“Oh no you don’t, you bastard,” he blurted out.
Farrah spun around in a move that took Jim by surprise. His arm came down so fast, Jim had no time to avoid the impact of the blow. With a loud pop, his elbow dislocated, eliciting a scream, but he did not let go of the man. Jim's wife stared wide-eyed. With a sudden flash of movement, she took Farrah unprepared, glanced at Jim’s damaged arm, back at Farrah, then lashed out with a slap to his face that was so hard a storm of white stars erupted across his vision. He staggered briefly, recovered, then unleashed a jab into the woman’s face. Blood spurt from her nose. She stumbled backwards, crying loudly as she fell into the fat family. The father tried to catch her, but tripped over the child, who fell onto the mother, who lost her footing and toppled over. The family thumped to the ground, a thousand pounds of flesh collapsing with a resounding thud almost equal to the explosion. The Nordic couple screamed in terror at the scene around them, any sense of superiority shattered by their panicked reaction. They backed away in horror, grasping each other as if it were their last day on earth. Jim grabbed Farrah with his good arm. Before he could release the grip of his injured arm, Farrah wrapped his own around it, yanked hard, then kneed him in the stomach. The multiple points of intense pain overwhelmed him. Jim crumpled to the ground, and Farrah escaped into the crowd.
Chapter 31
Rage built in Farrah's chest, swelling against his ribs and threating to expel his organs. He seethed as his mind processed what was happening. Kreshnik had detonated the explosives, but someone had released the pressure, and the park had not erupted into the hell of fire they had worked so hard to create. Worse than that, the realization was materializing in his mind that someone had apparently sabotaged the mortar shells. As much as his mind wanted a different explanation, he could find none. Kharzai, a man he had trusted, a man he had known to be a loyal member of the jihad, was a traitor.
Secret Service agents shuttled the President out of sight in the blink of an eye. Whatever his reaction had been, Farrah would never know thanks to the fool and his obnoxious wife. Revenge stolen from his grasp he moved through the panicking crowd, searching for a way out, to regroup and rethink. Perhaps there was another way, a way to get a second chance. As quickly as the thought of a second attempt entered his mind, it retreated against the facts. This was it. This day had been his only opportunity. Whatever frail attempt he made today would be the only chance he got to show the U.S. president what it meant to suffer. This was his only day in court. He had to make today count.
Scanning the throng of people, Mike caught a glimpse of Farrah moving through the crowd of frightened civilians. Soldiers and police rushed to secure the area and medical personnel hurried to aid the injured and perhaps save the dying. Through the maddening herd Mike caught a glimpse of Marcus hard on Farrah’s trail. He caught his attention with a wave and the two moved in concert to flank their target.
Lonnie, watched from the second-floor observation window as they drew closer to Farrah. Farrah shot a look back and saw the men pursuing him. He quickened his pace, rudely shoving people aside, a mistake that would work in their favor she thought as that would draw attention to him. A young couple stepped out from behind the corner of a building directly into his path. He rammed into them violently knocking the pair to the pavement. He bolted over them amidst shouts and curses from the crowd and kept going. On the other side of the park, Lonnie caught a glimpse of thick black hair, bouncing as the figure moved quickly against the crowd. Kharzai steadily approached from behind them, his face a stone-cold mask without a trace of his former flirtatious grin. He looked ready to kill. She pulled out her cell phone, grunting in dismay as it beeped a warning that there was no signal. She switched the phone to the two-way radio setting that matched Marcus’s phone but got nothing but a high pitched screech from the speaker. She looked up to see her husband closing in on Farrah, but Kharzai was closing in on him with murder in his eyes.
Lonnie bolted from the room. Not waiting for the elevator, she hustled down the stairs, ignoring the pain in her lower back, the baby jostling heavily in her belly with each step. At the bottom of the first flight of stairs she flashed a look out the stairwell window. Panic fluttered in here chest as she saw Kharzai cross the street, making a beeline from 10th Avenue. Lonnie pushed her body harder, trying to glimpse her husband or Mike and Hilde and somehow let them know what was coming, to warn them of the death that waited for them.
She hit the ground floor and burst through the exit onto the sidewalk, rounding the corner of the building in three quick strides. She stopped to get her bearings and find her husband’s face in the crowd. As she scanned the sea of faces Farrah emerged into her vision, instant recognition flashing between them. A nearby police officer motioned for Farrah to keep moving with the rest of the crowd. Farrah looked into his face then with no warning chopped the officer's throat with the blade of his. The stunned man grasped his throat with both hands, his eyes as round as saucers as he struggled to breath, a high-pitched wheeze squeaked through his crushed trachea. Farrah snatched the man’s pistol from its holster.
“Farrah!” Marcus shouted, bursting from the panicking cluster of people around the dying police man.
Farrah took a step, pivoted and grabbed Lonnie by her hair forcing her to act as a human shield. He yanked her back with him to the side of the building perpendicular to the park, out of the rooftop sniper team's view. He pressed the muzzle of the gun to her distended belly. Lonnie did not scream. She forced herself to remain calm. Mike appeared a few yards from Marcus, gun raised. A dozen police officers formed a semi-circle around them as a paramedic team dragged the injured officer away, the desperate sound of his gasps for life filling the temporary silence.
“I will kill her baby!” Farrah’s voice came out harsh, hints of his rough Manchester accent percolating up as the façade of being a British gentleman completely vanished.
“Give it up, Farrah,” Hilde called out. “There is no way to escape, but you don't have to take more innocent lives.”
“Innocent?” Farrah said. “What do you know about innocent? My parents were innocent when your soldiers killed them. No Americans are innocent. You all deserve to die for what you do to small countries all over the world just to buy your precious designer clothes and feed your fat asses.”
“Put the gun down,” Marcus growled.
“Don't kill the woman, Farrah,” Mike said. “You will have her baby’s death on your conscience. Allah does not forgive those who murder the innocent. You will not be shaheed — you will be a common murderer.”
Farrah twisted his face in mental agony. He was not a murderer. Voices spoke in his head, English voices, telling him to give up. He was of a different class from those animals in al-Qaeda, from those beasts in Hamas who kill school children to make a statement. He was civilized, he was an Englishman — not a terrorist, but a footballer.
“No!” he grunted through trembling lips. He was the hand of Muslim vengeance against these who called themselves civilized but trampled everyone in their way. He had worked so hard, come so far to get the ultimate revenge, only to watch as everything fell apart in front of his eyes. He pressed the gun hard into Lonnie's belly and cocked back the hammer. She let out a scream.