The would-be terrorist was hunched over at his desk at his Pinellas County condo, carefully reviewing his handwritten notes. The plot he had so carefully constructed was bold, shockingly bold, as all good terror plots must be. The goal, after all, was more than simply to kill and maim, though certainly that would happen. It was to do it in such a way that there would be maximum horror, that the innocent if such a word could be applied to the enemy would perish in the most blood-curdling way imaginable. Nothing shakes the psyche of the enemy like a surprise attack on those who are most vulnerable. Boldness was the key to the plot, but only caution could ensure its success. That's why the terrorist had taken the time over the past few days, to work it all out on paper, meticulously planning even the smallest detail.

chapter continues

advertisement

He would keep the Glock, his favorite semi-automatic pistol, stashed in a shoulder holster under his Kevlar vest. He even made sure to wipe down the cartridges before loading them into the clip. He didn't want to take a chance that a residual fingerprint on an ejected shell left in the parking lot might lead authorities to him.

He would keep his .38 caliber revolver in an ankle rig. That way, if he found himself down and cornered, he could still fight his way out. If worse came to worse, if he did have to fight his way out, and if he did run out of ammo, he would still have his trusty combat knife. If it came down to it, he'd promised himself that he'd take out anybody who tried to stand in his way, even the cops, if necessary.

The truth was the plotting terrorist didn't really expect to use the guns or the knife. "Hand to hand combat is unlikely," he noted in his handwritten plans. The way he figured it, the bombs would be enough.

Over the past several months, the terrorist had hoarded enough C4, constructed enough homemade explosives and brewed up enough kitchen-counter napalm to bring the building to the ground in an earth-shattering, apocalyptic storm of fire and death. It was odd, perhaps, but even in those post 9-11 days, when the threat of terrorism seemed to be on everyone's mind, no one had seemed to notice his interest in explosives. No one had even complained when he and his wife went out into the backyard and set off occasional homemade pyrotechnic displays. That was one of the odd things about his corner of Florida. A man could go out into his backyard and set off explosives and his neighbors would simply ooh and ahh about the "professional quality" of the fireworks and assume that it was a kind of hobby.

His fascination with explosives was, of course, more than a harmless hobby. Recently, it had become his life's calling. The terrorist had carefully calculated every detail to make sure that no one would escape his righteous wrath. He'd calibrate the timers so that the bombs would explode 15 to 20 minutes after he had left the building. He had even made a note to himself so that he'd remember to plant a bomb with a trip wire by the only exit so that any fleeing worshippers would be cut down.

The guns were just insurance, to make sure, as the pudgy podiatrist Robert J. Goldstein wrote in his notes, that his planned attack on Islamic Education Center in Pinellas County, Florida, would have "maximum effect."

"Kill all rags," the 38-year-old, Boxster-driving foot doctor wrote, using a derogatory term for Muslims. "ZERO residual presence."