(Note the “fiction” tag, folks.)
He was utterly certain no one would expect this.
Of course the raving conspiracy theorists had picked up on the leaks of some sort of false flag disaster, but they were all looking in the wrong direction.
There had been still too much resistance, too many people protesting and willing to actively interfere with the war making. Peace activists were one thing, but the damning logic of the writers and speakers who rallied those activists was a serious problem. There were too many of them to simply take out the big names.
So the climate had to be changed.
It required something unpleasant happen at the premier meeting of their own best publicity agency. Once an up and coming replacement or two was chosen, the grand old man of Christian Zionists could meet an untimely end, though only a year or two, given his poor state of health. Of course, the really important people would be in some closed door meeting elsewhere when it happened.
The promotional team had really outdone themselves. It seemed almost every evangelical church in the country had sent a delegation. This would be the biggest festival by far, right there in DC. Such nice festivities were laid on; too bad it was to be cut short. The bigger the tragedy, the greater the impact.
Of course, it was never hard to find a crack team of real or faux Muslims with Iranian connections. Expensive to lose good men, but it was the price for winning. For the hatred to work, these would have to be found and rounded up for the big show trial. His superiors had learned from the glaring shortcomings of the Trade Towers operation. No cutouts this time.
Of course, this was a much simpler operation in the first place. They would net more than 15,000 victims, when you add the support personnel, vendors, and those who were simply too close to the facility. At the cost of another few thousand lives, the American Zionists would rise in fury at the terrorist act striking at the heart of their rally against the enemies of Israel. They would not be bullied! Everyone who even appeared to support the end of the wars would be a traitor.
He chuckled at the thought of the evangelicals returning to their southern roots and lynching, though not with literal ropes, for the most part. He expected a lot of creative variations. Every major congregation in the US would have their own martyrs. For years to come, until the Americans exhausted their last ounce of energy, they would fight the wars for Israel.
It was time. From his seat near the main entrance to the meeting hall, with lovely energetic music and singing, he stood up and walked out the door. It was the signal. His giddy humor at the thought of getting jihadis to dress in drag, looking like pale-skinned church ladies so they could pass unnoticed in the crowd, was uniformly mistaken for the spiritual enthusiasm of the worship songs by everyone who saw him. A quick handshake or two, and he exited to signaled for his driver.
He was on an errand to the off-site leader’s conference, a faithful messenger of the main sponsoring organization, which was liberally salted with his fellow Mossad agents. The jihadis had no such cover.
He watched the traffic for a few seconds, but said nothing to his driver as the man did his best to fight his way through the mass of vehicles always clogging the streets of the nation’s capital. Instead, he stroked the face of his cellphone, then poked at it a couple dozen times. The text message would set off yet another chain of events of which the jihadis knew nothing. A much larger team of witnesses and informants were in place to make sure the jihadis never got very far. He looked up and smiled a bit to notice his driver had placed them in a fast peloton of taxis heading away from the conference center.
It was critical to get as far away as possible before the devices disgorged their toxic gasses.
