John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York City
Amira followed the signs, heading for the area of the airport she had been instructed to go to, an area she imagined chosen to inflict the most damage. Apparently the blast would shatter windows and spread the contamination across the entire airport including the other terminals.
It truly was the work of Shaytan.
As she neared her final destination, her heart slammed against her ribcage and tears threatened to escape as she realized she had only moments left on this earth and she’d never see her children again.
It would soon be over.
All of it.
The suffering, the fear, the heartache.
Over.
She watched the thousands of people rushing past her, guards now working in an organized, coordinated effort, moving everyone in the same direction, flagging down anyone running, trying to keep things as orderly and as calm as possible.
She understood the terror in their eyes.
She had felt it.
Felt it every time her homeland had been bombed.
She could understand the anger.
She had felt it.
Felt it every time she had read of her brothers and sisters around the world being killed while they stood up for their rights as Muslims.
And she understood her purpose.
She was following their demands to save her family.
As the infidels would follow the demands of those back in her homeland to save themselves from any further attacks.
If she succeeded here today, if she fulfilled that responsibility thrust upon her against her will, she could not only save her family, but stop the killing everywhere. If the Americans were to leave the Middle East alone, then the killing would stop there, and with the Americans gone, there would be no need for her people to continue attacking them.
She was saving lives by taking lives.
Yet she knew deep down the killing wouldn’t stop. Despite what the propagandists would have the world believe, far more Muslims were killed by other Muslims than any other group, infidels a distant second. There was no greater enemy to a Muslim than another Muslim. Her family had learned that the hard way.
But there was one important fact that couldn’t be ignored in all this.
It was one thing for a Muslim to kill one of his own.
A totally other thing for an infidel to do so.
And the Americans insisted on continuing to kill Muslims, no matter who was in charge, and that was a sin answerable to Allah.
If she quoted her scripture, she could almost convince herself that what she was about to do was the right thing. She would die, yes, but she would die in service to Allah. Her afterlife would be eternal joy, and her children would be safe.
She froze.
They would be safe, wouldn’t they?
She glanced back at where she had come from, not sure of what to do.
They’re only safe if they leave.
She knew how those from her homeland would handle this situation. They would bring her children out here to die with her, hoping she would change her mind.
The Americans are good people.
She resumed her journey, taking a deep breath. The Americans were good people; they would never use children in such a fashion. She was certain they would have already been evacuated with the others, and it had been several minutes since the alarms had started.
They’re safe.
The Americans are good people.