Black Friday (7 page)

Chapter 13

A
few minutes before eight o'clock, a woman in short heels, a skirt, and a blouse had come around the corner into the food court and walked toward Calvin, her heels clicking on the tiles. Normally he'd never be able to hear such a sound because of the hubbub in the mall, he thought, but without customers in here the place was a lot quieter. The clicking even echoed a little.

While waiting for the mall to open, Calvin had drifted through the food court to the entrance doors. There were eight of them, four sets of two, all glass with metal dividers between them. One set was handicap-equipped with a motor to open the doors, the large round switch to activate them being mounted on the wall close by.

Because the doors were glass, Calvin could see the crowd of shoppers walking in from the parking lot and gathering on the other side as they waited for the mall to open. Right now they were just kind of milling around, not lining up or anything. When the doors were unlocked, they would have to form rough lines, though, in order to come in.

Unless they all tried to stampede through at once, in which case there would be trouble and somebody might be hurt. It would be part of Calvin's job to prevent that, and he suddenly felt a little surge of worry. He didn't much like the idea of being responsible for people's safety.

But if that was going to bother him, he shouldn't have gone to work as a security guard, he supposed, no matter how much he needed the money.

In the meantime, though, watching the crowd was fascinating in a way. Calvin saw people of all shapes, sizes, sexes, and colors. Everybody came to the mall, especially on Black Friday. Couples trying to keep unruly children from running all over the place. Groups of moms pushing strollers. Rich people. People who, judging by their clothes, didn't have much money. Young people. Old people. Teenage girls. Calvin noticed plenty of
them
, but not many boys. Most guys his age were still asleep, he figured, unless they had to work like he did. It would take more than shopping to get them out of bed this early, unless there was some brand-new, eagerly awaited video game involved.

Now eight o'clock loomed, and the doors would soon be open. The woman approaching Calvin smiled at him. She was in her thirties, which seemed fairly old to him, but nice looking, with brown hair that fell to her shoulders. He figured she worked for the management company that ran the mall. She had a key in one hand.

“Hello,” she said. “You're one of the temporary guards, aren't you?”

“Yes, ma'am. Calvin Marshall.”

“I'm Emily Thorn. Nice to meet you, Calvin. I work for Rand Properties.”

“Yes, ma'am. I figured as much. Are you here to unlock the doors?” He glanced at the crowd. The shoppers must have sensed that something was going on. They had surged closer to the doors, like a rising tide. “I think those folks would appreciate it if you did. They're ready.”

“We can hope so,” Emily Thorn said. She lifted her head a little and cocked it to the side in a listening attitude as Christmas music suddenly filled the air. Calvin looked up and realized the music was coming from speakers on the ceiling.

“Somebody in the office just pushed a button, didn't they?” he asked.

“That's right. But it's not exactly a
Winter Wonderland
out there, is it?”

Calvin looked at the hundreds of eager customers standing in the sunshine and said, “I guess that all depends on your state of mind.” He held out his hand and went on, “Why don't you let me unlock the doors? I think everybody's going to be orderly, but you might get trampled by accident.”

“No, this is my job,” Emily said. She went to the far right-hand set of doors first, quickly and smoothly unlocking them, then moved efficiently along the line, unlocking the other pairs.

By the time Emily reached the motorized doors at the left end, Calvin estimated that at least a hundred people had come into the mall. A little pushing and shoving had taken place, but not much, and all he had to do was stand next to the wall and smile and nod at the shoppers as they streamed past him.

“Morning, folks,” he said to some of them. “Good morning.” During his training, he'd been instructed to greet the customers if he wanted to, but not to be overly friendly. It was important to retain an authoritative presence, too.

Emily came over to him and said, “See, that went fairly smoothly, didn't it?”

“Yes, ma'am, it sure did. I'm guessing this wasn't your first time to do this.”

“No, I've been working here at the mall for six years, so this is my sixth Black Friday.” She cocked her head slightly to one side. “I'm sorry. Does calling it that offend you? Because I can call it something else—”

His chuckle stopped her. He said, “No, ma'am. It doesn't bother me a bit. My dad raised me not to get upset at things that nobody means any offense by. He says there are enough macroaggressions in the world that folks ought to worry about them and not imaginary microaggressions.”

“Well, I can't really comment on that—corporate HR policies, you know—but I don't see any harm in saying that your father sounds like a smart man.”

“Yes, ma'am, he is.”

She smiled again, mindful of human resources policies, and said, “Really, you don't have to call me ma'am. I'm far from being your boss, Calvin. It's okay just to call me Emily.”

“All right . . . Emily.” That sounded a little funny to Calvin, but he didn't want to argue with her.

“I'll see you around,” she told him, then started back through the now packed food court. Some of the franchises weren't open yet, but some were, and people were already lined up to buy soft drinks, ice cream, frozen yogurt, cookies, pretzels, hot dogs, and even Chinese food. The breakfast of the modern-day bargain hunter, Calvin thought.

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall, and watched the steady procession of humanity.

* * *

Dressed in the uniform of the murdered Donald Reed, Habib Jabara walked into the American Way Mall with a confident stride and a smile on his face.

The mall had been open for a while, but there was still a constant stream of people going in and out. Habib had considered getting there while the doors were still locked, so he could mingle with the crowd waiting to get in, but he'd decided that it might look odd for a security guard to be
outside
like that. By waiting, he had an even better chance of not being noticed. The shoppers who saw him would think he was arriving for a later shift than the guards who were on duty when the place opened.

The trick was going to be avoiding other guards and mall employees who might see him and know that he wasn't Donald Reed. Luckily, Habib knew from conversations with Reed that the man hadn't had many friends among his fellow workers. Reed's level of intensity in his attitudes had been enough to put most people off.

Once he was in the mall, he tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. He walked along briskly among the shoppers, not hurrying but trying to make it look like he was on his way somewhere, bound on some errand. He kept a good distance between himself and the real security guards he passed, so they wouldn't be as likely to be able to read his name tag.

Habib knew that the mall hired quite a few extra guards for the holiday season, and it was unlikely those temporary workers would be acquainted with all of their fellow employees. The full-timers would think he was one of the new part-timers. The part-timers probably didn't know much of anyone, maybe two or three of their coworkers at most.

Habib had thought it all out, spending hours and hours, even days, considering every possibility. That was how he approached things, logically and thoroughly.

The leaders of the network that had brought him to this country didn't consider him anyone important, anyone to be listened to. As far as they were concerned, he was just another soldier in their holy cause, a warm body to be sacrificed if need be while they continued their slow, deliberate takeover of the United States.

Habib was going to prove them wrong about him, and he was going to demonstrate that bold, decisive action was the way to proceed, as well. Allah demanded the blood of the infidels, and Habib was going to deliver it.

Once he had decided on that, he had set out to gather allies, forming his own organization of men and women who shared his belief that they ought to strike swiftly and brutally against the enemy. Nothing cowed the Americans as much as the sight of their dead families.

Habib had studied history. He knew that there had been a time when an attack such as the one he planned would have united the Americans in righteous anger, would have roused them to a fury so fierce that their giant rage would have crushed any in opposition to them.

Many of the older men in the network secretly feared the infidels and worried that if they moved too fast, the Americans might still rise up and swat them down like bugs.

Those days were long gone, Habib knew, eaten away by the acid of craven, greedy politicians and members of the news media so pompous and self-righteous that they were utterly blind to their own foolishness.

Habib knew that the country's heart was hollow now. The United States no longer posed any real threat to the caliphate. So why wait?

Why not start the killing now?

No one looking at him would see the thoughts going on in his head. He smiled and nodded at the Americans as he passed them, and they smiled and nodded back, the idiots.

He opened a door marked
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
and went along a maintenance corridor to another door that led into a storeroom full of janitorial supplies. This was where Donald Reed—the real Donald Reed—had been hiding the weapons, a few at a time, for weeks now.

Habib just had to make sure they were there, where they were supposed to be, and then he would return to the main area of the mall and signal Mahmoud, who was also dressed in one of Donald Reed's uniforms, and who was now waiting to start spreading the word to the others.

Habib had a hundred men inside the mall, give or take. Something might have happened to delay a few of them, or even prevent them from showing up. But for practical purposes, he was going to call it one hundred men ready to kill.

Not only to kill. One hundred men ready to die for their cause.

One hundred men, in the right place and time, could change the world.

One man
could change the world.

Habib was convinced he was that man.

He went into the unlocked storeroom and moved several crates, exposing the stack of them with the special markings he recognized. Reed had been telling the truth, Habib thought with a smile.

He reached out, rested a hand on one of the crates with automatic weapons hidden inside it, and he seemed to be able to feel the raw power emanating from within, the power to take the lives of scores of infidels and demonstrate to the Americans once and for all that their day was over. Now was the time for the Sword of the Prophet to strike.

“Whatcha doin' there, pal?” a voice asked from behind him.

Chapter 14

T
obey cruised the parking lot for several minutes, looking for an empty space.

“I think I saw some spots out along the edge,” Ashley said, not sounding like she was complaining, just pointing out facts. “You might as well park out there and we'll walk.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm perfectly capable of walking that far. Unless you enjoy driving around and around in a crowded parking lot and dodging pedestrians.”

Tobey grunted and said, “Not hardly.” At the end of the row, he turned toward the outer edge of the lot, instead of back toward the mall.

Ashley was right. There were empty spaces on the outer fringes of the parking lot, although even there they weren't in abundance. Tobey backed the pickup into one of them. He had gotten into the habit of being able to get out of wherever he was in a hurry if need be, although he didn't anticipate that being necessary today.

So much of being prepared for trouble was being ready to do things you didn't expect to be necessary. A reasonable person hoped they
wouldn't
be necessary. But one of these days, they
might
be, and the person who was best prepared was generally the one who survived.

Tobey and Ashley joined the shoppers heading into the mall. He had devoted considerable thought to how he was going to handle this. He didn't want to suggest that they split up as soon as they got inside. She would be suspicious of that, for sure. In fact, it would be better if the suggestion came from her, and he had an idea of how to go about achieving that end.

“It was your idea to come here today,” she said as they walked into the mall. “What do you want to look at first?”

“How about that place that sells nothing but calendars? They always have some good ones.”

“All right. That's pretty close, I think. And they're probably giving out samples at the cheese and sausage place down there at that end of the mall, too.”

“I wouldn't say no to that,” Tobey replied with a smile.

They spent a good twenty minutes looking at calendars catering to all interests and talking about the various subjects. Ashley made a comment about the time Tobey spent studying the swimsuit calendars, to which he told her, “None of those girls look as good in a bikini as you do, Ash.”

“You're just flattering me.”

He shook his head and said, “Nope, it's the absolute truth, and I'll swear to it on a stack of Bibles if you want me to.”

“I don't think that's necessary,” she said. “And I appreciate the sentiment, whether it's true or not.”

“Oh, it is. You don't have to doubt that for a minute.”

They moved on to the cheese and sausage kiosk nearby, where teenage girls dressed in German milkmaid outfits were indeed passing out samples to shoppers. Tobey tried a couple of different kinds of cheese, as well as a slice of sausage.

“It's good,” he told the girl in the elaborate costume who gave him the food. Her piercings and the purple streaks in her blond hair didn't exactly go with the innocent milkmaid outfit, he thought, and then he told himself not to be judgmental.

“Thanks,” she said. “The cheese is on sale today.”

Ashley said, “You'd just as soon not be here, wouldn't you, honey?”

“It's not that obvious, is it?” the girl asked worriedly. “I don't want to get fired.”

“No, it's not obvious,” Ashley assured her. “I just know what it feels like because I've been in the same place.”

“Really? I need the money—”

“Oh, I know. Believe me. Tobey, let's buy a few things.”

He shrugged and said, “Sure, whatever you want.” They picked out several items and paid for them.

Then as they walked on toward the middle of the mall, Tobey told Ashley, “I didn't know you'd worked at a place like that. I'm trying to imagine you dressed up like a German milkmaid. It's kinda sexy.”

“I never wore one of those silly costumes,” she said now that they were out of earshot of the girl they'd been talking to. “You can tell she was embarrassed, though. She's probably hoping none of her friends sees her.”

“Nothing embarrassing about honest work.”

“That's where you're wrong. There are all kinds of honest jobs that are plenty embarrassing. Especially if you're a teenage girl.”

“That's something I never had to worry about.” They had reached a sporting goods store. Tobey slowed down and looked at the place with interest.

Ashley noticed what he was doing, just as he figured she would. She said, “Why don't you go on inside and look around to your heart's content? We can meet up later.”

“But we came to spend the day together,” Tobey protested, hoping the objection sounded genuine.

“There'll still be plenty of the day left. I was thinking I'd go look at earrings and purses. You don't really want to do that, do you?”

“Well . . .”

“It's settled, then. We'll meet in the food court in, say, an hour?”

“Sounds good to me,” Tobey said with a nod.

That was true. Things were working out just the way he had planned. The jewelry store was close by, and once Ashley was out of sight, he could go over there and pick out her engagement ring.

She was going to be surprised in just a few weeks when he asked her to marry him.

* * *

Habib didn't panic when the man spoke to him unexpectedly. For a split second his pulse spiked and he was afraid that the plan had been discovered, but then his iron will took control and forced a sense of calm to flow through him.

He even managed to put a smile on his face.

This took place in a matter of heartbeats, so there was hardly a discernible delay between the question and Habib's response to it. He turned his head, smiling, and saw an American standing in the doorway of the storage room.

The man was tall, rawboned, lantern-jawed, with bushy eyebrows, and he wore the uniform of a mall security guard, including a pistol strapped into a holster at his waist. Habib had never seen him before, but that didn't stop him from sounding like the two of them were old friends as he said, “Oh, hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” the American said. He seemed more puzzled than actually suspicious, but he wasn't going to let go of that curiosity. “I asked what you're doin' in here, pal.”

How Habib hated the infidels' habit of addressing each other as “pal” or “buddy”!

On the other hand, that instinctive urge of theirs to believe that, deep down, everyone liked them was one reason it was going to be so easy in the long run to conquer them. You have to be able to recognize your enemies before you can defeat them.

“One of the janitors asked me to come in here and look for something for him,” Habib lied easily.

“That's not your job,” the American said in a somewhat disapproving tone.

“I know, but it didn't seem like much trouble. I mean, why not help out a fellow mall employee, you know?”

The American grunted and said, “You're one of the new guys, right?”

“That's right. Why do you ask?”

“Because if you'd been here very long, you'd know not to trust them custodians. Biggest bunch of connivin' con men you've ever seen.”

“I'm sure they say the same thing about us guards,” Habib replied with a chuckle.

“Yeah, maybe.” Instead of going away, the American did the one thing Habib didn't want him to do. He took another step into the storage room and asked, “What is it you're looking for, anyway?”

Habib wasn't prepared for that question. He said the first thing he could come up with off the top of his head.

“Um . . . urinal cakes.”

“Urinal cakes?” the American repeated. “They're not even kept in here! Somebody should've warned you about those custodians.”

“I . . . I'm sorry,” Habib said, getting angrier all the time as control of this situation slipped further from his fingers. Why wouldn't this infuriating infidel just go away?

The man laughed suddenly and said, “Ah, don't worry about it, kid, I'm just screwin' with you. There's no such thing as the urinal cake scam.”

“Oh. It was just a joke then.” That didn't make Habib feel relieved. In fact, it made the flame of his rage burn that much brighter.

“Yeah. I'm Dave Dixon, by the way.” So far Habib had been standing with his back to the American, so the man couldn't read the name tag pinned to his shirt. But now the American stepped even closer and leaned forward so he could see the front of Habib's uniform. “And you're . . .”

The man stopped short and frowned.

“Wait a minute. I know Donald Reed, and you're not—”

While the American was voicing his unfortunate discovery, Habib slid out the combat knife from inside the waistband of the uniform trousers.

Before this day was over, he was going to kill hundreds of Americans anyway. He might as well start now, he thought again.

A flick of his wrist opened the blade. He brought it up, the move almost too fast for the eye to follow, and plunged it into the man's chest, angling the knife up to reach the heart, the same way he had killed Donald Reed some twelve hours earlier.

At the same time, his other hand shot out and closed around the American's throat to choke off any outcry.

Habib rammed his weight into the man and forced him back against the wall. The man's skull thudded hard against the wall, but it was unlikely he felt much of the impact because he was already dying. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open.

Habib's knife hand pressed against his chest. Every bit of the blade was buried inside the American's body.

Habib twisted it and took savage pleasure in the action. Given better circumstances, he would have preferred to slit the American's throat and let him bleed to death, or even more satisfying, drive the knife into his belly and rip it from side to side, creating a huge, gaping wound through which the man's entrails would spill.

It would have been nice, seeing the American staring in horror at his own guts before he died.

But right now, killing this man quickly and silently was best, Habib knew.

Later, there would be plenty of time for him to luxuriate in watching Americans die.