6:12 A.M.
THE QUINN
197 VAN VORST STREET
JERSEY CITY, NEW JERSEY
Ali awoke at 6 A.M. without the need for his alarm clock. He found the text and read it again:
Sale of Victory 8:25 am when clouds appear
For Ali, his time in the United States had been brief, less than a year. He’d come in through California, on a student visa, to study at the University of California at Santa Barbara. His application had been a lie. Ali was twenty-four years old and had stopped going to school at fifteen after volunteering for Hezbollah.
Ali’s role—like hundreds of other volunteers—was straightforward. Upon the signal, he was to do his duty.
Any soldier selected was to be forever commemorated by Suleiman. Just to be selected was a great honor. Active shooter. All were from Hezbollah, Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Houthi, and Canadian Jihad.
Ali carried a large duffel bag to his Toyota Highlander, which was parked in a belowground garage a few blocks away from his apartment building. The Highlander was black and shiny. Ali kept it spotless. He had to. It was part of the agreement with Uber. In a strange way, he was proud of his time driving for Uber. He had a rating from his customers of 4.97. He’d saved most of his money.
Ali knew he might not survive today. He had already arranged to wire his remaining money to his father. He opened the rear and felt for the automatic rifle hidden near a spare tire. He shut the back, climbed in the driver’s seat, and headed for Manhattan.