Zuabi and al-Nasseri sat back, their shoulders slumped, resigned to the fact that their fate was decided. “Allahu akbar,” they replied together, though with noticeably less enthusiasm.
The vehicle drove on northwards within Manhattan then crossed over into the Bronx. Ten minutes later the sedan stopped next to an expansive area of woodland reserve.
Bomani took an old rag and started to carefully wipe down the steering wheel, dash and any other part of the vehicle he had touched. “Gather everything you brought with you and follow me.”
Bashir watched as their driver opened his door and stepped outside. “What about our fingerprints — do you want us to wipe down what we’ve touched?”
Bomani smiled. “There is no point.”
The two young men looked at each other, startled.
With one last look at the vehicle, Bomani was satisfied. He wound down the driver’s window and left the keys in the ignition. Hopefully, he thought, that will be enough.
As they moved deeper into the reserve, with its tall trees and dense undergrowth, Yusuf and Bashir had to hustle to stay close behind Bomani, not letting him out of their sight. Bomani seemed to know where he was going, as the suburban noises gave way to the unfamiliar sights and sounds of wildlife.
Seven minutes on the trees started to space out a bit further and light began to thrust itself down through the canopy to the three men below. Bomani stopped and gathered his bearings. They had come to the other side of the reserve — gradually the noise of everyday life grew louder. Instead of walking out onto the sidewalk, they remained in the cover of the trees and continued walking parallel to the road. A further five minutes went by. Both Yusuf and Bashir were over hiking and thankful when Bomani pulled up and left the trees for the sidewalk. He walked directly across the road to what appeared to be a group of old buildings, a pre-demolition area of abandoned warehousing. The younger two pulled their baseball caps as far down on their heads as possible, both feeling the eyes of the world were watching their every move. A siren from a police car blared in the distance. They looked at each other and prayed it didn’t come any closer.
“Here it is. Help me open the doors.” Bomani took a key and unlocked a padlock on a pair of old wooden doors. Inside, once their eyes became accustomed to the dim light, they saw a large SUV, its hood and front grille facing the doors.
“One of you get in, the other lock the doors when we leave. Make sure you have our canisters with you.”
The green 95 Ford Explorer’s engine started with a puff of smoke from the exhaust and pulled out onto the road. Bashir pulled the rickety doors shut and secured them with the padlock before clambering into the rear.
“Can you at least give us some idea where we’re going?” he asked.
Bomani looked into the rear vision mirror and shifted it slightly so he could see his back-seat passenger. “Your name is Bashir Zuabi, you are twenty-four years old, born to Nizar and Rasha in the American state of New York. You were raised in Islam but it was not until you visited your motherland three years ago that you became a true believer. You met Karam Azrak who showed you our order and the meaning of life and Allah. I know much more about you, more than you would care for me to say in front of your friend. I now think for you. I know where we are going. You don’t need to.”
“How do you know about me? How could you?”
“Allah knows everything.”
Chapter Sixteen
Director Hall was still on the phone informing the Police Commissioner of the terrorist plot. Broadbank wasn’t happy about not being told earlier, but he had little choice but to comply with the instructions of Homeland Security. He was even less impressed when Hall told him explicitly not to identify the threat to anybody — and that included the Mayor.
“So what am I to do, Allan? Mobilize police, go to threat level orange — then not tell anyone what the threat is?”
“Exactly. Use the Advisory System, spread it far and wide, involve the public but do not — and I will repeat that, Denby — do not tell anyone the threat is bioterrorism. Not your 2IC, management team, not even the goddamned mayor. If this gets into the public arena, look out if you have any shares on the stock market — all hell will break loose, even if nothing eventuates. The nation’s competitors will jump on this. Shit, from what the experts are telling me, if this does get into our livestock, expect the US to lose billions of dollars. And Denby… I’m in direct contact with the President, so you better be more watertight than a duck’s ass. Hold on…”
Nicco was trying to get his attention.
“Sir, ‘the dashboard’ tracked the vehicle as it went north but we lost them when it went into the Bronx.”
“No cameras there?”
“Not a dickybird.”
“Denby, did you pick that up?”
“Not quite, I could hear you saying something about a dashboard?”
“Their last known location was entering the Bronx. The vehicle is a faded red sedan, registration number…” Hall clicked his fingers and Nicco handed him the written notes. “New York plates number P70 2AB, it’s a 1990 Nissan Maxima reported stolen two days ago.” Hall then read out the names and descriptions of the suspects and a partial description of the driver.
Commissioner Broadbank didn’t need telling twice. “I’ll go to orange straight away, we’ll say it’s another terrorist bomb threat. I’ll have personnel on the ground, with air support, scouring the last known area for the car and an APB over the entire state. Media will be advised. ”
“Appreciate that, Denby. I’ll keep you in touch.”
Hall replaced the telephone handset then issued a further set of orders. “I want to be connected to the police commissioners of every state bordering New York, we need to widen the umbrella. Where the hell is Director Lopez? This is turning into a right clusterfuck.”
Evangeline answered. “I saw her a minute ago, going into the ladies’ WC.”
“The what?”
“The WC.” It then occurred to Evangeline that she wasn’t in the UK. “Sorry, I mean the ladies’ restroom.”
“Forgive me, Doc, I should be apologizing to you for my language — and thanks for answering my question.” Hall turned and walked away, barking another instruction to all and sundry: “Let’s go now. Where the hang is Lilburn? And will someone get Director Lopez out of the fucking john. Jesus fucking wept.
“Let’s go. Get this motherfucker on the road.”
“Oh man, this just shit.”
“Waddup, blood?”
The five Bloods couldn’t believe their luck as they spotted the Nissan Maxima, keys in the ignition and doors unlocked. It was just screaming out to be taken, the opportunity too great to miss. Bundled into the car four pairs of eyes were scouring the surrounding area for any sign they may have been seen, while the driver was looking for the auto-shift lever.
“How the fuck ya drive this thing, man? It don’t say park, neutral, there’s no drive. Just this stick thing poking up.”
The boys all looked down at the manual gear shift. None of them had ever driven a manual car before. The driver yanked on the lever trying to pull and push it this way and that, to no avail. One of the boys in the back had a bright idea.
“Just start the engine and put your foot down.”
The driver did just that and as the engine turned over and caught the car violently lurched forward then stalled. Once again the driver tried the same and again the car lurched forward.