Jason Elam - Monday Night Jihad

So, scratch missiles… Pointy rectangles… Washington Monument… skyscrapers… turrets… turrets coming out of a square… or towers… Yeah, towers out of a square… a castle… Yeah, okay, good call; he’s probably going to hit one of the many southern California castles.

Scott took a deep pull on his Yoo-hoo without opening his eyes. Focus, focus! A church? Unlikely… and it doesn’t have the layout for a broadcasting zone… What if it is a castle… maybe a replica of some kind?… A castle next to a pyramid… Las Vegas? No, that dead border coyote points to Hakeem being in L.A., not Nevada… Is it a movie studio?

“Somebody call Tara and tell her to have her minions check for a studio lot that might have a castle and a pyramid on it,” Scott said as he blindly tossed his phone toward anyone who would catch it. “Speed dial 6!”

But a studio isn’t big enough… Not a pyramid… maybe a tent… A castle next to a tent? Sounds like a So-Cal used car lot… Not a tent… Maybe the pyramid’s a mountain… A castle next to a mountain?

Abruptly Scott’s eyes opened. “Oh no,” he said out loud. “Khadi, give me the computer!”

Scott typed a couple of words, tap-tap-tapped the backspace, corrected his typing. Everyone gathered around the screen, then gasped as they saw what he had brought up.

He pointed to an illustrated map as he read off the locations. “CC… to the left up here; AL… below it over here; MT… up top here; and TL… over on the far right. Folks, Hakeem’s not coming to the PFL Cup. We were set up. He’s gone to Disneyland.”

Sunday, February 1

Rose Bowl Stadium

Pasadena, California

4:15 p.m. PST

“Li, tell the folks at Edwards that we’re taking two of their Black Hawks!” Hicks yelled into his comm system as he ran with Khadi, Scott, Skeeter, and Riley through the tunnel under the stands. “I want one with rotors spinning in three minutes on the north fairways! You and the rest of the team will take the other one! Logan, let the control tower know we’re heading out and have them plot us a course so we don’t run into some idiot news chopper! Hummel and Kruse, let Director LeBlanc know what’s going on! Tell him we need SWAT at Disneyland ASAP and have him contact security at the park to let them know what’s going down! The rest of you, get out of those scoreboards and to the helipad-I want you off the ground no more than four minutes after us!”

Skeeter led the group as they came out into the sunlight. His shoulder was like the prow of an icebreaker as it cut through the solid mass of people. Scott was on the phone behind him, asking Tara Walsh to send full schematics of Disneyland to his Toughbook. Hicks and Khadi were immediately behind Scott, and Riley brought up the rear. The run had brought back Riley’s cough, and he seemed to be having a hard time keeping up.

Hicks could hear the assault helicopter winding up as they approached. As they broke through the row of trees lining the fairway at the golf course, he spotted the Black Hawk with its rotors up to speed. Twenty yards east, another helicopter was just starting its spin. Hicks and the others finished their run in a crouch and jumped into the cargo area.

Hicks gave the pilots a thumbs-up, and immediately the wheels left the ground. All five passengers slipped on helmets, adjusted their intercom mics, and gathered around Scott’s Toughbook screen.

Scott shouted over the sound of the helicopter, “Tara just sent me this architectural map. You can see the way the park kind of spokes out from the central hub of Cinderella’s castle.”

“Sleeping Beauty’s castle,” Riley corrected, causing the three men to give him a questioning look. “What? It’s written on the map!”

“Yeah, whatever, Pach,” Scott said with a grin.

“Just shut up and show us again where Sal had his Xs.”

“Each one was near the end of one of the spokes. You got Critter Country, Adventureland, Mickey’s Toontown, and Tomorrowland.”

“What about the big X?” Khadi asked.

“That one was halfway between the center hub and the end of the lower line. That would put it right about here,” Scott said, pointing right to the middle of Main Street, USA.

“Okay, so why all the Xs? What’s he got planned?” Hicks asked.

“Scott, pull up a Google Earth view of Disneyland,” Riley said. When the image was up, Riley leaned close to the screen. “Okay, I’m thinking back to when I was there as a kid. There were shops-tons of shops lining Main Street,” Riley remembered.

“Isn’t it the first thing you come to after you enter?” Scott asked.

“Yeah. I remember thinking it was pretty boring as a kid; I wanted to get to the real rides.”

Khadi pushed her way in front of the computer screen. “So, why all the X s? The most logical use for the markings are that they are bomb sites. But why bomb the extremities? There’s no real impact out there.”

“I hear you, Khadi,” Riley said. “The only other reason I can think of for X s is to indicate meet points. But it really seemed to me that Sal was planning on going this alone.”

“Quit telling me everything the X s aren’t and start telling me what they are!” Hicks commanded.

“They’re whip cracks,” came a deep voice. Everyone turned to see Skeeter leaning over Khadi’s shoulder, looking at the screen. “You got yourself a mule don’t wanna move, you crack him a whip ’crost his back. He’ll start movin’. That’s what hajji’s doing with those other four X s. He’s cracking his whip.”

“Of course,” Riley said. “You set off those blasts, people start running away. The only route clear of destruction is the one to the main entrance. But to get to the main entrance, they’ve got to squeeze through the Main Street funnel. Sal waits for the big rush down Main Street, and then he detonates the big one.”

“It fits,” Hicks said. “And it’s better than any other guess we’ve got.” He moved to the cockpit and asked the pilots to patch him through to Director LeBlanc.

While he waited, Hicks closed his eyes and visualized the satellite image. He saw the way all the paths converged on that one street, and the mental picture made him shudder. He prayed they weren’t too late.

Sunday, February 1

Disneyland

Anaheim, California

4:20 p.m. PST

Hakeem sat on a bench in the plaza at the end of Main Street, U.S.A. He wore earbuds connected to a radio that was tuned to the football game taking place less than an hour away. It was a fast game-a fact Hakeem appreciated. Timing was crucial, and the sooner he could get this over with, the better.

Stage one was complete. As soon as Hakeem had arrived, he had hidden the four small bombs in strategic spots around the park. The devices were concealed in shrink-wrapped cases of Disney DVD collector sets and had been given to him in a souvenir bag back at the house. If all went as planned, the small bombs would explode right as the second quarter came to an end. The big blast would come during halftime.

He turned the volume down a few notches so he could think. I wonder if Riley’s enjoying the PFL Cup, he mused. I wonder how he’s going to feel when he realizes he was within forty miles of stopping me. Sorry, buddy, but those forty miles might as well be around the world.

A light breeze came from the direction of a popcorn vendor. Hakeem breathed in deeply. I wonder what heaven smells like, he thought. The smell of the buttery popcorn became so distracting that he got up and moved to another bench out of the scent’s flight path.

The park was packed. Just like the day of the Daytona 500 brought thousands of people to Disney World, Hakeem knew that the PFL Cup was contributing to the crowd today. Everywhere he looked, there were smiling and laughing families. This truly was a dream come true for many of them. He had to admit that deep down he felt bad for these people, especially the children. But in any war, innocents must die. These children were not being murdered by him. Their fate had been determined a long time ago by the actions of their own government. Blame your president; don’t blame me.