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Dog opened the door to Swale’s room on the first knock. Hellos and handshakes greeted Stickman, who needed no introduction to the Northern California crew. The men stood in slight awe, giving him what seemed like full credit for the embassy attack. Swale never said it was Stickman’s work, but what he refused to deny spoke much louder.
Everyone’s timely arrival at the Bloomington motel on Friday allowed them to prepare the attack for the next day, targeting heavy weekend shopping traffic.
At Stickman’s nod, Swale opened a handbag and removed the blocks of deadly C-4, lining them up on the bed like artillery pieces. Assiri, Foster and Kobeisi had no experience with the explosive. Only Dog was expert in its use. But expertise would eventually be of limited value. Once wired and secure in the worn backpacks Stickman had brought, the six men would primarily be carriers – unless detected.
“Thank you all for making the drive,” Stickman began. He almost added an Allah akbar for dramatic effect, but decided the mission itself lent enough suspense. “As you entered Bloomington and approached our motel I’m sure you noticed the Mall of America. It is, of course, huge and an American icon of sorts. Most important, it is our target.
“Since the attack on the Russian Embassy and the mid-air explosions of the two commuter planes in Hawaii, a few of our brothers have been arrested and charged with planning violent acts. But unfortunately, there have been no major successful attacks against the United States. We are going to radically change that.”
Stickman spoke calmly, with conviction but as a colleague, an equal. “Mall of America is a symbol of capitalist America. When the dust settles, the government and the media will – by speculation, not evidence – frantically conclude that the attacks in Washington and Hawaii and here are all connected. Because of you, my friends, most Americans will be gripped by fear. Anxiety will be their daily companion and this wretchedly excessive country will begin to slide into chaos.”
He was a little amazed with himself. He had never been a leader, let alone a motivator. But he believed he was holding the crew’s attention and mentally preparing them to accomplish more than they would have thought possible. Watching their faces, he found satisfaction in seeing their resolve harden. And he felt pride in his leadership.
“Americans are not like Israelis. Israelis have been fighting for what they see as their country for seventy years. They accept violence as a daily challenge. They are tough. Americans are weak. Americans freak out if their bus is late or the electricity goes off or there’s three inches of snow in the forecast.” He paused to smile. “Toilet paper becomes a scarce commodity, as if they can’t wipe their sensitive asses with a page of newspaper.”
There was amused laughter, and Stickman went on. “Those weaknesses are to be exploited but, my brothers, always remember to be cautious and patient. You can panic the general public, but law enforcement across the land – from local to federal – is very strong. Our network defeated them this time in order to deliver what we need to carry out tomorrow’s mission. But we are always living on the edge, working against long odds.
“After we attack the mall your first task must be to get to your homes and resume your lives with no one being the wiser. But be ready to respond to opportunities spawned by the fear and chaos that we will ignite tomorrow. All of you are Internet-savvy,” he continued, with a slight smile and forgiving glance at Swale, “so watch for opportunities to make guerrilla attacks that put you in little danger. Other shopping malls, sporting events. High school football games in Texas draw ten thousand people, can you believe it? Traditional old movie theaters seat a lot of people, too.
“If we can carry off new attacks, regularly, they will soon be a drumbeat. Brothers we don’t even know, in every corner of this bankrupt country, will follow our lead. Some of us may fall, but that is all right. Our efforts will make Americans afraid. Some will be afraid to go shopping and won’t spend their money. Some will be afraid to go to their jobs. Some will be afraid to leave their homes. And the response of law enforcement will have a huge price tag. Before long, that fear and that cost will combine to crush this evil country’s economy.”
There it was, a simple but possible outline for bringing America to its knees. The men were silent. Stickman relished the silence. They are weighing my words, and they are with me. It struck him that he had been thinking for a long time, mostly in his subconscious, about the potential for waging radical jihad. This is what my life has become, he suddenly realized. This is my vision. It is the product of the cold discipline he and Maple had imposed on themselves, quietly carrying out their disruptive, sometimes deadly missions, getting no credit over the years but relentlessly learning their craft until they were confident enough to launch that audacious attack on the Russian Embassy.
Swale had listened intently, hearing much of his own rationale for jihad, realizing those motives were deeply felt but never had been fully expressed. He had thought often about whether his efforts, and those of his crew, amounted to throwing dust at a camel or whether something more was possible. Now he believed they could help trigger a revolution. He knew, far better than Stickman, the resentment many Muslims harbored. His roots in his faith community were deep. He knew the anger that seethed, the resentment that kept building, as 9/11 was shamelessly used as an excuse for discrimination while demagogic politicians played the hate card for votes.
The men he led had never sought a broad perspective. They found excitement in their secret lives and the deadly intent they espoused. They were bolstered by the disruption they occasionally caused. If Americans died or were maimed in their sleuth attacks, their sense of religious righteousness and purpose was stroked.
Like Stickman and Maple, Swale did not make anonymous calls to claim credit for violence. He had avoided too much success, not wanting to become an oversized target for law enforcement. Also like Stickman and Maple, he and his people until now had committed acts as much for training value as to succeed at radical jihad. And while many Muslims were angry, Swale also knew his pursuit of violent jihad as a tenet of faith was distinctly a minority view among those with whom he worshipped. They held his definition of jihad in contempt, saw it as a black stain on the words of Allah. Hearing Stickman, such condemnation mattered less.
Swale accepted that trying to live deep in the shadows had blinded him to seeing how jihad by a few could be a catalyst for many. Stickman’s words had changed him. Now he could see himself and his men not only zealously embracing radical jihad but also linked to a much bigger cause, a worldwide revolution.
Stickman broke the silence. “People going to the Mall of America do not routinely have their purses and backpacks searched. There is no special security for what is called Theatres of Mall of America. There are fifteen theatres. Tomorrow morning I will review the movie schedules. Six of those theatres will be our targets. The movies I select will start as close to the same time as possible. I already know which ones are most popular and will consider that in picking the theaters. In mid-afternoon we will go to the mall, with explosives in our backpacks. We will go to the movies and leave our backpacks near as many people as possible, where they can do the most damage. Try to get aisle seats so you can exit easily. We will be on the road well before the dust settles. It should be getting dark by the time the law can set up roadblocks and start searching cars. That’s to our advantage. We’ll go over all of this in more detail tomorrow. Dog will prepare the backpacks tonight.”
He asked for questions but there were none. Swale was struck by Stickman’s lack of emotion in explaining how they would go about dispensing death and mayhem. Cold. Effective. He’s a harder man than I, Swale told himself.