Living Stones by Lloyd Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

connected it to the detonator cord inside the backpack. As he slipped out the front door unseen, he heard someone walking in the rear rooms of the building.
    Robert, forcing himself not to run, strolled casually to the nearby sidewalk and across the street, stopping under a large tree in front of a modest 1930s house. His dark-blue, hooded sweatshirt hid all but his eyes, nose, and mouth. He waited for three minutes. At five twenty-nine he watched as two young people walked toward each other. They met and stopped to talk directly in front of the right corner ofthe building, separated from it by a narrow garden of bushes and small trees. The girl, blonde and pretty, stood with her back to the building. She looked up and caught Robert looking at her. He quickly averted his gaze. The young man from the back reminded him of Ali. He shrugged. They’d just be part of the collateral damage.
    Robert turned and walked away at a normal pace, face flushed, determined not to panic. When he had reached the middle of the next block, a huge explosion ripped the air around him. He felt the blast and turned to see the synagogue come down in a huge gray plume of dust and debris. Flames shot from the rubble. Robert’s heart pounded with excitement, hardly able to take in the phenomenal success of his mission. He had never experienced an adrenaline rush like that, even when he’d tried crack cocaine.
    The blonde girl lay on the sidewalk as the man kneeled over her and waved wildly. People rushed from their houses and soon chaos enveloped the scene. Within moments sirens screeched as the fire grew higher. Robert followed the crowd, drawn like a magnet, pressing in closer to the site then finally making a path for the police and fire trucks. A Medic One van raced forward as the crowd parted, stopping where the girl lay. Paramedics transferred her within a minute to a stretcher, IV running, and drove away, sirens blaring.
    Robert watched as firemen controlled the flames and began with police to search the cooler rubble for victims. Smoke and dust filled the air. He smiled, taking in a deep breath at the smell. The bomb succeeded beyond his expectations. All the training and careful planning had paid off. He felt his face flush and heart race. It would make world headlines. Jihad once again in the United States, this time on the opposite coast from New York. He hadn’t done well at Cornell, but at slipping past Homeland Security, he had excelled when others couldn’t. He would be honored by brother jihadists around the world, admired for his exploit even if they didn’t know who did it.
    He saw the young man get up from the bloody sidewalk and begin to walk toward him. His arms looked bloody. A policeman raced after him, clamped on handcuffs, and forced him into a police car.
    Robert turned back, away from the scene, and walked casuallyup a side street against the human tide of people swarming to the site wondering what had happened. He continued to walk for two hours, over the University Bridge, hearing incessant sirens and people gathered on streets far removed discussing what they had just seen on local television.
    He reached the house on Capitol Hill and entered to find his puzzled but excited jihadi friends gathered around the TV in the front room. They stood around the screen watching wide-eyed at the worldwide reaction to the bombing, asking each other, “Who could have succeeded in doing the impossible?”
    Robert stared at the screen. It felt like an “out-of-body” experience, as if he were looking on a triumph someone else had done. The president spoke, vowing to bring the terrorists to justice, and the Prime Minister of Israel expressed his condolences to victims and their families.
    Ali flashed a quick thumbs-up at Robert, confirming their secret would remain hidden, even from the brothers in the house. In fact, it seemed like the perfect jihad event. Imam Jabril, he trusted. He obviously risked arrest with his complicity.