Arvana shook her head amid convulsions of grief. Behrouz squeezed the trigger and watched his wife slump to the floor in a spray of blood.
Fahraddi stifled a wail and stormed down the staircase passed his stunned followers. He threw open the van's rear double doors. "Inside," he screamed. "NOW!" he urged unnecessarily.
With the team in position on board, the most Caucasian looking one taking the wheel, Fahraddi examined the charge and timer attached to the group of gas cans. He set the clock for an hour delay, then stumbled to the heavy wooden warehouse doors and pushed them open, as well.
Finally, he traversed the van and climbed in through the rear, sniffing and wild eyed.
The others studied him worriedly.
"Drive, you i***t!" he shouted.
The Seventh Hour
Carl Bzynski's did not lik
