Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [32]
Faces contorted by hatred and anger, the narcotics magnifying their emotions, the men howled like maddened wolves.
"Go, Warriors of God," Noor shouted. "Shower destruction and death on our enemies and show no mercy toward the infidel's children or their women. Go! Go and smite the unfaithful. End this abomination and enslavement the West calls civilization. End it forever!"
"Yes!" Farshid Amadani cried when he heard his cue. He leaped in front of the podium, brandishing an AK-47 over his head.
"Come," bellowed the Hawk, "let us rain destruction down on the unfaithful!"
The martyrs burst from the Community Center and charged down Kurmastan's deserted main street. Crying for blood, they reached the factory and swarmed around their assigned trucks. Some ran final checks on the vehicles; others armed themselves from their cache of weapons.
The sound of roaring engines filled the hot afternoon. Diesel fumes belched, filling the compound with blue smoke. Then, one by one, the trucks rolled toward the gate.
As they rumbled through town, wives and children peeked out of their windows to watch the vehicles pass. They peered through dust kicked up by a hundred spinning wheels, hoping for a final glance at their husbands, their fathers, their brothers, their uncles.
Those billowing clouds hung over the tiny settlement long after the last truck rumbled through the security gate.
* * *
1:17:35 P.M. EDT
Central Ward
Newark, New Jersey
"I'm really sorry, Agent Almeida," the woman said, a frown curling her glossed lips. "On a good day, you can make this trip in twenty minutes, but that mess at the Holland Tunnel really set us back."
While she spoke, Rachel Delgado kept her eyes on the road. Tony Almeida, unaccustomed to riding in the passenger seat, mostly watched her.
"Don't apologize," he replied. "Anyway, the sign says that we're almost there."
Rachel slipped into the left lane. As she steered them onto the exit ramp, she gave Tony a sidelong glance.
"Next stop, Newark. My hometown."
They drove for a few minutes in silence. As in many urban areas, Newark's hospital was in the older part of town. Soon they reached a squalid street lined with graffiti-scarred bodegas, check-cashing outlets, liquor stores, and boarded-up businesses.
"Are you really from Newark?" Tony asked.
Rachel's eyes flashed with amusement. "Born and raised in University Heights, right here in the Central Ward. See that place with the tall fence and the barbed wire at the top? That's the junior high school I almost flunked out of."
She grinned. "Not the nicest community in America, maybe, but it's my hood."
Her expression was suddenly guarded. "I admit it wasn't easy. I made a lot of mistakes when I was young. But there were people who took an interest. Saw a future for me that I couldn't see."
"People?"
The silence hung heavy for a moment. "People," Rachel said at last. "Community groups. Mentors. Teachers. People. With their help, I got a college scholarship and a Get Out of Newark Free card."
At a traffic light, she faced Tony. "You have that look, you know."
Tony frowned. "Look? What look?"
"That swagger. Don't con a con man. You were a street kid, too, Agent Almeida."
Tony snorted, and a smile flashed across his guarded face. "Yeah. And call me Tony."
Rachel waited a moment, then two, for Tony to say more, but he stopped talking. Finally, she nodded. "Okay, Mr. Mysterious. I get it. Chitchat's over and it's back to business. There's the hospital, anyway."
Rachel twisted the steering wheel. Tires squealed in protest, and the van swerved into the visitors' parking lot.
* * *
1:26:06 P.M. EDT
The Novelty Inn, off Route 12
Clinton, New Jersey
Brice Holman stepped out of the shabby motel room, into the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. Head throbbing, he slipped a pair of dark glasses over his eyes, then popped the top of a small bottle of Advil with his teeth. He quickly gulped down the last