Yasser/ Warrington
Yasser Indri Ahmed stood alone in the empty storage unit. He opened the door of the ice-cream van and climbed inside, passing between the front seats he moved into the back of the van. He stood where the ice-cream vendor would normally sell his wares. He opened the freezer compartment by sliding the black plastic lid, thus exposing the empty stainless steel storage box. He smiled as he imagined the storage box crammed full of Semtex and ball bearings. There were three such storage containers, one on each side of the van and one beneath the back window. If this mobile truck bomb disguised as an innocent ice-cream van was to be detonated amongst milling crowds of unsuspecting passers-by, the results would be sheer carnage.
Yasser had ordered the search and purchase of these vehicles some six months before. His followers across the British Isles had scoured the local papers and auto-marts. Some were bought for just a few hundred pounds, nothing more than rotting shells, their equipment broken beyond repair. The refrigeration and roadworthiness were of no concern to Yasser. They had fixed any damaged engines and repainted rusty exteriors. New cartoon decals were added to put the finishing touches to the disguise. He now had a fleet of six, complete and ready for service. They would be weapons in the fight against the Infidel. His holy Jihad was soon to be unleashed on the British people.
President George Bush had been mistaken when he had pointed to Osama Bin Laden, and the Islamic fundamentalist group al-Qaeda, as the architects of all terrorist destruction. It is more realistic to describe them as a small group of extremists that were bankrolled by the son of an oil millionaire, who has little support amongst the majority of Arab nations. It had been proven by the 9/11 bombers in New York, and by the 7/7 bombers in London, just what scale of destruction can be achieved. They were devastating attacks planned and executed by small independent groups of extremists, armed only with box cutter knives and homemade bombs.
There was no evil mastermind sat in a secret hide out that took control of planning every terrorist attack. Only in James Bond movies do we see such evil masterminds exist. Yasser was a great planner but his resources were limited. The attacks he had planned and executed in American tourists attractions had been simple but effective. All he really needed was a man or woman with enough conviction to die for their belief; the rest was cheap and simple.
Few people knew of his current plan or its existence; he could not trust anyone with the full details of his evil plot. He had thought about his potential targets for hours and the choice was endless. Shopping centres, parks, concerts, sporting events were all potential targets. His mobile bombs could wreak havoc anywhere that there were crowds of people.
He climbed back out of the van and shut the door. Two pink pigs waved at him from a decal below the handle on the door. `Pinky and Perky ` he thought they were called. He walked across the unit, passing the silent ice-cream vans that were parked there. He passed the last vehicle and stopped beside what looked like a large metal box on wheels. He lifted a stainless steel lid and the smell of old onions hit him. He lifted the lid from a second container and the smell of hot dogs drifted toward him. He opened a stainless steel door beneath the empty pans and looked inside. The storage space contained an old rusty gas bottle and some empty plastic ketchup and mustard dispensers.
“Hot dog stands and ice-cream vans that explode, what a genius idea,” he thought aloud. Others would soon join the dirty old hot dog stand that stood by itself. They would be cleaned and then stripped of their innards, the old ketchup bottles replaced by a far more deadly cargo. All he needed was to pick the perfect venue. He wanted all his machines of destruction to attack simultaneously to amplify the effect of the carnage.
Yasser walked toward the front entrance of the warehouse. He unlocked the door and opened it allowing the cold night air to rush in. He only came to see the progress that had been made at night when the unit was empty of his followers. Most of his supporters had heard a rumour that he was in the country, but only a chosen few had actually seen him. He trusted no one. He glanced over his growing fleet of ice-cream vans and smiled. The plan was progressing well. He extinguished the light and closed the unit door then he locked it behind him. Yasser looked up at the night sky toward the full moon. About a mile away on the other side of the industrial park he saw the silhouette of a small helicopter against the silver light of the moon. He gauged it was somewhere above the area of the cold room, but he could hear no engine noise. He knew immediately that it was a spy drone. The flying machines were almost silent, unmanned and packed with high-tech surveillance equipment. They were flown by remote control and used to search for, and observe military targets. He had seen many of them flying over the mountains of Pakistan and Kashmir, searching for the hideaway of Osama Bin Laden.
A single headlight appeared on the corner close by, and he heard the high-pitched whine of a Japanese motorbike engine approaching. The rider pulled up close to the curb and put the bike onto its stand. The rider looked Yasser up and down. It had been some years since they had met in the flesh. Yasser looked good in his dark blue denim jeans. He had a simple white tee shirt beneath a tan leather jacket; the jacket matched his cowboy boots. He hadn`t put on an ounce of weight since the last time they had met, and he still wore his long hair in a bun tied tightly to the back of his head.
The bike rider turned off the engine and approached Yasser and he smiled as she removed her helmet.
“Yasmine, you have grown into a beautiful woman. How are you my sister?”
“Yasser, you look so well! I have been so worried about you. I miss you terribly. Mustapha has left us and his faith behind, he was so upset and disturbed leaving home that he just couldn’t cope,” Yasmine blurted, only stopping for breath when Yasser placed a finger on her lips lightly.
“Shush, shush, Yasmine, now is not the time, you can tell me all about it when we get to where I am staying. We have much to catch up on little one.” Yasser smiled and took the spare helmet from her. Yasmine mounted the Honda Blackbird and started the engine. Yasser climbed on behind her and clung to the bar on the back of the bike.
“Where are we going to?” Yasmine shouted over the noise of the engine as she revved the machine excitedly.
“Do you know your way to Anfield in Liverpool, next to the football stadium?” He asked putting his boots up onto the foot rests.
“Yes, I used to take Mustapha to watch them play when he was younger. Hold on tight it will not take us long.”
Yasser looked up at the drone again. It hadn’t moved from its position above the cold room. “I think they are looking for me,” he thought smiling and pointing to the remote helicopter. They both laughed as the bike pulled away from the unit.