social ills and political realities that she had been shielded from in her pristine Utah environment. She shortened her name to Ann to better fit in without having to be “the Mormon girl.” She soon started to become overwhelmed by the tremendous amount of information on the arrogances and prejudices the United States of America was inflicting on the rest of the world. It was then that she met Gary, an NYU student, who, even though his grades were nowhere near Ann’s, immediately set himself up as her mentor. Within a week, he had the 5’8 blonde with a healthy body and soft, endearing eyes, under his spell. She became his following of one. He mostly kept her in check by his never letting her feel as though she totally satisfied him. That kept her trying anything and everything to gain his approval.
Subservience was her pattern with men, whether they were in her family, her community, the men she met socially, or when she was working as a waitress one summer. She was emotionally damaged and her esteem was inexorably tied to the nearest male figure. Gary perfected his advantage by getting her to be his sexual convenience. Besides, blowjobs were what passed as “making out” these days. It was almost expected that the oral gratuity was part of the new courting ritual. On Astor Place, it was referred to as “pulling a Lewinsky” and eventually shortened to, “Getting a Lewy.” Of course, among the 20-somethings, only the Poly-Sci students had a clue what that ancient reference alluded to. The ultimate level of casual oral sex reached its pinnacle with the buy- in from young women, on something relegated as harmless, called “Rainbowing.” A young girl would “register” a unique shade of lipstick and transfer that shade indelibly onto a male’s member as a way to prove to
In all, it was the greatest scam ever perpetrated on young women. This new ethic was in many cases supported by their very mothers, who were operating under the same male oppression in their lives. This new rule about the oldest male urge benefitted from, and was taking cover under, the new cultural mores that if “
As she entered the apartment, the smell of pot hung heavy in the air; that substance having also played a huge role in her transition to becoming one of the “cool” people. Then she heard a moan — a female moan. Impulsively, she stormed into the bedroom,
Treasure Ann opened her mouth and was surprised that not a sound came out. Eventually, she just turned and left the apartment. On the Bedford subway platform, she stood stunned. There was the rumble of the approaching Manhattan-bound L train, the sound swallowed her up, and her head pounded. She took two steps closer to the yellow grip mat that edged the last two feet between the platform and tracks. Maybe it was the residual of the contact high, but her head spun as the lights of the approaching train splashed along the grimy tiled wall of the station. She felt her body go limp and herself falling; the little voice inside of her didn’t object; she was okay with the idea of ending it all. As her body was collapsing, a woman screamed.
Number 1 was taking a roundabout way back to the Store amp; Lock. He had just met with two members of the Brooklyn cell who had formulated and stood by to execute the plan, which would have been his way out of the country. But now that the bomb had disappeared from the American authorities’ watch lists, he would never have to use the carefully prepared escape route that these men created, as the Americans would say, “just in case.” He had thought of killing them, so that they would not become a possible hole or loose end threat to his perfect plan. Instead, he invited them into the main plot. They were devout and committed and at least they could be useful even as just added gun power more than as soldiers, in the second diversion. He instructed them to report to a safe house in Trenton. There they would be watched for three days. If they didn’t draw any attention or surveillance teams, then they would be brought to the Store amp; Lock of which they had no clue existed.
This being the third subway he randomly boarded, he looked around the station to make sure no face or clothing piece was familiar and to check if anyone was paying any attention to him at all. He was watching the train pulling in when a scream turned his head in time to see the young girl beside him falling in front of the braking train. He instinctively reached out and pulled her to safety just as the cab of the train swept by the exact place where her head had been a split second before. She collapsed in his arms. Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, he walked her up the stairs to the open air.
They sat in a Starbucks as she sipped on a Chai Tea while he only had bottled water. He could see she was really young, not past 20. He could also see she was troubled.
“Where are your parents?” Number 1 asked.
“Utah. I left home without their approval.” She self-consciously cleaned up the table around her cup.
“Do you have anyone in New York?”
“I did until about a half hour ago.”
“So you would have killed yourself over a mere boy?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was just dizzy, woozy.”
“As you wish.”
The woman started to tremble and then broke out in tears. Number 1 offered her his napkin. She dabbed her eyes and then stammered, “I…I want to thank you for, for…saving my life.” Then she cried again.
“Well, I have to go,” Number 1 said.
“Wait; I owe you so much.”
“You owe me nothing.”
“No, you saved me.”
“I really must go.”
“What’s your name?”
Number 1 was stymied; he thought quick, “Mahmoud.”
“Are you a Muslim?”
“Yes.”
“I take Muslim history as part of my Middle Eastern Studies degree,” she said brightening up.
“I am happy for you. Now I must go.”
“But wait, where do you live?”
“New Jersey. I hope you feel better. Now I must go.”
As she objected, he walked out. She sat there for moment and then bolted out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Number 1 was amazed at how America’s shameless advertising was infiltrating his mind. More astounding was that he found any humor at all in this sacred work.
As for Number 3, Rodney, now alone in the safe house, he finally knew his destiny as Allah had willed. The lead container in the package on the table, which held the four ounces of barium with its 70 rads of deadly instant cancer causing, super-carcinogenic radiation bursting to get out, was the key piece. The rest of the small package he was delivering was C-4 plastic explosive provided by the Syrian Army, or someone in it.
The way Number 1 explained it to him, the lead shielding had to be breached prior to detonation to make the most effective dispersal of this dirty bomb. Since it was Allah’s will that, in his earlier role in the attack, Rodney would die when the suitcase bomb was given life, he was prepared for death and looked forward to his reward in the afterlife. The gestation period of cancer being weeks longer than his life expectancy — which was one hour after
