was carrying. He would not hesitate to fire a weapon in a densely populated area. That would fit well with his goal of death and destruction.
That was a moot point because his only escape route was into the crowd of people still trying to exit the station. If he was going to turn and start shooting, he would have done it already.
But is he wired with explosives?
She remembered the bio Knox had given them—albeit extremely lacking in detail: Aziz and Ghazal were planners, not suicide bombers. They let the young, foolish, disenfranchised followers blow themselves up. These assholes were the “brains”; they did not want to die. They pulled the strings on the tactics , not the explosives.
Vail closed the gap and was only about ten feet behind him. She sliced between two men in suits, nearing the end of the escalator.
Gotta get him before he reaches to the top. If he makes it out of the station, we’ll lose him.
As he hit the last step, Vail extended her left arm over a woman’s shoulder and grabbed Ghazal’s collar. He tried to wrestle free but it was difficult in a crowd because he was fighting the bodies all around him in addition to the one behind him, which happened to be yanking him backwards with tremendous determination.
Vail maneuvered her Glock against Ghazal’s temple. “FBI,” she said loud enough for everyone in the area to hear. “Esmail Ghazal, you’re under arrest.”
But like a running back in the grasp of two defenders, he kept pushing forward, twisting, squirming. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me?”
“Give me a reason.” She dug the pistol’s barrel into his skin.
He stopped struggling and she pulled cuffs from her belt. “Down on the ground.” Vail followed him to the floor as people streamed around them. She stuck her knee in his back and ratcheted the restraints around his wrists as her Samsung vibrated.
She shifted her weight and, keeping pressure on Ghazal’s spine, she reached for her new Bureau-issued Samsung Galaxy. She was still getting used to the larger device and fumbled it, sending it clanking to the floor. Great, Karen. Smash the screen on the shiny new smart phone. Good way to endear myself with my unit chief. She picked it up and was relieved to see it was still in one piece.
Text from Robby.
bombing at metro center
She wrote back:
i know i am there
She was about to reholster the phone when Robby’s response buzzed:
so is jonathan
What ? Vail’s chest tightened, her ribcage constricting as if a cobra was snaking around her torso.
For a split second, her mind went blank. Then: how the hell am I gonna find him? Is he okay? He was a student at George Washington University, so naturally he traveled around DC on the Metro. It was one of the advantages of going to college in a city with an extensive mass transit system. And aside from Union Station, Metro Center was the system hub.
She typed back:
where is he
While she awaited the answer—hoping Robby had the answer—she visually searched the station’s interior, trying to locate her son.
j is ok. tried calling us but only text got thru. trying to get out of train somewhere
She swung her gaze back over her shoulder. Was he in a derailed car or one that was on another track? Metro shut down all traffic in and out of the station as soon as they got word of the explosion, meaning all nearby trains were immobile.
Vail stood up and pulled on Ghazal’s forearm. “C’mon, asshole, get up.”
She held up her creds and repeatedly shouted, “FBI, out of my way!” and like Moses, parted the sea of people and made it back down to the platform. Realizing she would have to drag Ghazal through the area of devastation, she thought instead of cuffing him to a fixed metal post or railing—when her phone rang.
Jonathan.
“Mom, I’m okay. I tried calling you before, but the call wouldn’t go through. I sent a text—”
“I know, Robby told me. You sure you’re okay? Where are you?”
“I’m fine, I’m
That was a moot point because his only escape route was into the crowd of people still trying to exit the station. If he was going to turn and start shooting, he would have done it already.
But is he wired with explosives?
She remembered the bio Knox had given them—albeit extremely lacking in detail: Aziz and Ghazal were planners, not suicide bombers. They let the young, foolish, disenfranchised followers blow themselves up. These assholes were the “brains”; they did not want to die. They pulled the strings on the tactics , not the explosives.
Vail closed the gap and was only about ten feet behind him. She sliced between two men in suits, nearing the end of the escalator.
Gotta get him before he reaches to the top. If he makes it out of the station, we’ll lose him.
As he hit the last step, Vail extended her left arm over a woman’s shoulder and grabbed Ghazal’s collar. He tried to wrestle free but it was difficult in a crowd because he was fighting the bodies all around him in addition to the one behind him, which happened to be yanking him backwards with tremendous determination.
Vail maneuvered her Glock against Ghazal’s temple. “FBI,” she said loud enough for everyone in the area to hear. “Esmail Ghazal, you’re under arrest.”
But like a running back in the grasp of two defenders, he kept pushing forward, twisting, squirming. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me?”
“Give me a reason.” She dug the pistol’s barrel into his skin.
He stopped struggling and she pulled cuffs from her belt. “Down on the ground.” Vail followed him to the floor as people streamed around them. She stuck her knee in his back and ratcheted the restraints around his wrists as her Samsung vibrated.
She shifted her weight and, keeping pressure on Ghazal’s spine, she reached for her new Bureau-issued Samsung Galaxy. She was still getting used to the larger device and fumbled it, sending it clanking to the floor. Great, Karen. Smash the screen on the shiny new smart phone. Good way to endear myself with my unit chief. She picked it up and was relieved to see it was still in one piece.
Text from Robby.
bombing at metro center
She wrote back:
i know i am there
She was about to reholster the phone when Robby’s response buzzed:
so is jonathan
What ? Vail’s chest tightened, her ribcage constricting as if a cobra was snaking around her torso.
For a split second, her mind went blank. Then: how the hell am I gonna find him? Is he okay? He was a student at George Washington University, so naturally he traveled around DC on the Metro. It was one of the advantages of going to college in a city with an extensive mass transit system. And aside from Union Station, Metro Center was the system hub.
She typed back:
where is he
While she awaited the answer—hoping Robby had the answer—she visually searched the station’s interior, trying to locate her son.
j is ok. tried calling us but only text got thru. trying to get out of train somewhere
She swung her gaze back over her shoulder. Was he in a derailed car or one that was on another track? Metro shut down all traffic in and out of the station as soon as they got word of the explosion, meaning all nearby trains were immobile.
Vail stood up and pulled on Ghazal’s forearm. “C’mon, asshole, get up.”
She held up her creds and repeatedly shouted, “FBI, out of my way!” and like Moses, parted the sea of people and made it back down to the platform. Realizing she would have to drag Ghazal through the area of devastation, she thought instead of cuffing him to a fixed metal post or railing—when her phone rang.
Jonathan.
“Mom, I’m okay. I tried calling you before, but the call wouldn’t go through. I sent a text—”
“I know, Robby told me. You sure you’re okay? Where are you?”
“I’m fine, I’m
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