“Plus you don’t have to kill yourself to do it,” Big Earv said.
“That’s not exactly the M.O. for these types of terrorists, but maybe times are changing,” Hawk said.
“We’re just a playing a hunch for now,” Alex said. “We can’t confirm any of this until we know where they are.”
Hawk snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. “Okay, so let’s say these guys were here. We’d have to see them leave at some point since the time that Wharton met with Blunt. And I’d almost bet it happened within hours.”
“I’m pulling satellite footage now of this location,” Alex said.
A couple minutes passed before she exhaled loudly. “Got it.”
“What is it?” Hawk asked.
“I’m watching them leave and following their vans.”
“Vans?”
“Yeah, there’s three of them,” Alex said. “Maybe one full of equipment and two for the men. I can’t really tell.”
“Where are they going?” Hawk asked.
“Hang on. I’m getting there,” Alex said. “Got it.”
She gave Hawk the address, and he punched it into his phone. “That’s not in East Harlem.”
“I know,” Alex said. “But it’s a property owned by Wharton’s real estate company.”
“And it’s just three blocks from Central Park.”
“What time is that concert set to begin?” Big Earv asked.
“Opening act is already on,” Hawk said. “We don’t have any time to waste.”
CHAPTER 44
TAHIR NAZARI BURIED his face in his hands and then took a deep breath. He was nervous about the operation and needed a moment to clear his head. After glancing at his watch, he gathered all of his men together.
“It is time for our Maghrib prayer,” he said as they surrounded him in a large, open room. “Let’s pray.”
The men spread out and fell to their knees to offer up their prayers to Allah. When they were finished, Nazari stood and faced everyone.
“History will be made tonight,” Nazari said as he pumped his fist. “This date will go down in infamy for these Americans. 9/11 will be a mere footnote after the destruction that we will rain down on these infidels in Central Park.”
The men roared, throwing their hands in the air, as if already victorious.
“There is still much work to be done, but I have full confidence in all of you. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for, our chance to avenge my brother’s death and to make the Americans pay for their sins. And may Allah have no mercy on their souls.”
Another shout went up.
Nazari raised his hands to quiet the men. “We’ve done nothing yet. But let’s seize this opportunity that Allah has given us. Don’t let a chance like this slip away. Now, go do your jobs as unto Allah and let Him have all the glory.”
The men cheered again before scattering to their work stations.
Nazari followed one group of men to a room on the top floor where they were preparing the drones. Each one was customized to hold three gallons of the specially formulated sarin gas. When aerosolized, it could have devastating effects, killing humans within ten minutes of inhaling the highly toxic fumes.
Workers put on hazmat suits and filled up the drone’s tanks. More than fifty machines lined the floor and were carefully filled by teams of three men. After they were finished, Nazari smiled as the windows were flung open.
“To borrow an American phrase, it’s showtime,” Nazari said with the wave of his hands.
One by one, the rotors on the machines whirred and lifted off the ground before exiting through the large window at the back of the room.
Energized by the parade of machines zipping out over the street below, Nazari rushed the command center where the men piloting the drones sat with split screens, navigating their machines toward Central Park. He smiled as he looked at the footage from one of the drones capturing the unfolding scene.
This is for you, Karif.
Nazari had struggled with his brother’s loss. Even though they were only half-brothers, Nazari still looked up to Karif. His death stung deep, something that had taken a couple of years to get over. But assuming the reins of Al Fatihin gave Nazari purpose again. Instead of simply grieving, he had an opportunity to strike back at the infidels who had stolen from him someone he loved dearly.
He watched on one television screen the massive crowd singing in unison to some of the Rolling Stones’ greatest hits. Everyone knew the words, smiling as they sang. Nazari shook his head, saddened over the fact that this was the height of culture for many Americans. This was their religion—partying, debauchery, rebellion.
But America would never forget this night, the night when they understood the depth of suffering in ways they’d never imagined as a collective nation. Pearl Harbor, 9/11 … those would be a drop in the bucket compared the destruction Nazari’s men were about to unleash.
And he couldn’t wait to watch.
* * *
BLUNT’S MOUTH GAPED as he listened to the voicemail from Alex. Despite his best efforts to get Wharton to care about doing the right thing for his country, Blunt realized he’d been duped.
Power is an intoxicating drug.
Blunt figured Wharton was due to receive some high-level position for his obedience. Either that, or he’d get to keep his life. No matter what the motivating factor, Blunt found it unconscionable that a sitting U.S. senator would sacrifice thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands, of his constituents for anything. Blunt had witnessed how resisting a blackmail scheme would earn you sympathy points in the court of public opinion if you documented and proved it. All he could assume was that Wharton was more corrupt than imaginably possible.
I swear he’ll never get away with this.
Blunt looked skyward and contemplated how to proceed. Everything was likely to get lost in the aftermath of the deadliest terrorist attack in the world’s history, unless his team could stop it. If they couldn’t pull it off, Blunt knew he needed to think a few steps ahead to prevent Wharton from escaping the consequences of his actions.
Blunt’s phone
