Jason Elam - Monday Night Jihad

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.