“What happened after that?” Julian lowered his arms, his mind whirling with the harrowing story he knew was coming. He’d witnessed similar acts on his missions in Africa, gathering intelligence against al-Harakat.
“They raped Bishara. She was barely a teenager and they raped her right in front of me. They told me I could have saved her from that pain if I had done the first mission. Then they asked me if I wanted to save my youngest sister. I could save her if I would agree to do a mission for them. A mission that would not only free my sisters but would send me to the happiest place I could imagine,” the kid waiter said, his tears slowing as he loosened, then tightened his fingers around the detonator.
“Heaven,” Julian said, familiar with the rhetoric used by terrorists like al-Harakat to convince young kids to sacrifice their lives.
The kid waiter nodded slowly.
In the periphery, Julian could see the guests toward the furthest end of the rooftop. The size of the crowd wasn’t getting smaller. His eyes darted toward the exit stairwell. Something prevented Enzo from opening the door. Three men worked feverishly with Enzo, trying different tactics, but none seem to be working. Julian figured the terrorists had sealed the exits to ensure maximum damage from the suicide bomb.
A hush fell over the crowd as the kid waiter continued to speak.
“I had to save my sisters from any more pain. I couldn’t let them continue to rape them. They promised me that if I do this, they would set them free. I don’t want to kill these people. I tried to take the bomb off, but it is tied onto me. I tried to blow myself up before I got here, but they had someone watching me. Following me. He pointed his big gun at me and told me to go inside, serve the people, and make their last night happy. Then after dinner, when everyone was on the rooftop dancing, I was supposed to press this red button.” The kid waiter held his hand high, thumb poised on the button that seemed to glow against the night sky.
A round of gasps floated through the air from the guests, as some wailed.
“You don’t have to do that. I promise, I can help you if you let me. What’s your name?” Julian asked.
“Uhuru,” the kid waiter said.
“Uhuru. I’m Julian.”
“I wish we were meeting under different circumstances Mr. Julian,” Uhuru said.
“So do I.”
Uhuru continued, “The bad men with guns told me that if I didn’t complete the mission, they would do horrible things to my sisters instead of setting them free. I don’t want to do this, but what other choice do I have?”
Julian had spent weeks working with explosive specialists in Nigeria, part of small bomb-disposal units, trained to disarm improvised explosive devices. It had been years since he’d watched the specialists do their work, studying their moves and methods from afar as his SEAL team guarded the perimeters from surprise terrorist attacks. Right now, those memories were all he had to save this kid and the rest of the guests on the rooftop.
“You can choose to let me help you save yourself and all these innocent people.” Julian said.
“I don’t want to kill people. Please, if you can help me not kill people. I want a chance to be free of this burden,” Uhuru said, fresh tears falling down his cheeks.
“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Julian responded, then turned toward the crowd of guests collectively holding their breaths near a corner of the courtyard. Enzo and the other security guards were working to unhinge the exit door. “Anybody have scissors? I need scissors!”
A woman in a long emerald green gown emerged from the crowd, digging in her purse as she walked confidently toward him.
“Here, I have these,” the woman said, handing Julian a pair of embroidery scissors. Flipping the small object in his hands, Julian tested the sharpness against the tip of his thumb, happy to feel the sharp prick. The scissors were the perfect size to make the delicate snips needed to free Uhuru.
Turning back to the boy, he said, “We’re going to sit down right here, next to each other, slowly. Then I’m going to get you out of this vest.”
The boy nodded and lowered his body in unison with Julian until he was sitting on the soft grass of the courtyard, his hand still clutching the detonator with the red button.
“Lay that down carefully by your side,” Julian said, motioning to the detonator, “then lie flat on your back.”
Enzo rushed over to Julian. “We need to get these people off the fucking rooftop now! Can’t get the stairwell door open. It’s jammed from the inside.”
Julian would rather try to get the vest removed without an audience of screaming, scared guests. The only other option was the delta exit they’d guarded before.
“Send some of the other security guards to check the ballroom. If it’s clear, take the guests inside and get them down to the loading dock through the delta exit,” Julian directed. “And avoid the windows. Stick to the inner walls, single file.”
“The motherfuckers are probably watching, aren’t they? Waiting to see fucking fireworks,” Enzo whispered.
“And if they don’t, they could remotely detonate,” Julian said, turning to look back at Enzo. Concern creased his friend’s face.
“You got this?” Enzo asked, nodding down at the suicide vest.
“Yeah, I got it. Get these people out of here and to safety,” Julian responded with more confidence than he felt.
