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mortality as if it possessed true value, never suspecting there was a better world waiting on the other side.
This
was the hell and the purgatory. Obliterating the nonbelievers was Allah’s work, Allah’s will. The Americans were the greatest heretics. They not only clung to their lives, they clung to their money and their material goods with equal fervor—sometimes more. They were soulless and godless. Zaeef believed this with every ounce of his soul and felt no remorse for what he was about to do. In fact he felt excited about it. Excited and eager. This was the high point of existence. It would earn him passage into the great kingdom. It would exalt him in the eyes of the Almighty. Once the videotape he left behind—the one where he explained what he was doing and why—was found and played on news channels across the world, he would also be a hero of his people. Not that heroism interested him. Well, that wasn’t completely true—it interested him inasmuch as it would encourage others to choose a similar course. That was something to be thankful for. But he could not dwell on it for long.
    The plan was so simple and yet so powerful. Smuggle a radioactive device onto a plane bound for Washington DC and detonate it upon landing, rendering the city uninhabitable for a few decades. They believed their biggest challenge would be getting the device on board, but it turned out to be ridiculously easy—they simply bribed an airport employee to do it for them. They’d searched for months for just the right candidate and finally found him when the Schiphol Airport laid off nearly a hundred people in a cost-cutting move. Employees were given a month’s pay and three weeks to find work elsewhere. With so many embittered workers, the stage was set. An offer of ten thousand dollars and a story that the box contained a hundred pounds of cocaine was all it took. They even gave the guy some as a “bonus.” Airport security in America had tightened like a vise, but that didn’t mean it had tightened everywhere else. The Americans could increase their control over planes that left their soil, but they couldn’t do much about the flights coming in. Great Britain and a number of other high-profile U.S. allies had increased their security, but the Netherlands was chosen for this operation because it was relatively easy to overlook. No one would suspect a flight from Amsterdam posed much of a threat. Once again the devil would be caught with his guard down. Zaeef smiled at this and allowed himself the very mortal sensation of personal gratification. He had watched tapes of terrified Americans reacting to al Qaeda’s victory of September 11, 2001. Thinking it would happen again, and that he would be the cause of it, was very gratifying indeed.
    He opened his eyes and checked his watch—just after eight. The pilot had announced a few moments earlier that they were expected to land about ten minutes ahead of schedule. That suited him just fine.
The sooner the be
—
    The plane rocked violently and Zaeef was almost thrown from his seat. Others tumbled into the aisles. A woman screamed, compartment lights flickered, and then a second and more violent jolt came. Overhead compartments flew open, vomiting their contents.
    Zaeef had purposely left his carry-on bag unzipped. The plan once they’d landed in Washington was to simply get up from his seat as soon as they stopped moving, reach inside, and press the button on the detonator that had been disguised as a can of shaving cream. The bag now rolled out and fell onto his head, then to the floor, spilling items everywhere.
    He cursed in Arabic and lunged for the can. Some of the other passengers forgot about the turbulence and trained their eyes on him. For a flicker of an instant the personal charm was gone and the terrorist stood before them.
    No one moved. Time dragged and warped, became meaningless. Zaeef knew his cover was blown, knew it was time to improvise. But he waited anyway,