"Director, NYPD is here. They're going to be upset. You'd better make some calls."
"I'll call you back," Elizabeth said.
CHAPTER 52
Dayoud sat in one of the many anonymous restaurants that peppered the city, drinking a cup of coffee and thinking about his next move. Hamid and Amin were dead. At least he hoped they were dead. There had been two gunshots. Or was it three? He wasn't sure. Either way, he was the last one left. The entire mission had turned out to be a disaster. But if he was able to complete his part and release the sarin, that would surely earn him the place he deserved in Paradise.
He looked at his watch. It wouldn't be long until dark. Night time was best for the attack. The warm weather would help, bringing more infidels out onto the streets. By eight or nine o'clock, Times Square would be crowded with thousands of people, all bathed in the glare of bright lights and blazing neon that lit the area at night.
There would be tourists from other parts of the country. There would be women selling themselves, con artists looking to fleece the unwary, people looking for sex or to get high, thousands of others with nothing better to do than stand around hoping for something interesting to happen.
Tonight their hopes would come true, though it might be more than they'd bargained for. He'd release the gas and detonate the bomb he'd constructed. Many would die in the explosion, many more as the sarin dispersed. It was a terrible death, but the Americans deserved it. How many people had died under their bombs? His brother had been killed in Syria. His other brother, killed by the Jews in Lebanon. His grandfather tortured by the Shah's secret police, a victim of the American-backed regime.
He'd considered releasing the gas in the subway system, where it would be more contained. But Times Square was a symbol known throughout the world, and it had the advantage of being highly visible. It would be difficult for the American authorities to cover up hundreds of dead bodies lying out in the open. Their media would make sure of that. With luck, it would be thousands. There would be panic, people trampled underfoot as the crowd tried to flee.
Chaos, in the heart of the Great Satan.
It would rival the attack on the Twin Towers as a blow against the infidel. Dayoud knew his name would be remembered, forever.
Allah would be pleased.
Dayoud finished his coffee, paid his bill, and left the restaurant. He began walking uptown. The carryall with the gas and bomb was stored in a locker at Grand Central Station. He had plenty of time to get the bag and make his way across town to the target. Still, he felt impatient. Perhaps he shouldn't wait until nighttime.
How had the Americans discovered the apartment? Now they would be looking for him. Dayoud couldn't think of anything he or the others had done to give themselves away. Well, there wasn't any point in brooding about it.
He took a blue pill from his pocket and swallowed it. The effect would last for many hours, more time than he needed. As he walked, Dayoud tried to think if there was anything in the apartment that might give the police a way to find him.
The map! The map was on the table!
Dayoud stopped dead in his tracks. Someone bumped into him.
"Hey, watch it buddy."
The man gave him a hard look and walked on.
Dayoud started walking again.
They have the map. They know the targets.
As he waited at a corner for the light to change, Dayoud considered his options. He could still go to Times Square. They probably didn't know what he looked like. But with Times Square identified as a target, surveillance would be heavy, security tightened. They'd be looking for anyone with a backpack or a bag or a satchel.
It was too much of a risk. Reluctantly, he crossed off Times Square in his mind.
He felt the first effects of the blue pill, an easing of tension in his body. He hadn't been aware of how tense he was until that moment. At the same time, with the release of tension came a flush of energy. He felt alive, strong. The map and the loss of his comrades was a setback, but he still had the gas and the bomb.
New York was a big city. There were many worthwhile targets.
CHAPTER 53
It was a warm evening outside the police station where Amin was being held. The streets were filling with people out for a pleasant stroll. Nick would have preferred a snowstorm, instead of the spring-like weather. Snow and cold would have kept potential victims off the streets. Nick had no doubt that the third man was plotting carnage. The only way they were going to stop him was to get the surviving terrorist to talk.
So far, Amin had refused to say anything. He sat cuffed to a table in an interview room, mumbling prayers to himself. No one had bothered to clean him up. Hamid's blood was still on his clothes and in his hair.
Nick and Selena stood behind a one-way observation window, looking at the prisoner. The room was crowded. An FBI agent had shown up at the apartment and was now standing with them. A police lieutenant named Holland, a detective sergeant from the station, and someone from Homeland Security were also present. Nick would not have been surprised if more people from the alphabet soup of intelligence and security agencies showed up as well.
"Has he asked for a lawyer?" Nick said.
"Not yet," Holland said. "It wouldn't do him any good. He's being held under the Patriot Act. He doesn't get a lawyer even if he wants one, at least not yet."
"His buddy is out there planning something," Nick said. "We have to find a way to get this guy to open up."
"SWAT teams are on site at all three of the places marked on that map," Holland said. "Half the force is out there watching for anyone suspicious. The mayor has been informed. He's made it clear that if we start profiling, heads will roll."
"Meaning that stopping a man carrying a bomb who looks Middle Eastern could cost someone their badge," Nick said.
"Welcome to New York," Holland said.
The FBI agent pointed at Amin.
"All this guy does is repeat that stupid prayer. Maybe we need to get rough with him."
"We do that, the ACLU will be all over us," Holland said.
Selena looked through the glass. "I have an idea."
The agent looked at her. "You have an idea, lady?" His voice was dismissive.
Oh, boy, Nick thought.
Selena looked at him. "Lady? Is that what you called me?"
"You'd rather be called something else? Babe, maybe?" He grinned at her.
Selena stepped close, reached up with her thumb and forefinger, and pinched a nerve center near his neck. He grimaced in pain, paralyzed.
"Ahhh… Let go."
"You can address me as ma'am. Would you like to hear my idea?"
"Yeah, let go."
"Let go, what?"
"Let go, ma'am."
"Are you sure?" Selena said.
"Yeah, let go. Please."
"It always pays to be polite to a lady," she said.
She gave a final squeeze and dropped her hand away. The FBI man reached up and rubbed where she'd been pinching. His face was beet red. He turned to Holland.
"I want her arrested. She assaulted a federal officer."
"You'd like me to arrest her?"
"You saw what she did."
Lieutenant Holland looked at his sergeant.
"Get this asshole out of here."
"My pleasure, sir."
The detective gripped the FBI man's elbow and moved him toward the door.
"You can't do this. I'll have your badges for this."
He was still protesting when the door closed behind him.
"I enjoyed that," Holland said. "I've seen that guy before. He's from the local field office. Thinks he's Hoover's gift to law enforcement. That was a neat trick you pulled, ma'am."
"It's Selena to you, Lieutenant. I hope you don't get in any trouble over that."