The Lion

Khalil replied, "Yes, good. But first I must go to see the building of the Internal Revenue Service, which I am told is on Murray Street."

Amir did not ask why his passenger needed to see that building, and he turned right on Church Street and passed beside the observation platform.

Khalil could see that there were a number of people entering and exiting from the long platform, but otherwise these streets were nearly deserted.

Amir turned left into Murray Street, a one-way street of dark office buildings. Khalil noted that there were a few vehicles parked at the curbs, but no moving vehicles except his taxi, and no pedestrians.

Amir pointed to the left and said, "There is the building of the American tax authorities."

"Stop across the street."

Amir pulled to the curb opposite the building.

Khalil said, "I will walk back to the observation platform from here."

"Yes, sir." Amir put the vehicle in park and asked in a carefully worded sentence, "Will I be continuing my service to you, sir?"

"I think not."

"Yes, sir… Our mutual friend mentioned a compensation-"

"Of course." Khalil leaned down to the floor and took from his overnight bag a long ice pick, and also an American baseball cap that said "Mets" on the crown. He assured Amir, "You did an excellent job."

"Thank you, sir."

Khalil gripped the wooden handle with his right hand, looked around to be sure they were alone, then glanced up to determine the position of Amir's head and the clearance of the roof. He then brought the ice pick around in a wide, powerful swing. The tip of the pick easily pierced Amir's skull and entered through the top right portion of his head.

Amir's right hand flew back and grabbed Khalil's hand, which still gripped the ice pick. Amir seemed confused about what had happened, and he was pulling at Khalil's hand and twisting in his seat. "What…? What are you…?"

"Relax, my friend. Do not upset yourself."

Amir's grip on Khalil's hand started to loosen. Khalil knew that the thin length of metal in the man's brain might not kill him immediately, so he had to wait for the internal bleeding to do its work. But Amir was taking his time about dying, and Khalil was becoming impatient. He looked through all the windows of the taxi and behind him he saw a young man entering Murray Street. He was dressed casually, and Khalil did not think he was a policeman, but he could be a problem.

Amir said weakly, "What has happened…?"

Khalil extracted the ice pick, slipped it into his jacket pocket, then pushed the baseball cap over Amir's head and said to him in Arabic, "The angels shall bear thee up to Paradise." He reached over the seat and took Amir's cell phone from his shirt pocket. There were too many calls registered on Amir's phone from Khalil's phone number.

Khalil took his overnight bag and exited the taxi. The man on the sidewalk was now less than thirty meters from him, and Khalil walked toward him. The man had obviously not noticed anything that had happened in the taxi, and Khalil did not want to have to kill him on the street, but it might become necessary. He passed the man on the sidewalk and looked back at him as he approached the taxi.

The man glanced at the taxi but kept walking, and Khalil continued toward the corner of Church Street. He looked back again and was startled to see Amir out of the taxi, still wearing the baseball cap, his arms flailing and his legs trying to propel him forward. The man who had passed by the taxi continued on, unaware of Amir, who now collapsed in the street.

Khalil continued to the corner, cursing his choice of the ice pick, thinking perhaps the Glock would have been a better choice for both of them. In any case, the business was complete without too much difficulty, and as he turned the corner onto Church Street he knew that any danger to himself was past. He dropped Amir's cell phone into a storm drain and continued.

There were a few vehicles and pedestrians on Church Street, and he saw that most of the people were a few blocks ahead near the covered platform that overlooked the place where the jihadists had achieved their great victory over the Americans. He picked up his pace, anxious to see this.

As he walked, he thought about what had happened a few minutes earlier. He learned something every time he killed a man; he learned how men met their death, which was interesting, but not instructive. It was the techniques of death that concerned him-the instrument chosen, the picking of the time and place, the stalking of the victim, and his approach, and, of course, the decisions concerning a quick, painless death or a slow and painful one. Was it business or was it pleasure? He knew that Amir's death would not be immediate, but it should have been quicker and relatively painless. And yet the man had clung to life and caused himself some u

Khalil would have to tell the all-knowing Boris what happened with Amir. Perhaps he would even demonstrate the problem to Boris.

He thought, too, of Corey's wife, and he was pleased with his method, which could not fail to impress Khalil's compatriots and colleagues, and also strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. His only regret was that the woman's death was relatively painless, and perhaps too quick. As for Corey, he would pray for death after Khalil finished with him. Some business, much pleasure.

Khalil reached the area of the platform and saw a set of steps that ascended to the top. He followed a young couple who were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, holding hands. In Europe he'd actually seen men and women entering Christian cathedrals with their legs exposed, and he wondered if anything was sacred to these people.

He climbed the stairs and saw that the platform was covered, and it held perhaps fifty people, most of them dressed as disrespectfully as the young man and woman ahead of him. He noticed, too, that nearly every person had a camera, and they were taking pictures of the vast hole in the earth, and some people posed at the railing with the site behind them.

There were a number of hand-lettered signs stuck in various places and one of them read: HALLOWED GROUND-PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL.

Khalil recalled similar notices in the cathedrals of Europe, asking for silence and respect, and it had struck him that such admonitions should be u

Another sign said HERE, NEARLY THREE THOUSAND INNOCENT MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN DIED IN AN ATTACK OF UNSPEAKABLE EVIL. PRAY FOR THEM.

Rather, Khalil intended to pray for the ten men on the two aircraft who had martyred themselves here for Islam.

He noticed, too, a number of floral bouquets fastened to the railings, and this made him think of the Haytham daughter. A beautiful young woman, but quite obviously not a modest one. The worst punishment was always reserved for those who had been given the light, and then turned from it. There was no place in Paradise for the Haytham family; there was only the fires of eternal Hell.

Asad Khalil looked now over the vast excavation below him. He was surprised to see that no rubble remained, and the earth was bare, though the sides of the excavation were lined with concrete walls that rose from bottom to top, a distance of perhaps fifty meters. A large earthen ramp led into the excavation, and he saw trucks and equipment sitting motionless at the bottom of the pit.

He looked at where the North Tower had been and recalled the first attack of February 26, 1993: a van, filled with explosives, detonated in the underground parking garage. The damage to the building had been slight, and the number of people killed had not exceeded six, though a thousand were injured. There had been concern among the jihadists that this failed attack would act as a warning to the Americans and that they would understand that the Towers would again be the target. But the Americans had drawn no such conclusions, though Khalil thought that even an idiot should have known what was pla