Every Second

68

The Pioneer Valley, Massachusetts

The New Age sounds of wind chimes, harps and flutes floated from the speakers of Todd Dalir Ghorbani’s red Chevy Malibu.

This was a glorious day.

He was west of downtown Springfield when he left the Mass Pike for US 20, a two-lane strip that meandered through lush wooded farmland.

At first Ghorbani was nervous about the circumstances that had forced him and his brothers to fall back to their contingency plan for the operation. But he was calmed by his music and his confidence. For months his unit had planned, studied and prepared. God’s merciful kindness would guarantee their success and Ghorbani was honored to do his part.

This mission would inflict a terrible wound on the enemy.

It would be a profound victory that would reap lasting glory.

The group of brave young lions that he was helping would provide two hundred fifty thousand dollars to fund more operations. They’d also give him names of US-born fighters, and others in Canada, Australia and Britain and around the world poised to carry out future missions.

After today’s operation concluded, Ghorbani would post the videos of the young martyrs, ship the money and information to his commanders overseas and continue his work with new recruits.

He eyed the passing roadside, slowing and leaving the highway when he came to a steel gate with the Private Property-Keep Out sign bound by wires to the bars. He unlocked the chain and drove into the bramble along a path overgrown with tall grass.

He’d rented this isolated property well over a year ago.

After traveling about fifty yards he arrived at a barn with faded, weather-beaten slats. He wheeled to the side door, got out and unlocked the padlock. The metal pulley and rollers squeaked as he slid the door open. He drove his Chevy inside, dust and bits of straw rising in the columns of light piercing the gapped walls as he eased his car next to a vehicle shrouded with a canvas cover.

Ghorbani got out and pulled off the cover before opening the vehicle’s trunk. Then he went to his Malibu and opened the trunk where four backpacks sat waiting. Grunting, he hefted the first one, setting it carefully in the waiting vehicle’s trunk. He did the same with the others. When he finished, he dragged the back of his hand across his brow and admired his work.

He’d taken such loving care assembling the components-the initiator, the switch, the main charge and power source-within a large container. He’d used TATP, which had proven effective in the London attacks. He’d packed each container with twenty-five pounds of “enhancements” such as nails, glass and jagged steel fragments. Anyone within one hundred feet would be killed. Anyone within a thousand feet would be injured. In a crowded area, the casualties would be high. The psychological impact, the sheer terror, the disruption would be catastrophic.

Ghorbani prayed for a moment before taking care of other preparations he needed to complete. When he was ready, he got into the vehicle he’d just loaded and drove off, locking up at each step.

He resumed driving on US 20, then back on to The Pike, heading west to New York State.