Now twenty-five years old, Jermar Bakal recalls that fateful day as he pulls up the master list of targets. He’s not a heartless man and he wonders about their actions today. But then he thinks about all the innocent lives lost, including his own mother, to American drone strikes and that sharpens his resolve.
Basir Nazeri has forbidden televisions in the building and also confiscated everyone’s phone last night, leaving the five students in the dark about the death and destruction they are currently unleashing on America’s citizens. And Jermar prefers it that way. He doesn’t know how the others feel, but for him he has no desire to witness the horrors of their actions. For him, it’s better the victims remain faceless and nameless. Not a strong-willed man, the less he knows the better. In his mind, he likens their activities to those of the faceless drone pilots who rain down death from afar.
“Bakal, why are you hesitating?” Nazeri asks, standing behind him and looking over Jermar’s shoulder.
Jermar is surprised that Nazeri snuck up behind him. The man can do that sometimes almost as if he’s a ghost. Jermar turns and looks up at Nazeri. “I am not. I’m attempting to find a suitable target.”
Nazeri points at the computer screen. “A suitable target is the next one on the list. Get on with it.”
Nazeri is always pushing, but this time Jermar pushes back. “Why are you here? We”—Jermar waves at the four other men—“are here for a reason. What is yours?” Jermar surprises himself by the sudden outburst.
“I’m here because I have paid your bills for the last eight years of your miserable, pitiful life.” Nazeri glances at those gathered around the conference table. “And that goes for all of you. I now own you.” Nazeri turns his penetrating gaze back on Jermar. “Did you think I was doing that out of the goodness of my heart? I was not. Do not ever question my reasons for being here. Is that understood?”
Seething inside, Jermar wants to stand and punch Nazeri in the mouth yet he knows he’s no match for the much larger man. Instead, gritting his teeth, he nods.
“Good. I am glad we had an opportunity to get that small piece of business out of the way. Continue on, everyone. As for you, Jermar, select the next target and launch your attack.” Nazeri moves back to his position at the head of the table and sits.
A tall, lanky young man, Jermar vows to get even and he begins plotting payback for Nazeri as he pulls up the next target, another chemical plant. After surveying the list of programmable logic controllers at the plant, Jermar launches two of the malware’s payloads that will allow him control of the thousands of valves inside the facility.
CHAPTER 21
The WaveFront Water Park, a very popular summer destination for families, is located twenty-five miles south of downtown Seattle and two miles east of New Tacoma, a busy port and industrial complex. With no federal regulations and few local zoning ordinances addressing the siting of chemical facilities, the area around New Tacoma grew with residential neighborhoods and local businesses, such as the WaveFront Water Park. As Washington’s only water and theme park, it draws people from all across the state.
Melissa (Missy) Dwyer is one of today’s visitors at the seventy-acre wonderland. And she’s not alone. Her son, Dylan, conned her into chaperoning a group of twelve-year-old boys for an end-of-summer shebang. And now Missy is trying to corral ten preteens with an overabundance of hormones who can’t seem to stop gawking at the girls in their two-piece bikinis. And no wonder, Missy thinks. Some of the swimsuits are little more than dental floss and itty-bitty pieces of fabric. Missy shakes her head and clucks her tongue as another group of teenage girls prances by, their butts hanging out for the entire world to see. She wonders what the parents were thinking when they purchased the swimsuits.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” Dylan whines, plopping down on the end of Missy’s lounger.
“Go play. We’ll eat later.”
“But I’m hungry.”
Missy is kicking herself for not smuggling in snacks from home, knowing that ten boys could eat through a grocery store and not leave a crumb behind. She sighs, digging through her bag of sunscreen and swim goggles to retrieve the small waterproof case holding her cash. She peels off a five and hands it to Dylan. “Try to find something healthy, please. No funnel cakes and no ice cream.” Dylan is paying little attention to his mother, his gaze riveted on two scantily clad girls with long ponytails. “Dylan, did you hear me?”
Once the girls walk out of view, Dylan turns to look at his mother. “Huh?”
“Stop ogling the girls. I said, no sweets. Got it?”
“Sure, Mom,” he replies before scampering away.
Missy sighs and opens the People magazine she’d carted from home. She’s deep into an article on a high-profile divorce between two television stars — the second for her and the third for him — when one of her charges, Liam Grayson, comes running up. One of Missy’s least favorites among her son’s friends, Liam hovers over her, dripping water onto her magazine.
“Mrs. Dwyer, may I borrow five dollars?”
One of the deals Missy made with the other parents when she agreed to chaperone was that the boys would be responsible for paying for their own food and drink while at the park. But, as usual, Liam didn’t bring any money. “What do you need the money for, Liam?”
“I saw Dylan eating an ice cream cone and it really looks good, Mrs. Dwyer.”
Something about Liam just irritates the hell out of Missy. It could be that he’s Eddie Haskell reincarnated.
Missy mutters a curse word under her breath, angry at Dylan’s choice and angry at Liam’s parents for not sending money — again.
Missy opens her case and peels off another five, handing it to Liam. “I want you to pay me back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liam says before racing off.
“You’re welcome,” Missy shouts to his retreating backside. She stands and pushes her lounge chair deeper into the shade. It took a dozen blistered burns during her early years to convince Missy, a redhead, that the sun isn’t her friend. She did wear a bathing suit today, though — a tankini — but has yet to venture into the water. And not just because of the sun. Lithe and lean before birthing two kids, Missy is now carrying forty extra pounds on her small frame and she knows it’s not a good look for her. Even with visits to the gym and a low-carb diet, the pounds refuse to leave now that they’ve taken up residence on her thighs and belly. Her husband, Mike, hasn’t mentioned the extra weight — bless his soul — but their romps in the hay have tapered off over the last few years. Missy works hard to convince herself it’s because they’re busy with the kids’ activities, both Dylan’s and his older sister, Megan’s, and not a result of her ballooning weight. She glances up and pauses to watch a well-chiseled older man parade by. She sighs and returns to her magazine.
She’s into the meat of the article, finally finding out who cheated on whom, when there’s a massive explosion not far from the park. Missy clambers to her feet to see what’s going on. In the distance she can see a building engulfed in flames, the dark smoke roiling skyward. As the smoke drifts closer, blown by the coastal breeze, Missy’s nostrils flare at the scent of chlorine. She glances around to see if the workers are adding chemicals to the pool, but doesn’t see anyone with a bucket of chemicals in hand. People crowd against the fence, many with their cell phones out recording the scene, as the fireball rapidly expands. Missy looks around and notices that people are beginning to cough. She scans the crowd for her son and the other boys under her charge, but the crowd is too dense.