One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [171]
The deciding factor was the man from Guatemala. He was relentless, and Bakr felt in his heart the man would find him sooner rather than later.
He made up his mind. An attack here would have more symbolism. He could strike at least three leaders of the far enemy. His weapon would mainly kill Bosniak Muslims at the ceremony, but that in itself would be symbolic. They were cozying up to the far enemy and literally thanking the Great Satan for his so-called help. Because of this, they invited takfir, and would feel the repercussions. The attack would show what happens to Muslim kafir who stray from the path. It might even fracture the relationship between the West and this Muslim community, forcing them to embrace their true heritage. Forcing them back onto the path.
He reached within eyesight of the market and saw a crowd of about five hundred. Eighty meters away rested the raised platform the guests would use. A wall of security was checking everyone that entered into the inner ring. He recognized the security perimeter for what it was: standoff protection from a conventional man-packed explosive device. The distance was certainly good enough to thwart his blast, but the perimeter would provide no help at all against his poison.
KNUCKLES DUG OUT THE SAFE HOUSE PHONEfrom his backpack.
I said, “Don’t answer it. That’s got to be him.”
Once it registered with a number, Bull began working to find its location with his special phone. Wthin seconds, he had a grid. Plotting it with a GPS, he said, “He’s downtown.”
I pulled out a tourist map, marking the location, then found the Markale Market. “He’s in that area. He’s going to hit the ceremony.”
Knuckles said, “Maybe. Maybe not. If we go in right now and get compromised, we may spook him into using the device. Maybe we should wait and see if he beds down tonight, then hit him with his guard down.”
Knuckles had a point. We could make this a self-fulfilling prophecy if we screwed up. We now had a way to track him, as long as he kept that phone. It would be much, much easier to take him down in a hotel room than on a crowded street. On the other hand, any moment could bring a mushroom cloud. Decision time.
101
Bakr surveyed the wind patterns of the open air market. The entire area was covered by a high overhead roof of galvanized steel, but a slight breeze could still be felt coming out of the east. That is where he would set the weapon off. He moved around the crowd until he was situated as close as he could be to the security perimeter without gathering any undue curiosity. He stood for a few minutes, trying to appear as if he were just passing the time, when he noticed one of the security personnel glance his way a third time. He began to walk away, looking for somewhere he could wait that was close enough to allow him to get in position rapidly. Finding nothing, he kept moving. Eventually, he came upon a public restroom. It wasn’t nearly close enough, but would have to do as a staging point. He was sure he would be able to hear the announcements when the ceremony began. Moving into a stall, he sat down and locked the door, waiting to hear the Great Satan’s secretary of state taking the stage.
IN THE END, the potential for a massive amount of civilian deaths—at a ceremony commemorating the murder of civilians from a previous heinous act—made up my mind. The symbols of power from the United States and other European countries provided a target for Carlos to use, but as always, it would be the innocents who paid the price.
“We need to take him out. Now. It’s a risk, but I don’t think he’s going to wait. The target’s too juicy, and he’s on the run.”
Knuckles nodded. I knew he would see it my way. “Let’s load up.”
We drove along the river toward downtown Sarajevo, then cut in north to the grid of Carlos’s last-known location. We were only allowed to go a short distance before hitting a roadblock, with all cars being turned away.
“Should’ve expected this,” Knuckles said. “No way are they going to let a potential VBIED near the