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accelerated. “I love you.”
    Geraldine hugged Fatima and their eyes teared. “You’ve been through so much but now you can start all over. Let’s go to my car.”
    “Ma’am, I’ll take the luggage and bring you to the car,” said the officer.  
    “Can I bathroom potty? Wash face?” asked Fatima timidly.
    “Of course.”
    Inside the washroom cubicle, Fatima took the unmarked packet from her pocket. It contained two items: a Ziploc bag full of clear liquid and a three-foot piece of heavy fishing line. Fatima doused her clothes with the quick-drying contents, then pocketed the short length of plastic line.
    Ten minutes later, the airport cop loaded Fatima’s luggage into the trunk of Geraldine’s ten-year-old Toyota Corolla. As he did, Geraldine opened her purse and took out her wallet. She gave Sabiya ten twenty dollar bills. “I know the government has given you something, but this is for just in case. It’s a present from my old congregation. I’ve retired but, when I told them about you, they wanted to help you out.”
    “Thank you. God is so good.”
    The security guy opened the doors for the two ladies, and refused to accept a tip. “We all need to chip in any way we can.”

    ***

    Fatima was quiet. Geraldine had been driving for almost two hours. The first hour was on the freeway, but most of the rest of the time had been on a lonely winding road.  
    “You live far. No people,” said Fatima.
    Geraldine chuckled. “I was a Baptist minister for almost forty years and I was surrounded by people all the time. Thought when I retired, I just wanted to take a break from constantly dealing with other people’s problems.”
    “I am big problem.”
    “No, Sabiya. You’re not. I thought that it would be good for you to spend a month or two with me so I can tutor you in English. If we do this one on one, you’ll be way ahead of the game when you return to Toronto.”
    “You so smart. So nice.”
    “No, just another sinner.”
    “Um, how long before get place? I need umm... potty again.”
    “It’s another half hour to my place but there’s almost no one that lives from here to there.” Geraldine turned to Fatima and winked. “You can use the trees like the boys do.”
    She slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. Fatima discreetly took the fishing line out of her pocket and folded it in half, doubling the tensile strength. With a sudden motion, she whipped the ligature around Geraldine’s neck and began to pull.
    Geraldine gagged, trying to free herself, but she was no match in muscular power for a woman less than half her age. The nylon thread cut a thin crimson line across the retired minister’s neck. Geraldine struggled but, as the blood flow increased, her flailing weakened. Finally, her body went limp.
    Before the blood could seep down onto Geraldine’s clothes, Fatima whipped the minister’s top off, then removed the rest of her attire. She took her own clothes off and placed them beside the woman. Rifling through Geraldine’s purse, she took all the identification, cell phone and credit cards. She then dressed herself in Geraldine’s clothes. Not a perfect fit and rather dowdy for a thirty-year-old, but acceptable.  
    She turned on the car and put it into neutral. Then she took her own shoes, placing them on the accelerator, until it revved as high as she could make it go. She found two cantaloupe-sized rocks to anchor the accelerator. She positioned the steering wheel and, with the car still revving high, she got out and pulled the gearshift into forward. The car took off and accelerated to more than sixty miles per hour before it smashed into a tree. It burst like an incendiary bomb, shooting flames thirty feet into the air.  
    There was no chance there would be any identifiable remains. The liquid explosive from Fatima’s own clothes was developed by Al-Qaeda. It was fast-acting, non-toxic, and easy to detonate. The thousand dollars paid to the supposed protester at the