Dead Drop

Chapter 7

Fadila stood at the base of the Dead Drop waterslide and turned away from the young couple she’d just cut down at point-blank range with her pistol. They had tried to help her, believing that because she was a female, she was also a victim. Fools. Weak, incompetent fools.

Pistol still in hand, she used her forearm to wipe a spatter of blood from her cheek. She shot a triumphant glance at her boyfriend, a sly smile spreading across her angular face. The killing — all of it — was even more exhilarating than she had imagined it would be.

“It is working,” she said. “Just as you said.”

The boy with a mop of blond hair grinned back at her, brandishing a stubby black semiautomatic H&K MP5 that made him look even handsomer than she already thought him to be. He’d taken up the war name Abu Tariq — the Night Visitor. He was no longer boring Terry Spencer, only son of a mindless pawn for wealthy American pigs. Abu Tariq assured everyone that Terry Spencer was a disappointment to his father, but Abu Tariq did not care. Abu Tariq had left Terry Spencer behind and now wanted nothing more than to submit himself to Allah, to make a difference, and to eventually die a martyr alongside his new friends — especially Fadila.

“Of course it is working,” Tariq said. “It is also entertaining. These dogs will do anything to postpone even certain death, even if it’s just for a minute or two.” He raised a blond brow and cocked his head slightly in the way that made Fadila’s heart beat in her throat. “Who do we have guarding the wave pool now?” he asked.

“Abu Fahad and Abu Nasser,” Fadila said, hoping he did not see her blush.

Tariq gave a thoughtful nod, running his fingers through his golden hair. “Good. Tell them to shoot anyone who tries to get out of the water. A couple of bloody bodies at either end of the pool should convince most of them to stay in place.” Abu Tariq stared into the distance, thinking of some bit of strategy, no doubt. Fadila had never seen an American boy so good at strategy. “Long enough for our purposes, at least.”

Fadila bowed her head. “Of course,” she said, beaming with gratitude and knowing that she was fortunate to be associated with a man so dedicated to the cause of jihad. It was Tariq who had first shown her the Islamic State videos on the Internet. It had been he who made first contact with the recruiter in Arlington, he who had worked with Islamic State operatives to supply their group with weapons, ammunition, and the belt bomb for Saleem. Every member of their group was pious as well as eager, but they were also young and inexperienced. Tariq had worked with the I.S. contact to devise the perfect plan. Members of the group had pledged their loyalty on a video forum earlier that day, before coming to the park — one by one, ensuring with their violent rhetoric that they could never go back to their former lives. Even the name of their little group of lions, Feesabilillah—“in the cause of Allah”—had been Tariq’s idea. Fadila had never met the Islamic State operative, but Tariq told her the man had heartily approved of the name.

More shooting broke out behind Tariq as he stooped to pick up the black duffel he used to carry his extra ammunition. His blue eyes flashed when he stood up, narrow, with an intensity that sent a warm shiver down Fadila’s legs. She chided herself for the unholy thoughts.

“It’s coming from beyond the tube slides.” Tariq looked at his watch. “That would be the police trying the side gate. They have finally gotten off their fat asses and decided to come to our party.”

More screams filled the humid night. Tariq lifted a yellow handheld radio to his lips as he threw the duffel over his shoulder. “Brothers,” he said. “Listen to me. Conserve your ammunition for when we really need it.”

He clipped the radio to his belt and then held his free hand out toward Fadila. “This will be over soon,” he said, pulling her closer. “The news helicopters will be overhead before long. I’ll watch from the top of Dead Drop, then send word when I see they’ve started to film. Then they can open up on the pool.” He gave her a wink. “I guarantee you it will go viral.”

Fadila squeezed his hand, looking deep into his blue eyes for any sign of resignation or second thoughts. She found none. “And then?” she asked, though she knew what his answer would be. “After you have sent word down to us?”

“Then…” he nodded slowly. “Then, I will come down and kill as many policemen as I can before I die beside you, Fadila.”