THE DAY: A Novel of America in the Last Days (The End of America Series) (10 page)

II

THE

DAY

              
"Flee from Babylon!
 
Run for your lives! Do not be destroyed
because of her sins. It is time for the Lord’s vengeance; he will pay her
what she deserves." (Jeremiah 51:6)

              
"I
am God, and there is none other; I am God, and there is none like me, declaring
the end from the beginning, and from ancient times the things that are not yet
done, saying, ‘My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my
purpose....'
"
 
(
Isaiah 46:9-11).

Ten
American Cities

              
The
signals from Moscow and Tehran were flashed simultaneously and received
immediately by operatives on their encrypted cell phones. The words were in
Russian and Pashto, but interpreted
they
meant the
same thing: CLIMB MOUNT NIITAKA. It was the same signal sent in 1941 from Tokyo
to Japanese forces poised to attack Pearl Harbor. Vladimir, a student of
history, had chosen the words to be used in the signal as a Russian form of
dark humor, as the nuclear weapons about to
exploded
in response to the signal would be detonated inside the only nation ever to
have used nuclear weapons on humans.

              
Designated
secure cell phones in
ten American cities
vibrated,
alerting their owners that a message had arrived. The Russian and Iranian
operatives carefully followed the news from the Middle East and were quite well
aware that the time for action was near. The hour on which they were to fulfill
their highly-trained tasks was fast approaching.

              
Upon
receipt of the early morning coded message each agent knew that the clock was
now ticking. At 12
noon
central standard time the
nuclear weapons under their control were to be detonated. Six of the operatives
knew that their lives were almost at an end, as they were committed to manually
trigger their assigned weapons, with no possible way to escape the detonation
zone. The others had been furnished with timing devices attached to the nuclear
weapons for which they were responsible.

              
Washington, D.C., New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles, Atlanta,
Boston, Miami, Las Vegas, Houston and Seattle.
Ten
cities.
Ten future cemeteries.

              
The
clock ticked. 12:00 Noon central standard time approached. The hour had been
chosen to maximize the deaths in the chosen cities. Not too early in the
morning before employees arrived, not too late in the day.
Maximum
deaths.

              
11:58
– The world turned. The economy of the world and of America had been
experiencing significant, even catastrophic problems. But the dollar was still
the globe’s most accepted currency. Millions of former employees in the
United States were out of work, but millions more were working. Many were
working in the office buildings in the ten chosen American cities.

              
11:59
– The digital counters in four cities counted down. In six cities the
agents sat or stood next to the nuclear devices previously smuggled into the
country, with their fingers on the detonation button. They recited their
prayers, saying
"
Allahu
Akbar,
Subhana
Rabbiyal
A'ala
,
Subhana
Rabbiyal
A'ala
Subhana
Rabbiyal
A'ala
."

The
Mall - Washington, DC

              
Abdul
Azim
Mahaz
drove the cargo
van which appeared to be owned by a carpet store in Falls Church, Virginia. His
brother,
Yaqubi
, drove the van bearing the
identification of an automobile glass repair service. At the last minute, Abdul
decided to substitute his wife, Naveen, as the driver of the third van, labeled
as owned by a house remodeling business. His cousin was to have driven the van,
but Abdul had last minute doubts of the young man’s ability to accomplish
the mission.

              
The
doors on the large garage on the rented home in Landover Hills, Maryland were
opened and the vans exited into the home’s cul-de-sac. Abdul,
Yaqubi
and Naveen checked that their cell phones were
working properly. Abdul didn’t need to give a pre-determined signal, as
each van’s nuclear weapon was on a timer now set for 1 PM. The three vans
left the Maryland upscale sub-division and headed towards U.S. 50. Once on the
heavily traveled highway, the vans separated by several car lengths. Abdul knew
from his previous practice run that he could easily make it down New York
Avenue and
onto the federal Mall area before 1 PM, which was
12 noon central standard time
– the moment set for detonation.

              
Naveen
was in the lead van. As she neared the outskirts of DC she had to hit the
van’s brakes as traffic in front of her came to a standstill. She
nervously picked up her cell. After punching her husband’s contact
number, she said, "Abdul. This could be
a problem
. Traffic is stopped. Up ahead I can see red flashing
lights and at least three police cars. Should we
turn around
?"

              
"Naveen.
Don’t worry. It’s probably
nothing
. I have an app that carries
traffic alerts. I’ll check it and call you right back. Allah is in
control, blessed be his name. Oh, here’s
Yaquib
calling in.
I’ll call you back
."

              
Abdul
quickly checked his WAZ app and learned that there was a traffic accident less
than a mile ahead, that it involved a semi-truck and a cattle truck. Estimates
for the length of delay were up to forty-five minutes to clear the highway of
cattle carcasses spread across the DC bound lanes as a result of the collision.

              
 
Abdul was concerned, edging on panic.
Sweat began to cover his neck and forehead. This day was the day for America to
die. He had been entrusted with the destruction of the capital city of the
Great Satan. He could not fail. He could not even be delayed, for he knew that
all of the nuclear devices were to be detonated at the same time today. If he
failed to get the three vans into governmental DC by the ignition time, by even
a few minutes, the city would escape destruction, merely blowing up adjoining
suburbs. He had been warned that, upon hearing of detonations in other cities
DC would be put into a full lock down, barring any future incoming traffic into
governmental Washington. The three cargo vans must not miss the time, miss
getting to the Mall and miss the most critical part of today’s planned
destruction of America, cutting off the head of the snake. Washington, DC could
not be allowed to survive. He had to get his vans out of this traffic, but how?

              
Abdul
pounded his steering wheel. He wiped his brow. Just as he was about to lose
control he remembered that his app included an alternate route option for
traffic stoppages. Grabbing the cell, he opened the app again and saw that not
a quarter mile behind him was a crossroads that would lead to a local road
which ran straight south to New York Avenue. Abdul alerted Naveen and
Yaquib
to the new plan. Then he slowly drove out of his
stopped lane, across the grass median and headed north. He saw in his rear view
mirror that there were several vehicles also crossing the median, including the
other two vans. Encountering no additional significant delays, at 12:32 PM
Abdul, Naveen and
Yaquib
arrived at the Mall in
Washington, DC. By prior arrangement, they made sure that their
weaponized
vans were several blocks apart as they drove
continuously around the four sides of the long grassy park area known as the
Mall. Not wanting to alert any potential cell scanners, Abdul’s only
message to his fellow van drivers was a texted
"We will be with the Blessed One in just a few minutes"
.
 

Unit
4501, 700 Lake Shore Drive

Chicago,
Illinois

              
It
was windy in Chicago. Not that a windy Chicago was unusual, but the wind today
off of the lake was so blustery that it made the condo tower slightly sway,
just as it was designed to do. When Muhammad ben
Sarkori
went to the bathroom he noticed the small ripples on the surface of the water
in the toilet, which he had only witnessed on rare occasion. Well, he thought,
high winds will be the least of this city’s worries in a few more
minutes. Finishing the visit to his marble lined bathroom, he glanced up at the
clock in the long hallway of his condo.
Ten more minutes.
Ten minutes….and then the world will change.
Forever.

              
As
soon as Muhammad ben
Sarkori
, whose cover name in
America
was Alfred H. Carlsberg, received the
"Climb Mount
Niitaka
"
message on his encrypted cell phone early in the morning he began to make his
preparations. The actual detonation of the nuclear weapon, which was contained
behind two inches of lead in his massive coffee table, was by remote control.
His
only,
and singular, assigned duty was to live in
the sumptuous Chicago high rise condo until the time of the detonation,
insuring that no one, especially no government snoop, came into the condo and
somehow discovered the weapon. When he received the coded signal for detonation
from his Iranian contact in the US he knew his job was nearly over. As
dhuhr
prayer time
arrived, he unrolled his prayer mat and began,
"
Allahu
Akbar.
Subhana
rabbiyal
adheem
.
Sam’i
Allahu
liman
hamidah
,
Rabbana
wa
lakal
hamd
."

.
            
Down
below the high rise, traffic on Michigan Avenue was flowing slowly, as it did
normally, accommodating the tens of thousands of vehicles conveying the workers
of Chicago to their offices. Muhammad ben
Sarkori
finished his prayers and walked over to the full length windows which looked
south to the loop and downtown Chicago. He mused that this would be his last
time to look out on one of the world’s great cities, but he delighted
himself in remembering that America, and Israel, must be destroyed in order for
Islam to conquer the world. ‘Allah be praised’, he breathed,
‘Allah be praised’.

Northwestern
Memorial Hospital

 
Prentice Women’s Pavilion

Chicago,
Illinois

              
This
is the part of being a doctor that I hate the most Doctor Harold Campbell
thought. In his twenty one years as an OBGYN he had frequently been required to
disclose to patients that they had cancer, in many cases that they were
short-termers. In his outer
office were
seated a
delightful forty-three year mother of four and her husband. Doctor Campbell
again reviewed the test results. There was no question. Sharon Larson had
pancreatic cancer.
The worst variety.

              
The
doctor turned in his chair, staring out his office window on Chicago Avenue in
downtown Chicago. In the distance he could see the city’s impressive lake
front skyline, including its imposing condominium towers. He had several times
considered buying a condo in the 700 Lake Shore Drive building, with its
sweeping 360 degrees view of Navy Pier and downtown Chicago. Had he made the
purchase he could have dramatically shortened his commute time to Northwestern
Memorial Hospital from his home in Evanston, where he almost finished raising
his children. Maybe someday, he mused. But, he realized he was just trying to
delay the inevitable. It was almost noon, and he didn’t like to delay his
patients beyond their appointment time, unlike most of his colleagues. It was
time. He buzzed his assistant to bring in his doomed patient.

              
Not
one to avoid bad news, when necessary, as soon as Sharon Larson and her husband
were seated, Doctor Campbell launched into his report, saying, "Mrs.
Larson, I
don’t
have good news
for you. The tests show that y…."

              
"
It’s
cancer….
it’s
cancer
, isn’t it?"

              
Sharon
Larson was already wiping tears from her cheeks.

              
Once
the doctor had confirmed her worst suspicions, reading to her the lab results,
he then described how fast acting was her type of pancreatic cancer and that
modern medicine had no known cure.

              
Don
Larson asked, "How
long
does
she have, Doc?"

              
The
timing question was inevitable, but Doctor Campbell nevertheless was loath to
tell a fellow human being how many days they would have on the earth. He
glanced up at the clock on his wall above their heads, noticing that it almost
noon, the second hand sweeping up the left side of the clock, about to confirm
twelve noon as the time.

              
"Mr.
and Mrs. Larson, I am so sorry to have to tell you that, with this virulent
form of pancreatic cancer, you will only have two….at the most….three….months."

              
Both
Larsons
were now in tears. Don Larson tried to wipe
away his tears, not able to look at the doctor, instead fixing his eyes out the
window at the looming silver-windowed condominium towers on Lake Shore Drive.
Doctor Campbell looked away from his grieving patient and her spouse, noticing
as he did so that the second hand had just marked that it was now twelve noon.

              
As
Don Larson stared away at the condo towers, suddenly from high up on one of the
silver towers a brilliant flash of light enveloped Chicago. The nuclear device
in the tower instantly vaporized not only Doctor Campbell and his grieving
patients, but the entire women’s pavilion, all of the buildings in the
medical complex and every structure within five miles, along with their human
occupants. Frame houses as far away as Oak Park were instantly flattened, or if
built of brick or stone, ignited in flames.

              
Sharon
Larson didn’t live to see her estimated final two to three months.