"Think green. Paint the walls of your home green so that you can at night dispel the pink influence of Christianity."
The hour at last came, and Yusef received his instructions.
"But the federal building is not on my route," Yusef protested.
"It does not matter. Your uniform will gain admittance for you. Go forth and slaughter those who inhabit the court of Judge Rathburn."
"I hear and obey."
"When the slaughter is complete, fly to Toledo in Ohiostan. You will be met there by your brethren."
"Then I am done? After only one slaughter?"
"No, for your slaughter will inform the infidel that his much-protected federal building is vulnerable to us. That the messengers of Muhammad are as mighty as their own militia. After this and other deeds are done, we will embark upon our true mission."
"Which is?" Yusef asked eagerly.
"For you to know in Toledo. Go now, Abu Gamalin. And do not forget to shout the slogans you have been taught."
"God Is Grape!"
" 'Great.' The English for Allahu Akbar is 'God Is Great.' "
"Yes, yes, I will remember."
"And do not forget to tell the dying Americans that they are suffering the deaf penalty."
"The death penalty, yes."
"No, 'deaf.' Not 'death.' The deaf penalty."
"What is the difference?"
"None whatsoever," the Deaf Mullah replied.
It was easy, Yusef discovered. With his Uzi in his leather letter bag and ear protectors, he had walked into the Wiley Post Federal Building, took the elevator to the court of Judge Rathburn and killed all within.
No one questioned him going in, and no one stopped him on the way out. He was well out of town when a search was organized for him. But he was not the usual mailman on that route, and all who saw him saw the uniform, not the man.
It had been perfection-and proof the enterprise had been blessed by Almighty Allah.
Chapter 14
The President of the United States was in the middle of a whistle-stop stump speech in Charlotte, North Carolina, trying to hold on to the slipping South when his press secretary attempted to convey an urgent message.
Deep into his exhortation, the President was oblivious to the raised finger in the wings, which turned into a circling finger, indicating that he should wrap it up quick.
The President wouldn't have been aware of the finger if it had been jammed up his nose. Besides, his handlers were forever giving him the circling finger.
The President was reading off the twin Teleprompters-two Lucite electronic screens set at eye level to the left and right of the portable podium emblazoned with the presidential seal. A traveling liquid-crystal line of text, visible whether he faced left or right, told him what to say.
"'Make no mistake, this election is about change,'" he read. "'This election is about ... an explosion in midtown Manhattan'?" The President stopped reading. The crawling blue letters had turned red. That was the signal that he wasn't to read what followed. Red letters were the stage directions such as "Gesture with fist a la JFK," or "Stay behind the podium, your fly is open."
The President paused. The red letters crawled along: "No further information available..."
"I have just been told," the President said, recovering quickly, "that there has been an explosion in Manhattan."
The crowd made a little murmur like a wave breaking and muttering in the sand. The blue letters returned, and the President resumed speechifying. He wondered why his handlers had bulletined him in the middle of his speech about an ordinary explosion. And why hadn't they said what had exploded? A car? A building? The Statue of Liberty? Coney Island?
The President was into paragraph fifty-seven of his ten-minute speech-now running twenty-five minutes overlength-when the blue crawl once again turned angry red.
"AP now reporting multiple explosions N.Y.C.. . . cause unknown..."
The President decided not to communicate this to the crowd. Another ten minutes, and the speech would be over. He had to pick up the pace. A few people were already nodding off. One heavy-lidded man actually swayed on his feet, but an alert Secret Service agent caught him and shook him back to attention. This was a constant problem on the campaign trail. The President wondered if his supporters weren't afflicted with some new kind of attention-deficit disorder.
"Some say the ideals of the '60s are dead. They're not dead. They're only a prisoner of the Republican Congress. Reelect me and help preserve the legacy of the past from those who-"
"Courtroom massacre in new federal building Oklahoma City..."
The President blinked. His stricken eyes chased the red letters off the Lucite screen. Did it say Oklahoma City? Damn, he thought, wishing there was a replay button. There was no replay button. No freeze-frame, either.
As the crowd watched patiently, he cleared his throat and charged on. He was going to finish this speech if it took all day.
Casting his gaze back and forth to make eye contact with the two wings of the crowd, the President awaited the next string of blue letters.
They never came. Instead, another crawl of red marched past: "For God's sake, Mr. President! Please cut short your speech. This is an emergency!"
"In conclusion," the President said, shifting gears, "a vote for continuity is a vote for electoral balance, and a vote for electoral balance is a vote for future and lasting change."
Three minutes later, the crowd was applauding and the red, white and green balloons-some advance man had screwed up-went up to the sky.
Surrounded by a diamond of moving Secret Service agents, the President rushed to the waiting armored limo. Or was rushed by them. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
The Secret Service agents looked nervous. More so than usual. The President wondered if they had read the bulletins, too.
They clapped the door shut on the presidential limo, and a running roadblock of armored Secret Service sedans escorted the careering vehicle to the Charlotte airport.
In the back, the press secretary offered the Chief Executive his choice of secure telephones.
"What's this?"
"Director, FBI. On the explosions."
Indicating the second cellular with its light on, the President asked, "Is that for me, too?"
"Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms."