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Returning from Afghanistan, Maple and Stickman settled on the Washington area, with its multitude of high value targets, as their base. They were guarded in all they did, knowing the opportunity one of those targets would someday offer.
By design, Maple’s construction jobs and Stickman’s computer contracts usually lasted no more than a year, creating a natural break when they would move on. Very good at what they did, employers tried to persuade them to stay, but offers were declined with the explanation that money had been saved, travel planned. They used the Internet sparingly, totally avoiding Facebook and Twitter or any social media that could contribute to profiles. Except for basics, purchases were as rare and innocuous as possible and usually made with cash. They avoided getting to know neighbors beyond a wave or casual nod, and neighbors grew accustomed to barely seeing them.
Some suspected the reclusive men were gay, which wasn’t true. But in keeping with their mission they were willing in large part to sacrifice relationships. Neither smoked or used drugs recreationally. They drank little and seldom ate out, frugal habits that helped finance travel. They avoided doing or saying anything suggesting even a passing interest in terrorist incidents that made the news. They made a conscious effort to never utter certain words, like jihad, or to let conversations carry them in certain directions, like the atrocities of the Islamic State. With two exceptions, they had no contact with other extremists. One exception was Stickman’s small group of Muslim friends in California. After 9/11 the group moved to the state’s rural north and surreptitiously committed extremist jihad, traveling around the country much like Maple and Stickman did. But there was a big difference in lifestyles. The Californians had families and, though living in the country, quietly put down roots in a nearby town. Stickman declined an invitation to join them, believing involvement with even a handful of families living in a remote area would exponentially increase chances of detection. He knew where to visit them, but seldom did. Although they had no clue where to find him, their mutual trust survived.
Mostly self-taught since the al-Qaeda training camp, Maple and Stickman were committed to polishing skills that could prove helpful. They enrolled in martial arts courses, though usually not together. Unless the instructor was unusually good, they seldom stayed for a second session. Articles on arms, munitions and survival techniques dominated their reading. They kept themselves in superb shape by running and using a gym set up in a spare bedroom of their rented house.
The terrorists were patient. In the years living near Point of Rocks they never carried out a mission locally. Reading The Washington Post and The New York Times helped them identify controversies in other parts of the U.S., mostly in urban areas large enough for them to blend in as tourists. They picked conflicts they could exploit, the goal being to make it appear those differences had turned violent. On some trips, a local antagonist died, often violently, sometimes mysteriously. Each time, Stickman and Maple learned valuable lessons about killing, with weapons ranging from knives to explosives. They learned how to dispose of weapons and other incriminating evidence, and honed their skills as stalkers and car thieves. They became expert at blending into a city’s fabric and at avoiding law enforcement dragnets that sometimes popped up after an attack. They hardened, gaining a practiced calm and ability to improvise under pressure. Stickman had an eye for spotting opportunities to plant incriminating evidence that cast suspicion on unsuspecting antagonists. Twice, innocent people were arrested and convicted, adding to the terrorists’ sense of accomplishment.
Their biggest success at entrapment came in Raleigh, where a well-regarded banker and a high-profile developer formed a partnership that soured. Stickman and Maple burglarized the elderly banker’s house on a rainy evening, believing he was out. He was not, and suffered a heart attack when frightened by the intruders. While Stickman waited with the dead banker, Maple stole the developer’s car, parking it near the banker’s house. When the banker failed to come to work the next day, police found his body and, nearby, a promotional umbrella bearing the developer’s company logo. His mechanic testified to having seen such an umbrella in the car’s trunk. A jury found the developer responsible for the banker’s heart attack and returned a manslaughter conviction.
Judging by press coverage, none of their crimes was labeled terrorism by authorities. Those crimes were, in fact, intended as terrorist acts, and there was frustration in not being able to publicly claim credit. But they had a long-term solution. They chronicled each mission as best they could, using time-dated video and still photography or tape recording their victims. Sometimes they got before and after shots of the crime scene. On a few missions they interviewed targets, either surreptitiously or while a victim begged for mercy. Neither of the terrorists much cared for torture, but they did mark and photograph some victims, knowing police would chronicle those same marks. Stickman and Maple stored records of their handiwork in a safe deposit box, intending to make it available to authorities – and the news media, if possible – at an appropriate time. Having grabbed the opportunity to shock the nation by attacking the Russian Embassy, that time could be fast approaching. But not, they had agreed, until they were apprehended or killed.
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They made the drive from Washington National Cathedral in near silence, occasionally changing radio channels in search of new developments – or any hint of having left damaging evidence behind. As Maple turned into the driveway leading to a nondescript one-story frame house, Stickman snapped off the radio. WTOP, like all local media – and nationwide for that matter – was focused on the attack non-stop. The rising death toll now included confirmation that the secretary of state was dead.
“All in all, it went as well as I hoped,” Stickman said.
“Better, except for that stupid man,” answered Maple.
“I know. At least the geezer I shot may be blamed for killing the cop, for a while anyway.”
“Next time I get to be the spotter. I saw damn near nothing except dust.”
“It was beautifully horrible for sure. Worse than anything I saw in Afghanistan, by far.”
“Good. Good.”
Maple pressed the garage door opener and drove in. With the door shut, he removed the rocket launcher from the trunk, taking it in the house to a hall closet. Opening the door, he turned a clothes hook to the right and tugged. A large section of closet wall pulled away, revealing a chamber well-supplied with munitions. They stowed the rocket launcher and, for now, their handguns.
“We’ll deal with the Glocks later. Let’s crank up the TV and fix something to eat.”
They soon learned of the five million dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of anyone responsible for the embassy attack.