Free Soft Target by Stephen Hunter
Authors: Stephen Hunter
mall. That sometime soon soldiers or police officers would surely crash the place, guns firing, and probably kill them was of utterly no concern. Given the toughness of their lives, death held little sting.
But suddenly a crackle came over the earphones they wore under their
shemaghs.
It was the imam.
“You, Asad, that is your name, correct?”
“Yes, Imam,” said Asad, jumping alert.
“You remember what we discussed, you and I?”
It was true. He had a special mission.
“I do, Imam,” he said into the throat mike.
“Well, it’s time. You can find this place?”
He remembered. Second floor, NW Colorado, C-2-145. That was the destination. The imam had shown him on the bright-colored brochures with maps that guided them through the mall.
“I can, Imam,” he said.
“Good,” said the imam. “It’s time to go and get the babies.”
Humbly, Mr. and Mrs. Girardi approached the police officer at the farthest extreme from the mall. In fact, they could see it almost a mile away in the twilight, looking like a big tub upside down, surrounded by police cars and fire engines.
“Folks,” said the cop, “sorry, I can’t let you in any closer.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Girardi, “we’re looking for our son. He’s fourteen.”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever let him go to the mall alone,” said Mrs. Girardi. “I usually take him or he goes with friends. But he wanted to do his Christmas shopping.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“We haven’t heard from him. Should we call him?”
“He hasn’t called you?”
“We haven’t heard anything. We just know what’s on the TV.”
“No I wouldn’t advise that,” said the officer. “He may be hiding or something, or hurt or—well, you just don’t know what his circumstance is and it’s probably better to wait until he reaches out to you.”
“Is there any information available?”
“No, sir. We’re trying to get a command structure set up and get organized. It’s a terrible problem and nobody is clear on what to do. To be honest, it’ll be several hours before we really get what’s going on, and even longer before we have information. I’m sure your son is okay. He’s young, he’s strong, he’s quick.”
“He’s not really. He has asthma. He’s very thin and frail.”
“Well,” said the cop, stuck for an answer. “Maybe the best thing for you to do is find the Red Cross tent. I think they’re set up on the western side. You can rest there and you’ll get information there sooner.”
“I never should have let him come to the mall by himself,” said Mrs. Girardi, as her husband led her away.
Lavelva Oates shushed the redheaded one. He was a handful. Maybe it was because he was a redhead, he seemed to want a lot of attention and had tendencies toward disruption. He kept picking on a little Asian girl who would do nothing but sit and weep when he addressed her. Smack him hard on his burry little pipsqueak head? That’s what Lavelva wanted to do, but she knew it was a mistake. Jobs were hard enough to come by these days and no one went around hitting damn babies.
“Okay, boys and girls, now let’s play a new game,” she said brightly. “In this game, I want you all to be playing Hide from the monster. When I say go, you go hide. We’ll pretend the bad monstersare here. But they won’t see you, and you’ll be all right. We can hide from the monsters together.”
“That’s a scary game,” said Robert. She knew he was named Robert because he had a big name tag pinned on: ROBERT 3-4. But it was past four o’clock and Robert’s mom hadn’t shown up. Maybe she was dead.
“I want to go home. Where’s my mom?” asked Robert.
“I’m sure she’s on her way,” Lavelva said.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Linda said.
“Peepee or the other?” asked Lavelva.
“Both,” said the child.
“All right,” said Lavelva. “Anybody else?”
A few hands came up.
“I’m going to take you back there”—the lavatory
But suddenly a crackle came over the earphones they wore under their
shemaghs.
It was the imam.
“You, Asad, that is your name, correct?”
“Yes, Imam,” said Asad, jumping alert.
“You remember what we discussed, you and I?”
It was true. He had a special mission.
“I do, Imam,” he said into the throat mike.
“Well, it’s time. You can find this place?”
He remembered. Second floor, NW Colorado, C-2-145. That was the destination. The imam had shown him on the bright-colored brochures with maps that guided them through the mall.
“I can, Imam,” he said.
“Good,” said the imam. “It’s time to go and get the babies.”
Humbly, Mr. and Mrs. Girardi approached the police officer at the farthest extreme from the mall. In fact, they could see it almost a mile away in the twilight, looking like a big tub upside down, surrounded by police cars and fire engines.
“Folks,” said the cop, “sorry, I can’t let you in any closer.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Girardi, “we’re looking for our son. He’s fourteen.”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever let him go to the mall alone,” said Mrs. Girardi. “I usually take him or he goes with friends. But he wanted to do his Christmas shopping.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“We haven’t heard from him. Should we call him?”
“He hasn’t called you?”
“We haven’t heard anything. We just know what’s on the TV.”
“No I wouldn’t advise that,” said the officer. “He may be hiding or something, or hurt or—well, you just don’t know what his circumstance is and it’s probably better to wait until he reaches out to you.”
“Is there any information available?”
“No, sir. We’re trying to get a command structure set up and get organized. It’s a terrible problem and nobody is clear on what to do. To be honest, it’ll be several hours before we really get what’s going on, and even longer before we have information. I’m sure your son is okay. He’s young, he’s strong, he’s quick.”
“He’s not really. He has asthma. He’s very thin and frail.”
“Well,” said the cop, stuck for an answer. “Maybe the best thing for you to do is find the Red Cross tent. I think they’re set up on the western side. You can rest there and you’ll get information there sooner.”
“I never should have let him come to the mall by himself,” said Mrs. Girardi, as her husband led her away.
Lavelva Oates shushed the redheaded one. He was a handful. Maybe it was because he was a redhead, he seemed to want a lot of attention and had tendencies toward disruption. He kept picking on a little Asian girl who would do nothing but sit and weep when he addressed her. Smack him hard on his burry little pipsqueak head? That’s what Lavelva wanted to do, but she knew it was a mistake. Jobs were hard enough to come by these days and no one went around hitting damn babies.
“Okay, boys and girls, now let’s play a new game,” she said brightly. “In this game, I want you all to be playing Hide from the monster. When I say go, you go hide. We’ll pretend the bad monstersare here. But they won’t see you, and you’ll be all right. We can hide from the monsters together.”
“That’s a scary game,” said Robert. She knew he was named Robert because he had a big name tag pinned on: ROBERT 3-4. But it was past four o’clock and Robert’s mom hadn’t shown up. Maybe she was dead.
“I want to go home. Where’s my mom?” asked Robert.
“I’m sure she’s on her way,” Lavelva said.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Linda said.
“Peepee or the other?” asked Lavelva.
“Both,” said the child.
“All right,” said Lavelva. “Anybody else?”
A few hands came up.
“I’m going to take you back there”—the lavatory