DISNEY AFTERMATH

      Yasser sat on his motel bed watching the television and smoking a cigarette. CNN had a news loop that kept repeating itself. Each time it was replayed by the network, they were adding more information. As new information was gathered, it was added a piece at a time as the story unfolded. Initial reports thought that it was one bomb that had exploded in the Florida resort. The following reports insisted that it was three, and then possibly more. No one seemed to be sure at this stage exactly what had happened. The only certainty was the bombs had caused death and destruction in the heart of an American tourist institution.

      `We have blown up Mickey Mouse. That’s like shooting Kennedy, or knocking down the World Trade Centre. Generations of people will remember this day`. Yasser thought to himself as he watched the news loops go around again.

      “Who’s responsible for this outrage?” asked a reporter who was at the scene. The local police chief was trying to give a brief outline statement of what they knew so far, but they did not know very much. Eyewitnesses had given frightened and confused testimony that a series of at least three explosions had killed and injured hundreds of innocent tourists.

      “It is too early to speculate at this time,” he replied; then he repeated the same answer to the next three questions.

      The truth was that it was impossible to know how many people were holidaying in the area at any one time. The weather had been hot and sunny that day. Tourists headed for the water parks at Blizzard Beach and Typhoon Lagoon in the afternoon to take advantage of the sunshine. Epcot, M.G.M. Studios and Animal Kingdom were all mostly daytime destinations. Downtown Disney had a combination of shopping and entertainment facilities which made it a perfect destination for families in the evenings, and it had been full.

      How many of the tourists in the Orlando area were at the Downtown district at the time of the bombs? There could be no way of knowing. The police and rescue services were at full stretch because of the scale of the casualties and the uncertainty of further attacks. Identifying the dead and dying after such an attack would be a slow and painful task. The police would have to wait and painstakingly sift through hotel lists, and they would need the full co-operation of the hotels in the area to try to assess how many people had not returned to their accommodation that night. Nobody could guess how many of the people that were on vacation in the area had simply just packed up and left immediately, as many tourists would be heading home fearing for their families’ safety from further attacks.

      Yasser had heard the first bomb blast from the car park. He knew from the planning sessions that they had carried out that the Mickey bomb had been timed to explode first at the Rainy Jungle cafe. The second, third and fourth explosions were timed thirty seconds apart. It was a much-used terrorist tactic to cause mayhem, as people ran from the first explosion, straight into the path of the secondary blasts. When Yasser had driven away from the scene down Buena Vista Drive, he couldn’t be sure that he had heard all four planned explosions. He had definitely heard three, and he felt pleased with himself because another giant blow had been struck at the Infidel Americans. The shock of what had happened here and the impact of what was to follow tomorrow would stun the Western world and cripple tourism for years to come. He looked out of the hotel window toward Interstate 4 and saw the taillights of a thousand cars snaking off into the distance. The traffic would be grid locked all night as people fled from the carnage. The traffic would be bad but he could not wait until tomorrow to leave. He checked his documents; he needed to fly tonight before the security services tightened the noose looking for the people responsible.

      Yasser stood before the bathroom mirror and shaved his dark boyish skin. Yasser was twenty six years old, but looked younger. He was young to be in charge of such operations as these, but his talent to organize, recruit, motivate and execute such attacks had been recognized years before. When he had first gone to the Sudan to be trained in the religious camps, individuals were earmarked as those who would do and die, and those who could organize such people. Yasser was identified as the latter. When it came to motivating others Yasser was the best. His belief was that the West’s invasion of his homeland in Iraq and the oppression being felt by his Muslim brothers in Afghanistan was unacceptable. His ability to convince others to join in this global Jihad was incredible.

      He looked at his small frame in the mirror. He was slim and lean, his skin was dark and his eyes were olive green. They looked through you, not at you. They seemed to be lifeless like those of a shark, and although attractive to some, a cold malice behind them chilled you if you looked too long. Yasser put some eye shadow around his green eyes, and applied mascara to his long eyelashes. He put lip-gloss on and pouted in the mirror at his reflection, and then he took the bobble from the long ponytail that he wore on the back of his head, and brushed his thick black hair. Yasser dressed in a casual pastel coloured tracksuit and pink trainers, and to add to the effect he put on a pair of women’s Dolce and Gabbanna glasses. The lenses were broad and round and they covered most of his face. Yasser`s long hair and slim frame made him look all the more feminine. He blew a kiss to his reflection in the mirror, and as he shook his hair again Yasser became Yasmine.