MANO

CHAPTER 3

They were a small, tight cell and they had been living in Honolulu for the best part of six months. It was enough time to familiarise themselves with the city layout, and in particular, their target. They had come into the USA separately, confident that they weren't on a Homeland Security Watchlist, but taking no chances anyway.
Their leader, Ajam Hakim was a small wiry individual with lank black hair and cold watchful dark eyes. There were rumours about him that he'd once worked as an executioner for the religious police but that his sadist outlook had eventually sickened even them. It hadn't been long before Al Queda had spotted his unique talents and they had snapped him up. His own men were afraid of him, which spoke volumes about the fear he managed to manifest. He didn't have to brandish weapons, the fear was manifested through the sheer force of his personality.
Hakim was feeling a twinge of unease and he wasn't sure why. The non-appearance of the fifth man on his team unsettled him. He turned the problem over in his mind. Ali had been due to arrive yesterday and had been tasked with bringing in the agent that they needed to make their bomb a dirty one. His absence was unusual. He had always been a man that Hakim could rely on. His sixth sense was telling him something was amiss, but unusually he wasn't listening to it. Perhaps he was caught up in the myriad details and planning for their attack. He put Ali's absence down to missed connections and assured himself that his ally would turn up in a day or two. It wasn't unknown for Ali to be late anyway, and the comment had often being made that he'd be late for his own funeral.
He turned back to the clock he had been tinkering with. At least, it showed the right time, he thought. Four o'clock in the afternoon. His nimble fingers explored the back of the clock and he used a small screwdriver to remove the casing. He then examined the mechanisms within and peered closely at the strike action of the hands. They would be his bomb triggers, he decided.
"All set?" Batul asked, a smile on his young features. He was the youngest member of Hakim's group, but one who despite his youth had been steeped in the ideology since an early age. He had a tendency to be careless, but Hakim knew all about that and would put it to use should the situation warrant.
Hakim's gaze shifted to Jahil, the third member of his cell. A lanky man, he was the quiet one of the group, but his sense of humour nearly matched that of Batul, although he was older and wiser. Although he had a name that meant the light of Allah, Nuhallah was far from bright, but he had been included because he was by far the toughest of the group: utterly fearless, committed and fanatically loyal. He was a big man with a terrible knife scar down the left side of his brutish face. He had killed the man who gave him the scar with his bare hands, lifting the man erect and bringing him down with a force that had snapped the man's spine like a broken twig over his bent knee.
Hakim smiled back at Batul. The smile was a cold one that didn't quite meet his dark eyes. "All set," he acknowledged.