Istishhad

A  2002 Volkswagen Passat parked at the perimeter of the Holyfield shopping center, inside the car two men and one woman were discussing in hushed tones. The woman sat in the back seat rapt in attention to the words of a heavily bearded man they called Ahmad in camp. The other man who was the driver chipped in occasionally as he mainly surveyed the environment with keen eyes.
‘All you have to do is act natural. Today you shall be shahid and remembered forever.” Ahmad addressed the woman looking her in the eye. She nodded in agreement, not uttering a word.
Ahmad had gone through similar scenarios dozens of time. He was called the comforter for a reason but of all the times, this was the first time he was leading a woman to a suicide mission. The previous had all been males. He could not help but notice she had more nerve than the males. They were all fidgety and sweaty before the task, one or two backing out at the last minute but the lady here seemed very relaxed and confident.
Yasmin stepped down from the car and sauntered towards the entrance of the mall in the left wing. Through intelligence gathered from surveying the mall for weeks, the left wing entrance held the least traffic and also the least security. She could easily scale through. She was dressed in a red spandex skirt that hung tightly to her curves, a white Zara chiffon top, brown LV bag matched with a brown Louboutin stiletto. Her hair was gelled into a bun, a gold framed Cazal sunshades completed her sophisticated western bourgeois look. That was the plan.
It has been four years since the infidels killed her husband in a raid. That day severed the humanity in her, she had vowed to herself to get back at the worthless souls with all she got. Two years ago she had joined the VNTT, a terrorist organization recognized for their ruthlessness. They planned and executed different terrorist attacks. She always had a smile on her face whenever the news showcased the havoc and chaos created by the dastard terrorist group.
Last month she had decided to volunteer herself for the first ever use of a female suicide bomber by the VNTT. She had no close family, just a younger sister she has not seen in years. Her family was her fellow believers in camp. Everyday she woke up to no purpose, no love. The attack was estimated to kill hundreds, the main target being the daughter of the prime minister who was scheduled to come shopping with her friends. It was going to be one of the highest hits by the VNTT and the use of a female will create more tension and fear factor in the hearts of people depriving the infidel country the element of trust for a fellow individual. When someone as sophisticated and beautiful as her could not be trusted it will really strike fear into the hearts of the people and further bring chaos. She was totally prepared. Her mind was made up for Istishhad.
She sat on one of the waiting seats in the wide retailer hall. Ahmad was going to put a call through as soon as the prime minister’s daughter was in the vicinity. The plan was to anticipate her movements, get close to her as much as she could then detonate the explosive strapped to her midriff.
Joshua had seen her walk in, such beauty exquisitely dressed and obviously alone. Was she waiting for someone? She seemed really calm for someone being held up, the assurance of her steps. The male instinct in him propelled him to get to know her more. No harm in trial. He stood up and walked towards her.
The call came through on her phone, she picked up on the first ring and heard Ahmad’s husky voice. “She’s here. Get ready.” The line went dead. All the emotions she had managed to suppress came rushing in. Anxiety, fear, dread, guilt, purpose. She was suddenly feeling extreme heebie-jeebies. She tried her best to shake it off. This was the way to get her revenge. Her path to redemption. She patted the explosives on her belly as if to draw comfort. She checked the detonator in her purse to make sure. She glanced at her wristwatch to check the time. In less than fifteen minutes, it will all be over. “Allah Akbar” she muttered to herself.
Joshua was few steps away from her when her phone rang. He paused in his tracks trying not to barge into her conversation. It was a very terse call that seemed to change her demeanor. He studied her briefly for sometime. He changed course.
It was obvious when she walked in flanked by friends and aides. Yasmin stood up. The time is now.
Yasmin followed the prime minister’s daughter, her mind getting firmer with each step. She wanted it to be perfect with the most casualties. She had already had her chance, once ten feet away from the prime minister’s but without crowd. She withdrew a bit to avoid being obvious. She wanted a lot of people to go down with her so she skipped her first window. “Move to the crowd, bitch” she repeated to herself. She suddenly noticed movements around her. A policeman was scurrying towards her. She hastened towards the prime minister’s daughter. She didn’t care anymore about crowds. She was now sure she was monitored. She hurried reaching into her bag for the detonator. She cursed herself for not going with the option of having it handheld. Sharp pain seared into her reaching arm reverberating her body. She tried frantically to get the detonator with the other arm. Another sharp pain coursed through her momentarily making her unconscious. Only if she could get to the detonator. She was now on her knees as people scampered and skittered. In seconds hands were on her. She had lost her window in the quest for perfection.