Near Plano, TexasW
afic Aziz and Ibrahim were in the warehouse sealing newly painted barrels full of ANFO slurry. It was delicate work as many of the old repurposed containers were off-round and their tops did not fit as tightly as they should. Wafic had to stop his assistant from using a hammer to force the lids into place. That was more than a little dangerous with an explosive as sensitive as ANFO, but Ibrahim just shrugged it off. As they worked on the barrels, now painted in red, white, and blue bands, Wafic worried about bumps or sharp turns on the drive to Fort Worth.
“You will have to be careful with your driving, Ibrahim.”
“Hasim went over the route with me. Don’t sweat it. I’m not.”
That was glib—and also unconvincing. Wafic looked closely at the young martyr-to-be working wi
