Rasheed drove his taxi through the long Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel and exited in Manhattan at West Street, near the site of the World Trade Center.
Asad Khalil made a cell phone call, spoke for a few seconds, then hung up and said to Rasheed, "Rector Street."
Rasheed continued on for a minute, then turned into the narrow one-way street. Parked on the short and quiet street, near the large Battery Parking Garage, was a tractor-trailer, and Khalil said, "Wait here."
Khalil exited the taxi and walked toward the large truck.
Painted on the side of the long trailer was CARLINO MASONRY SUPPLIES with an address and phone number in Weehawken, New Jersey. This company, Khalil was told, existed, but this was not one of their vehicles, and what was inside was not masonry supplies.
Khalil approached the tractor, and he saw the face of a man looking at him in the large sideview mirror. Khalil held up his right hand and made a fist.
The door opened, and Khalil climbed up the step and swung into the rear compartment of the big cab.
This large windowless compartment appeared to be a sleeping area, and also in this compartment was a burly man with a crew cut, dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt with the masonry company's logo on the front. In the driver's seat was another man, wearing a baseball cap, and in the right front seat was the man who had opened the door for him, who also wore a cap, jeans, and a blue team shirt that said "Mets."
These three men, Khalil understood, were European Muslims, Bosnians, and they had all fought in the war against the Christian Serbs, so they were not strangers to danger or killing. They all claimed to have lost relatives in the massacres, and they had undertaken this mission, according to Khalil's Al Qaeda contact in New York, not for the money-which Khalil knew was substantial-but as mujahideen in the holy war against the infidels.
Khalil was not so sure of their motives, and he would have preferred to be meeting Arabic speakers whom he could fully trust. But this part of his mission-the part that would end his visit here in mass destruction and death-was controlled by others, who felt that these Western-looking men were well suited for what needed to be done.
Each man introduced himself in English by his first name, and these were strange-sounding names to Asad Khalil-not good Arabic names, but names that he thought were some corruption of the Turkish language.
Khalil said to them, "You may call me Malik," using the name of his spiritual advisor in Libya-a name that meant "master," or even sometimes "angel," though these men would not know or appreciate that.
The driver, Edis, said to him, "We were stopped at the entrance to the Holland Tunnel."
Khalil did not reply nor did he want to know more-they had obviously gotten through the tunnel.
Edis continued, "The policeman asked to see my license, and it was good that I had gone to school to obtain a commercial driver's license for a vehicle of this size."
Again, Khalil did not respond.
Edis glanced back at Khalil and told him, "Two policemen made us open the doors." He paused, then said, "But all they could see were the stacked bags of cement, and they did not look further." He added, "They are lazy."
The man in the passenger seat, Tarik, corrected Edis and said, "We are good bluffers."
Khalil did not recognize that word, but he recognized their motives in telling him this-they wanted approval, or more likely more money, or perhaps another job.
Khalil had no way of knowing if they had actually been stopped, and what he did not see with his own eyes he did not believe. In fact, he trusted these three men even less now; he did not fully trust even Arabs who came to live in the West, and he felt less favorable toward these three who were Europeans and had most probably been corrupted by their Christian neighbors.
In any case, they would be dead in a few hours.
Khalil said, "Tell me what you have here."
Tarik in the passenger seat replied, "We have fertilizer." He laughed, and the other two men laughed with him. Khalil did not laugh, and the men became quiet. None of them particularly enjoyed working with the Arabs. The Arabs were almost without humor, and they did not enjoy a drink or a cigarette, as the Bosnian Muslims did, and they treated their women-all women-very badly.
Khalil asked again, "What do you have?"
Tarik replied, this time in a flat tone of voice, "Ammonium nitrate fertilizer, liquid nitromethane, diesel fuel, and Tovex Blastrite gel. It is all mixed in fifty-five-gallon drums-eighty-eight of them-and half the drums are connected to electrical blasting caps." He added, "It took us two years to amass these chemicals in this quantity without arousing suspicion."
Khalil asked, "And how do you know you have not aroused suspicion with these purchases? Or were they stolen?"
It was Edis who replied, "Everything was purchased." He said to Khalil, "All of these chemicals are legal for their intended use, and they were purchased in small quantities by others who had legitimate uses for them, and then resold to us at a criminal price." He smiled and said, "What is not legal is mixing them together."
Bojan and Tarik allowed themselves a small smile, but they did not laugh. Edis added, "Or attaching blasting caps to the mixture and blowing it up."
Even Khalil smiled, so Edis also added, "The most expensive ingredient at today's prices was the diesel fuel."
Bojan and Tarik laughed, and Edis said to Khalil, "The Arabs are going to bankrupt this country with these oil prices."
The three Bosnians all laughed, and Khalil thought they were idiots-but useful idiots who had apparently accomplished their task. Khalil said, however, "The FBI are not like the police in most countries. They do not make an arrest when they see an illegal activity. They watch, and wait, and keep watching until they are certain they know everyone and everything there is to know. They have been known to wait for years before making mass arrests-sometimes only hours before an operation is to begin."
None of the men replied, but then Tarik said, "They would not have waited this long-for all they know, this truck can be detonated in seconds."
Khalil again nodded. There was some truth to that.
Edis reassured their Arab friend, "Since September 11, the authorities have kept better track of certain chemicals, but with the proper authorizations for legitimate use, and in small quantities-and with patience-one can amass the ingredients for a very large bomb."
Khalil asked, "How large is this?"
Tarik, who seemed to be the expert, answered, "Behind us is 45,000 pounds of explosive." He wasn't sure the Arab understood, so he added, "As a comparison, the bomb that was detonated in Oklahoma City was only 4,800 pounds in a small truck. And that bomb created a crater that was ten meters wide and three meters deep, and it destroyed or damaged over three hundred buildings and killed 168 people."
Khalil nodded, though he knew nothing of that explosion, and he wondered who had set it and why.
Tarik continued, "The explosion that will result from this quantity of chemicals will be the equivalent of 50,000 pounds of TNT." He added, "This explosion, if it was detonated in midtown Manhattan, would cause death and destruction for a mile in all directions, and it would be heard and felt for over a hundred miles."
Khalil thought about that, and he wished that the bomb would be detonated in midtown Manhattan, among the skyscrapers and the hundreds of thousands of people on the streets and in the buildings. But those who had planned this operation had decided on something else-something not as destructive or deadly, but a symbolic act that would shock the Americans and open a recent wound. An attack that would shake American confidence and morale and strike a blow at their arrogance.
The man next to him, Bojan, lit a cigarette and Khalil said, "Put that out."
Bojan protested, "The ingredients are inert-not volatile. They are safe until detonated-"
"I do not like the stink of your tobacco." He was tempted to tell them all that he had just killed a man whose cigarettes offended him, but he snapped, "Put it out!"
Bojan threw the cigarette on the floor and ground it out with his heel.
Khalil asked Tarik, "How is this detonated?"
Tarik replied, "It is electrical. There are fifty blasting caps in the drums-more than enough-which I have connected by wires to a standard twelve-volt battery. The current from the battery must pass through a switch, and the switch will make the electrical connection when the electronic timer reaches the hour I have set it for." He asked Khalil, "Do you understand?"
In fact, Khalil did not fully understand. His experience with explosives was limited, and the roadside bombs he had seen in Afghanistan were called command detonated-a person with a handheld detonator chose the time to explode the bomb. Or a suicide bomber initiated the explosion with a simple device.
Khalil did not completely trust this method of a timer-he would have preferred a martyr in the back of the trailer, who he thought would be more trustworthy than an electronic timing device. But this idea for the bomb was not his idea-he was in America to kill with the knife and the gun, the way a man kills, the way a mujahideen kills. His jihad, however, needed to be paid for, and so he had agreed to assist with the bomb. But he had made certain that his mission and the mission of his Al Qaeda backers came together on this last night of his visit.
Khalil looked at his watch and said, "I have much work to do tonight. You will hear from me at approximately ten P.M., and until then, you will move this truck every half hour and you will do nothing to attract attention or arouse suspicion."
No one replied, and Khalil continued, "If a policeman is inquisitive, and he asks you to open the trailer, you will do as you did at the tunnel. If he becomes more inquisitive, you must kill him."
This time, each man nodded.
Khalil addressed each of them by name and said, "Edis, Bojan, Tarik, are you all armed?"
Each man produced an automatic pistol with a silencer, and they made certain that Khalil saw the guns.
Khalil nodded and said, "Good. You are not being paid to buy chemicals, or to drive a truck. You are being paid to kill anyone who is a threat to this mission." He added, "I will be with you later to assist you in the killing of the guards. Then you are free to leave." In fact, they were not going to leave-they were going to die. But Khalil did not think they suspected this. And even if they did, they were stupid and arrogant enough to believe that three former soldiers with guns were safe from harm. But Khalil had killed better men than these in Afghanistan, men who were better armed and better trained than these three, whom he considered mercenaries for hire, not mujahideen who fought for Islam.
Khalil would have liked to give his final encouragement to them in Arabic, the language of the Prophet, which was beautiful and sonorous, but he said in English, "In the name of Allah-peace be unto him-the most merciful, the most compassionate, I ask his blessing on you and your jihad." He ended with, "May God be with us this night."
The three men hesitated, then responded in English, "Go in peace."
Tarik opened the door, and Khalil climbed out of the cab. Bojan said in Bosnian, "Go to hell."
The men laughed, but then Edis said, "That man frightens me."
No one had anything to add to that.