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court battle against a major corporation to accomplish it. Just like the stunning Baths of Caracalla that had stood for over four centuries before being destroyed by the Barbarians, modern corporate barbarians had erased one of the most beautiful buildings on earth only fifty years after it had been built—a fact not lost on modern New Yorkers and others across America who were watching their architectural history collapse into piles of rubble on a daily basis.
    Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Sarah positioned herself next to a blue and white graffiti-covered pillar and watched her fellow commuters as they began filling the concrete platform. Scanning the growing crowd, Sarah noticed a brightly-colored food cart advertising samples of whole wheat crackers made from organically grown wheat. Obviously, one of her advertising competitors had secured permission from the transit authority to use a public subway platform filled with commuters to introduce a new product to the public. Not a bad idea. In all likelihood, most of her fellow commuters had rushed from their homes without eating, and this location at this time of day was the perfect choice for launching a new brand to a swelling crowd of bored and hungry people.
    Taking one of the samples, Sarah munched on the salty treat as her eyes drifted over the crowd and settled on a man with jerky dark eyes and a scraggly black beard. The man was wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt and gray slacks that were one size too large, making it necessary for him to cinch them up with a thin, black, patent leather belt. His nervous demeanor, along with his just-off-the-boat choice of clothing, marked him as a recent immigrant—except for the shoes.
    Sarah’s advertising firm had just finished doing an ad campaign for a famous designer brand of Italian leather dress shoes. Sarah had even purchased a pair for her father as a birthday present, and she knew they weren’t cheap. As she stood next to the pillar, munching on a cracker and wondering how a man who dressed so poorly could afford to buy a pair of shoes like that, she noticed that he was standing right against the yellow line painted at the edge of the platform. Looking closer, she noticed that his eyes were darting quickly back and forth as he kept looking up and down the track, then down at his watch, then back at the track.
    Maybe he was just late for an appointment, Sarah thought.
    The bouncing headlight of a distant train approaching from the darkness of the tunnel caused Sarah to look away for a moment before turning her attention back to the man on the platform. Right away she noticed that his dark eyes were darting about even more feverishly than before as he looked over his shoulder and scanned the crowd before inching forward past the yellow line and stepping right against the concrete edge of the platform. Oh, God ... was this guy a jumper?
    With the sound of the approaching train now filling the station, the man withdrew a small canister from his pocket. To Sarah, the object resembled the silvery glass liner of a thermos bottle, and as the man clutched the shiny cylinder tightly to his chest, he appeared to be mumbling something to himself as he looked down the track before fixing his eyes on the approaching train.
    Against the sound of screeching brakes, the train entered the station in a blur of speed and light, but before the front of the train passed the spot where the man was standing, he reached out and tossed the cylinder onto the tracks. The faint pop of glass breaking under pressure preceded a white, dust-filled cloud that swirled off the tracks just as the push of air from the arriving train blew it over the platform and through the tunnel ahead.
    Sarah was jolted by the sight. Why did he do that?
    With the threat of terrorism still deeply fixed in the minds of every New Yorker, Sarah looked on in horror as the hazy, vapor-like cloud of dust descended over the mass of people now crowding the