyfriend.

Treasure Ann opened her mouth and was surprised that not a sound came out. Eventually, she just turned and left the apartment. On the Bedford subway platform, she stood stunned. There was the rumble of the approaching Manhattan-bound L train, the sound swallowed her up, and her head pounded. She took two steps closer to the yellow grip mat that edged the last two feet between the platform and tracks. Maybe it was the residual of the contact high, but her head spun as the lights of the approaching train splashed along the grimy tiled wall of the station. She felt her body go limp and herself falling; the little voice inside of her didn’t object; she was okay with the idea of ending it all. As her body was collapsing, a woman screamed.

Number 1 was taking a roundabout way back to the Store amp; Lock. He had just met with two members of the Brooklyn cell who had formulated and stood by to execute the plan, which would have been his way out of the country. But now that the bomb had disappeared from the American authorities’ watch lists, he would never have to use the carefully prepared escape route that these men created, as the Americans would say, “just in case.” He had thought of killing them, so that they would not become a possible hole or loose end threat to his perfect plan. Instead, he invited them into the main plot. They were devout and committed and at least they could be useful even as just added gun power more than as soldiers, in the second diversion. He instructed them to report to a safe house in Trenton. There they would be watched for three days. If they didn’t draw any attention or surveillance teams, then they would be brought to the Store amp; Lock of which they had no clue existed.

This being the third subway he randomly boarded, he looked around the station to make sure no face or clothing piece was familiar and to check if anyone was paying any attention to him at all. He was watching the train pulling in when a scream turned his head in time to see the young girl beside him falling in front of the braking train. He instinctively reached out and pulled her to safety just as the cab of the train swept by the exact place where her head had been a split second before. She collapsed in his arms. Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, he walked her up the stairs to the open air.

They sat in a Starbucks as she sipped on a Chai Tea while he only had bottled water. He could see she was really young, not past 20. He could also see she was troubled.

“Where are your parents?” Number 1 asked.

“Utah. I left home without their approval.” She self-consciously cleaned up the table around her cup.

“Do you have anyone in New York?”

“I did until about a half hour ago.”

“So you would have killed yourself over a mere boy?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was just dizzy, woozy.”

“As you wish.”

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.

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.”