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The van driver’s name in Arabic meant follower. He had never dwelled on that fact much, but in these last days of his life, he thought it appropriate. His mother would never understand, but his jihadist father, were he alive today, would be very proud.
He kept his eye on the speedometer and traveled only the back roads to avoid attention. Small town officials were always looking for outsiders to write speeding tickets, and he wanted to take no chances. He also was wary in case anyone had seen the van leave the ghastly smelling house in Queens. If someone had spotted it, staying out of sight now would be critical.
It was strange to be in this country with its rolling hills, sprawling oak trees, and horse farms with their endless white fences. In his experience, the land was nothing bu
