36: A Novel (2 page)

Abdul had praised his jihadist’s zeal, but had also cautioned him to do nothing more without first discussing it.  For several weeks he continued Trevor’s indoctrination, finally steering the conversation to the rewards given to the faithful in the afterlife.  Never even having had a girlfriend, Trevor was enthralled with the thought of a small army of virgins, waiting just for him.

The discussions were carefully steered until Abdul felt Trevor was ready.  When he began talking about an opportunity to strike at the heart of the infidels, Trevor’s heart had beaten faster and his breath had grown short in excitement.  Abdul elegantly painted a detailed portrait of what the young man’s life would be in Paradise.  When Trevor asked how to make it happen, the hook was set.

Events accelerated rapidly from that point.  Abdul, a top recruiter for the Islamic State, was in Turkey.  But one of numerous teams spread across North America were quickly moved to the Seattle area.  Trevor was given a method to contact them upon their arrival.

Late at night, he climbed out a window and slipped into the dark forest that backed to his parents’ property.  Five minutes later he reached a quiet residential street and was picked up by a man no more than a couple of years older than he was.  The driver didn’t speak.  Staying below the speed limit and carefully obeying every traffic law, he drove them from the quiet enclave of Redmond to a commercial area of nearby Kirkland.

There, in a hastily rented warehouse, Trevor was introduced to the team leader and got his first look at the white GMC box truck he would drive.  It was only a couple of years old and adorned with signage for a plumbing company that he’d never heard of, complete with a local phone number and website.

“The number works and will be answered if anyone checks, and the website is good, too,” the team leader assured him.

They spent the next two hours driving around the Kirkland area, getting on and off the freeway.  Trevor was behind the wheel, getting the feel for the vehicle.  The team leader sat in the passenger seat, giving him occasional tips and repeatedly cautioning him to hold his speed slightly under the legal limit.

He was driven home and was back in his room before the sun came up.  As he had been leaving the warehouse, each of the members of the team had hugged and kissed him on the cheek.  His heart swelled with pride as he realized they were showing him great respect.

“Be ready in two days,” the team leader had said in parting.  “Allahu Akbar!”

Trevor responded in kind, smiling all the way home.

Time had passed slowly.  The hardest thing for Trevor had been containing his excitement.  But he was an only child and both of his parents were busy.  They didn’t notice anything different about him.  Daydreaming to pass the time while he waited, he briefly considered killing them before he left.

It would have been simple.  Take one of the large, razor sharp knives from the kitchen and creep into their room while they were sleeping.  He knew his mother would be out from her nightly Ambien.  His father would be sleeping soundly from the five Scotches he consumed every evening after dinner.

They wouldn’t even know he was there until the blade slipped home.  But he had taken Abdul’s warning to heart.  No further actions without discussing them first, and Abdul had gone dark leading up to the strike.  He had explained it was necessary to maintain operational security, which was something Trevor thought he understood from watching spy movies.

He had let them live, but still experienced a visceral thrill in the knowledge that he could have ended their lives so easily.  On the day of the strike, they left for work early.  Each of them were already talking on their cell phones before they were out the door.  As soon as it closed, he texted the number given to him by the team leader.  Even though he was assured they hadn’t drawn the attention of the infidels’ law enforcement, he had been instructed to only send a simple, generic message of “whassup”.

If he had received anything back, it would have told him that the operation was compromised and he should do nothing further until contacted by Abdul.  He didn’t get a response, and three minutes later the same car and driver from before pulled to a stop in front of his house.

When they arrived at the warehouse in Kirkland, the team leader met Trevor at the door and greeted him warmly with hugs and a kiss.  Leading him inside, he steered the young man past the truck’s cargo area to the front driver side door.

“Drive carefully, just like you practiced.  The GPS is already programmed and will take you to the dock.  Here is money for the ferry toll.”

Trevor accepted the cash and shoved it into his pocket.  He was nervous and excited, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.  The leader recognized this and with a smile, placed his hand on Trevor’s shoulder.

“You are a young lion and I am very proud of you.  Abdul sends his love and respect.  Would you like to pray before you depart?”

“But it’s not the right time,” Trevor said after glancing at his watch.

“It is permitted for lions going into battle,” the team leader said, nodding his head.  “Allah will be pleased.”

Trevor nodded and together they spread prayer rugs on the concrete floor and faced to the east.  As they prayed, Trevor felt his mind begin to calm and his resolve harden.  By the time they were done, he was steady and prepared to go.

“Turn the headlights on high beam to activate the trigger,” the team leader said, making sure Trevor understood the instructions. 

  With additional praise, and reminders to drive carefully and not draw attention, the young Lion of Redmond was sent on his way.

Trevor’s phone rang again, his mother still trying to reach him.  He declined the call and powered the device down.  There was nothing he had to say to her, and nothing she had to say that he wanted to hear.

All around him, people had returned to their vehicles and started the engines in anticipation of loading onto the ferry.  The last car drove down the ramp and onto the dock, turning sharply and heading for the exit from the terminal.  Traffic control cones were moved, and a worker waved the first two lines of waiting vehicles forward.

They moved, each line being sent to opposite sides of the cavernous car deck.  Most of the passengers were locals and they drove quickly to the locations indicated by crew onboard the ferry.  There were tourists who didn’t know the routine and slowed the process.  They were quickly identified by the men and women overseeing the loading and given assistance in getting their vehicles to the correct location.

Trevor glanced in the mirror at the sounds of a commotion.  A person on a motorcycle was driving between two rows of waiting cars and the drivers were shouting and honking their horns at the severe breach in etiquette.  He watched long enough to satisfy himself it wasn’t a cop on the bike, then the line ahead of him began moving.

The truck was already in gear, Trevor holding it in place with the brake.  As soon as the Toyota sedan in front of him moved, he lifted his foot and followed.  The GMC’s tires thumped as he drove onto the ferry.  The Toyota was directed towards a ramp that swept up to a second car deck, but the crewman pointed at Trevor and waved him to continue straight forward into an area at the center of the large boat. 

He pulled to a stop behind another box truck and shut off the engine.  The nerves from earlier had turned to steely resolve.  He had the power of life and death over everyone on the ferry.  He was in complete control.  He was a Lion!

The loading continued for several minutes.  Vans and medium sized trucks filled the empty spots around the GMC.  Soon the vessel was fully loaded and Trevor jumped slightly when the Captain sounded the horn in preparation for sailing.  Moments later the diesel engines roared and he could feel their power vibrating the floor and seat of the truck.

Checking his watch, Trevor noted the time.  He had been instructed to turn the high beams on three minutes after the ferry left the dock.  The huge boat would still be within Eliot Bay and close enough to the Seattle docks for the disaster to be clearly visible from shore.  Maximum exposure, the team leader had called it.

Looking around, Trevor noted a crewman working his way through the parked vehicles.  He was looking inside each one, pausing to speak with the driver of a truck parked two hundred feet in front of the GMC.  After a moment, the crewman stepped back and the driver climbed down.

“They’re making drivers leave their cars,” Trevor thought to himself, panic threatening to take over.

He checked the clock again.  One minute gone, two to go.  The crewman said something else to the truck driver, who headed for a stairwell that led to the passenger decks above.  Trevor’s eyes flicked to the clock as the crewman continued his inspection, quickly approaching.

Two minutes gone.  Trevor’s eyes were glued to the crewman now, watching as the man drew closer.  He knew when he was spotted, knew it was only moments before he would be told to get out of the vehicle. 

Reaching out, he moved the turn signal lever forward until it clicked, setting the headlights to high.  On the dash was a small switch that rotated left to right with three stops.  Off, Parking, and Head Lights.  He placed his hand on it and checked the clock, prepared to turn the lights on the instant the clock showed three minutes had passed.

The crewman paused at the window of the box truck directly in front of his, speaking with another driver who had stayed with his vehicle.  Trevor checked the clock, but it wasn’t time.  He jumped and turned to his right when the passenger window suddenly exploded in a shower of glittering safety glass.

A woman with long, red hair met his eyes, thrusting something through the opening she had just made.  She was wearing a black leather jacket and black helmet with a clear face shield.  The motorcycle rider that had been cutting in line on the dock!

As her hand came into the cab, he recognized the object she held.  A gun!  Her eyes were locked on his as she gripped the weapon.  He saw it come in line with his face, the round hole in the muzzle appearing huge.  Then her finger was moving onto the trigger.  All Trevor could think to do was turn the switch.  So he did.  His brain registered a flash from the muzzle of the weapon, then nothing else.

When the GMC’s light switch was turned on, electricity from the battery flowed through the vehicle’s wiring harness, but was diverted before reaching the bulbs behind the lens covers in the front grill.  Newly installed wires carried the current to a series of blasting caps embedded in sixteen, 55 gallon drums riding in the back of the truck.

Each drum contained the same explosive combination of chemicals that had been used by Timothy McVeigh to bomb the federal building in Oklahoma City in 1995.  In total, the bomb driven by Trevor was the same size, weighing in at slightly over 7,000 pounds. 

The resulting explosion tore the ferry boat in half and shattered windows all along the Seattle waterfront.  In less than five minutes, the two halves of the devastated vessel sank beneath the calm waters of Puget Sound.  Over two thousand passengers and crew lost their lives.

2

“She failed,” Ian Patterson said when the large clock reached zero.

The clock was mounted high on a wall, above a set of thick windows that looked into a small chamber.  A round dais was in the middle of the room, surrounded by curved glass panels that slid open for access.  A powerful, low frequency hum came from beneath the floor.

 Turning, Patterson studied a muted TV screen.  It was tuned to CNN and footage of multiple Coast Guard ships spread across Seattle’s Eliot Bay was being broadcast live.

“Run the security footage from the docks,” he said to another technician.  “If she got close, we should be able to see it now.”

The TV screen went dark for a moment, then the image of Pier 52 in Seattle appeared. 

“There’s the truck,” FBI agent William Johnson said.

Patterson nodded, intently watching the display.  He watched as more cars arrived and took their place in the queue to board the ferry.  Soon the arrivals had completed driving off the boat and boarding began. 

“There!”

Agent Johnson pointed at a slight figure on a motorcycle, slowly driving along the back of each row of waiting cars.  The rider was dressed in all black with a black helmet, pausing at each space between rows and looking for something.

“How are you sure?”  Patterson asked without turning his attention away from the screen.

“She loves bikes, and I recognize her hair.”

Patterson didn’t say anything, looking closer at the thick mane of red hair that spilled from under the helmet and down the rider’s back. 

“She sees the target,” Johnson said softly.

On the screen, the rider had cranked the big bike to the side and accelerated down a gap between two lines of vehicles.  Arms were being waved by the waiting drivers and both men cursed softly when they saw the door of a pickup open suddenly, directly in the motorcycle’s path.  The rider barely stopped in time, a large man wearing jeans, work boots and a flannel shirt stepping out and yelling at her.

By the time she had backed up and squeezed through a gap between two cars, the white GMC truck had disappeared onto the ferry.  Weaving through moving vehicles, the rider chased after, having to stop again when a crewman stepped in her path and waved a minivan onto the boat ahead of her.  As soon as it was clear, she gunned the engine and shot forward, swerving around the crewman and going out of sight aboard the ferry.

The two men stood watching the footage as the last cars were loaded.  The ramp was retracted and minutes later the large vessel began moving away from the dock.  Patterson started a stopwatch function on his phone and looked at the timestamp on the screen as the ferry left the dock.  It was departing two seconds later than the last ten times he’d watched the same video.

“She caused a two second variation,” he said.

“How?”  Johnson asked.

“Maybe the commotion during the loading.  No way to know,” Patterson said.