Darren Johnson - Arnesto Modesto - The World's Most Ineffectual Time Traveler

“Bomb!” he yelled, grabbing the top of the backpack with his right hand while pushing people away with his left. “Get away!” He threw the backpack as far and high up as he could over the barrier into the street. A few interspersed marathon runners would suffer far fewer casualties than a crowd. Hopefully.

He turned into the crowd, shouting, “Go! Go! Go!” as he brought his arms up to cover his own head. It was hard to move with so many people there. Still, there should be enough time. He realized he actually had no idea how far apart the blasts were. He had no idea they were only thirteen seconds apart. At least, they had been the last time. This time around, his interference by alerting the cops had, as it turned out, alerted Black Hat, speeding things up slightly.

He didn’t feel the blast when it knocked him and everyone else around him to the ground.

At first, he couldn’t hear anything, but soon heard a loud ringing and nothing else. There was white smoke all around.

As the ringing turned to screams and chaos, Arnesto realized he was unhurt, though he was shaken. He didn’t know if there were casualties, but he didn’t want to know. Not yet. Slowing getting to his feet and discovering he could walk, he knew there was still more he could do. Not tending the wounded, there were plenty of people to do that. No, it was more important to capture the suspects.

He took off in a run. It didn’t take long to see White Hat intermittently walking and jogging ahead of him. Man, he wanted to tackle that guy and beat the shit out of him. But no, that wouldn’t work for Arnesto for a multitude of reasons. Instead, he walked behind White Hat until they got to an intersection. Then, knowing which way he was going for at least the next block, he ran past him to the next intersection as fast as he could. He then turned around, phone at the ready, and started taking pictures in the general direction of the bombing, making sure the bomber was in the scene, while hoping not to arouse the bomber’s suspicion. After White Hat passed, Arnesto looked through the photos, found a couple good ones that clearly showed the bomber’s face, and sent them to the FBI.

He included the message, “White hat. It was him and his brother in the black hat. Get these assholes.”

Finally, he destroyed the phone.

Dhaka District

Bangladesh

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Afternoon

Bangladesh was a beautiful, verdant country. The heat and humidity were not unlike Massachusetts in the summer. After nearly being exploded in Boston, Arnesto felt he should probably get away for a little while, in case the feds were looking for the guy who threw the bomb. How could he have been so stupid?

He had another reason for coming to Bangladesh. It was because of something a coworker had said a couple days from now in his former life. He couldn’t remember the exact words, but it was something like, “All those people died in that factory, but the media still won’t shut up about the Boston Marathon.”

Upon arriving, he paid the rickshaw driver and looked up at his target: Rana Plaza, an eight-story, dilapidated eyesore. Soon, it would be collapsing, with or without Arnesto’s help.

He walked around it a few times, surveying the outside of the building. Points of entry, points of exit, and possible escape routes lead the list of which he made a mental note. Finally, he went inside.

He was surprised to see several shops — all he remembered of the place was that it was the site of one of the worst factory disasters in history. The factories were on the upper floors, including several floors built without a permit — in a building not intended for factory use — made from substandard materials — built on a pond. It’s a wonder the building lasted as long as it did.

The shops were small and didn’t appear to have many hiding places. Though the people were friendly to him, he was clearly a foreigner, and this made him feel even more conspicuous. His plan had been to hide somewhere until everyone went home for the night, but it was starting to look like he might have to break in after hours.

He almost didn’t notice the camera crew until he was on top of them. After putting some distance between them and himself, he observed from behind a couple of other observers who had gathered. He couldn’t figure out what they were recording, but the camera seemed aimed at the wall. Then he saw them.

Cracks. They were recording cracks in the wall. Cracks big enough to make one call a film crew. Had he missed them on his first pass or had they appeared since his arrival? One thing was certain — he was in the right place.

Someone ordered an evacuation soon after. Though it was unexpected, it gave him the opportunity he needed. Acting like he was supposed to be there, he alternated between directing evacuees and working his way upward. Eventually, he made it to the fifth floor, where he was able to sneak inside one of the now-deserted factories. He took note of his surroundings.

There were rows upon rows of sewing machines with some supplies scattered by the walls. At one end of the building were a couple of small offices while at the other end there was a generator. Behind the generator were a couple of small gas containers, while off to the side were a few large laundry carts that didn’t look like they were being used.

With the building evacuated, this might be the perfect moment to bring it down. He walked over to the window and looked out, then immediately changed his mind as he ducked down. Right, evacuated doesn’t mean sent home, it means evacuated to right outside the building. He cautiously raised his head to look out the window and saw roughly two thousand workers gathered a few stories below on the ground outside. Can’t exactly commit arson then run out the building in front of a few thousand eye witnesses. Besides, they’re too close, they’ll still get hurt. He turned his gaze toward the entrance in time to see a few men in construction helmets enter the building.

He slunk down again, deciding to wait until the inspection team went back out. After a long wait, he heard what sounded like crowd movement, so he again peeked out the window. For once, history was on Arnesto’s side. The workers were being sent home.

The building was his. There was no security, at least none that he saw, and there were no cameras watching the place. There also weren’t any smoke detectors or sprinklers. Sure, this would help him in his pursuit of arson, but he needed to make it big . What good would one little fire do if people still showed up to work the next day, only to have the building collapse on top of them?

Looking over at the generator, he decided to step up his game. He lifted the first gas tank and shook it. Empty. He lifted the second gas tank but didn’t shake it. There was half a gallon of gas inside. It would have to do.

First, Arnesto made sure he could, in fact, escape. The door leading out to the stairwell locked from the inside. From there it would be a cinch to run down the stairs and out a side door at the bottom. He couldn’t access the other factories or shop levels, but if the fire was big enough, he wouldn’t need to.

Second, he formed a makeshift fuse out of fabric and apparel. Unscrewing the gas cap on the generator, he stuck one end of the fuse inside while the rest continued down the side of the generator then along the floor between two rows of sewing machines. He then moistened the fuse with gasoline from the container.

Finally, he removed a lighter from his pocket and lit the far end. It took a moment, but the flame caught. He watched for a bit to make sure it progressed, then felt satisfied. He hurried out the door and down the stairs, then nonchalantly walked outside and away from the building. As he looked back, he could barely make out a tiny flicker in the fifth-floor window.