Takedown

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They chose a Wednesday in March for their day of atonement.

Malina had told him that people rarely called in sick on Wednesdays, and the early morning commuter lines into Times Square were bound to be elbow to asshole — standing room only.

“When the blast is triggered,” she said, “we’ll send a message to the world it’ll never forget.”

Ivan didn’t argue. He had only agreed to do this because he was in love with Malina. He didn’t hate America the way she did, and he hadn’t really cared when Kosovo declared its independence five years ago — he was barely thirteen at the time. But Malina was passionate about her beliefs, and that passion translated into a dynamic, all-encompassing charisma that Ivan found hard to resist.

The night before, she had said, “We should be proud, Ivan. What we’re about to do will change everything. Everything.”

Ivan wasn’t so sure, but who was he to challenge her? He had never been much of a thinker, and when he tried, he too often found himself unable to articulate the confused thoughts he did have. Better simply to shut up and listen and try to follow along as Malina lectured him on the dangerous tyranny of the US government and the willful ignorance of its arrogant, self-centered citizens.

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