John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York City
Almost there.
Amira glanced at the signs overhead, really not certain of whether she actually was, though she figured she must be, she having walked for almost fifteen minutes now.
Or was it longer?
For all she knew it could be shorter.
Her mind was awash with images of her life, her husband, his death, their plight, her children. Time was a concept lost to her with the knowledge that what she had left wasn’t hers, it taken from her by those who held her family captive, those who had forever changed their lives.
And knowing she must die to save them, it left her wondering about death itself, and what followed. Paradise awaited those who had devoted themselves to Islam and died in the service of Allah. What she was about to do was certainly in His service, but would she get the credit the sacrifice merited if it were executed against her will, if she didn’t fully embrace the cause for which she was about to die.
Did she have to believe what she was doing was right?
If I die, will Jannah await me, or eternal damnation?
If she detonated the bomb strapped to her chest unwillingly, it was murder, though if she did it willingly, embracing the twisted reasoning behind it, then it couldn’t possibly be murder. Could it? The motivation was to stop the bombings in her homeland. That would save lives, Muslim lives. Was it her fault those behind this were murderers? And were they? She had listened to Imam after Imam throughout her life telling her the infidels were dirty, filthy, pigs, heathens, stupid, corrupt, vile and any other adjective one could think of to describe someone in a negative fashion.
And they had quite often called for their forced conversion or death.
And these were supposed to be good men, men of God, telling her these things from the moment she could understand the words spoken by those around her.
Not all of them delivered the same message, though their implied meanings all suggested the same thing. Muslims were better than anyone else, and Allah wanted everyone to be Muslim.
If that were so, then would killing non-Muslims here today really matter? Would it affect her reward for her sacrifice?
It can’t.
But only if she believed in what she was doing. If she didn’t believe, then she couldn’t use the killing of the infidels as an excuse to forgive what she was about to do.
She slowed, closing her eyes slightly, thinking about everything. If the American infidels hadn’t gone into Iraq, then ISIL wouldn’t have been able to take over territory there. If the Americans hadn’t encouraged the Arab Spring, then the civil war in Syria would have never started. If these events hadn’t happened, then ISIL would never have existed.
Her home would still be there.
Her school.
Her students.
Her husband.
All would be alive if it weren’t for the creation of ISIL, and ISIL wouldn’t have been created if these infidels surrounding her had demanded their government leave the Middle East alone.
She opened her eyes and smiled.
She was where she needed to be.
And she was at peace with what she was about to do.
She looked around for a security camera, not finding anything, instead noticing some black orbs that seemed out of place.
That must be them.
It didn’t matter. She had no doubt she was on camera, and if these weren’t them, Allah would forgive her. She removed the robe covering the bomb and tossed it to the side. A woman nearby screamed and bolted, there almost no one here anymore, a few of those who remained stopping to pull out their cellphones and record her as they backed away.
Run you fools!
She shook her head.
They deserve to die if they think getting a video on the Internet is worth their lives.
She glanced down at the bomb strapped to her chest. It was heavy, three large canisters strapped to her, each about a half a meter long, filled with some sort of powdered suspension, it unlike any bomb she had ever seen or imagined. There were gray sticks between each one, they more like the explosives she was expecting, and a series of wires connecting everything, several bundled together by black tape, leading to the detonator she had squeezed tightly in her hand.
A detonator she had been told would trigger the bomb the moment she opened her hand.
The moment she finished her speech, a speech that would go down in history, a history forever altered by her actions here today.
She sucked in a deep breath.
And stared at the nearest orb.
“What I do today, I do for Allah and his children! For too long America has killed the peaceful followers of the one true faith, and today I am the instrument of Allah’s judgement. Today America will pay for all the innocent women and children it has killed. Though I die here today, I am but the first of many! If you want us to stop, then you will stop. Stop bombing our homes, stop supplying weapons, stop supporting dictators. Let us be free! Free to live our lives without interference from you!”
She gasped in a few breaths, the words flowing easily, she going beyond what she had been told to say, her chest swelling with confidence as she listened to the words coming from within her, from a place she never realized was there.
And suddenly she knew why she had been one of their mouthpieces.
It wasn’t just because she spoke English, it was because she was good at it. They had told her what she needed to convey, though she had decided what needed to be said. She had embellished the messages, delivered them with the gusto they demanded, but she had also felt it inside, just not realizing it until this moment. She had never needed to be so good at her job—she could have just delivered their words, yet she hadn’t.
And as she felt the fervor swell inside her, she realized it was a familiar feeling.
She had felt it every time she delivered a speech for consumption around the world, to inspire the true believers and strike fear into those who didn’t.
She was Muslim.
She was a believer.
And what she was doing was right.
“Should you not stop your attacks, your interference, we will kill you in your homes and in your streets, like you have killed us in our homes and in our streets. For we have arrived, and there is no way you will rid yourselves of us now!”
She raised the trigger, closing her eyes.
Adnan, I’m coming!
“Amira, wait!”
She froze, opening her eyes as she instantly recognized the voice.
Alexis Morrison.
Sherrie cursed, ducking in behind a counter as her boss’ daughter inserted herself into the situation. She was less than thirty feet away from Amira and had been about to make her move as soon as the woman had closed her eyes when Alexis had arrived.
What the hell is she doing here?
The place was almost empty, there only a few people now with their cellphones out, members of a generation raised to believe they were invulnerable, glorifying those who managed to capture exciting situations on video, especially if it meant putting their own lives at risk.
She thought sometimes that these morons honestly believed they couldn’t be killed, that because they were turning what was happening in real life into a film, that they couldn’t be hurt, just like the actors in a movie couldn’t be.
Are they truly that disconnected from the real world?
Having dealt with many of these people, some even friends of hers, she was afraid the answer was probably ‘yes’. If they survived, they were ‘brave’ for having risked their lives to document something that needed to be documented. If they didn’t, they were ‘victims’ of the person carrying out the dastardly deed. No mention would be made of the fact they could have left the area long ago and survived.
She wanted to start firing her weapon so they might actually flee to safety.
More likely they’d just turn their cameras on her.
Alexis was less than twenty feet from Amira, the terrorist—for that’s what she was now classified as—turning to face the woman. Sherrie was just out of Amira’s line of sight, but even a slight turn of her head would give away her position if she showed herself.
Alexis shouldn’t be there, and she was certain the woman’s father was freaking out right now, yet if she could somehow coordinate with her, she might just be able to get a hand on that detonator and save them all.
But it meant using her boss’ daughter.
If anything happens to her, he’ll kill you.
She sighed.
If anything happens to her, we’re all dead anyway.
She activated her comm.
“Control, is she miked?”
“Negative.”
Shit.