Sitting in an empty car on a nearly empty Metro train, David Burns watched the stations go by: Capitol South, Eastern Market, Potomac Avenue. He exited, smiling his shit-eating smile, I hope they're ready for the double whammy, because the Good Bug is coming to town. I just hope they're fucking happy when I exterminate all the bad little buggies in Washington, D.C.

David was the only person alighting from the Potomac Avenue Station and instead of heading up the escalator, he sat listlessly on one of the two granite benches as if he were waiting for the next train. Either the Potomac comes crashing through the front door or the Anacostia creeps up their ass . . . or, he giggled, perhaps they'll meet in the middle. Burns whistled part of his favorite refrain: I hear babies cry and watch them grow. A whole lot more than you'll ever know. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world!

David couldn't believe how simple his plan was. Three bombs in strategic places, a smoke bomb for good measure a secret bomb hidden here at the Potomac Avenue. His laugher echoed throughout the station. And if all that fails, there's always plan B-an unmarked truck of fertilizer at the McMillan Reservoir just waiting to for enough sunlight to detonate it-and I don't even have to be within a thousand miles!

"What's up? Is everything okay?" a maintenance man shouted as he rode down the escalator.

David fired his muzzled gun quickly and watched as the man's body crumpled to the ground. Then he dragged him down the walkway inside the unlit tunnel. Stupid attendants never watch the monitor. You could stand here naked, fucking a God damned duck and they'd all be fighting over the rights to the candy machine.

David dragged the body fifty feet into the tunnel and left it on the narrow ledge. I bet it sits here a week. God damned lazy assed Metro employees wouldn't leave their posts if you gave them a hundred bucks. David removed the narrow metal plate he'd placed over the entrance to the hole he'd blasted a week earlier and crawled inside.

It took him a few moments to place the bomb at the exact spot where the seawall and the Metro met. I should call Antwoine, the fag waiter from Mr. Henry's, and let him watch the festivities from here. David wanted to laugh, but was running out of room to hide any more bodies.

David walked to the end of the platform and rode the escalator to the street level without looking back. I have to remain confident: that's what fools eye-witnesses. Blow a man away in broad daylight, kick the shit out of someone in a crowd and no one remembers what the fuck you look like, but hesitate and your ass is grass. When he reached street level, he hailed a cab, "Mr. Henry's, and make it snappy."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"The Lord has seen fit to let my people be baptized in his New Jordan," Reverend Abel said, "and the New Jordan is what the world calls the Anacostia-and her loving waters, springing from the fonts in the Garden of Eden, are ready to wash away your sin."

Floanda Jones had no idea what the reverend was talking about, but she was spellbound by the way he said it. Now I know how Jesus must of felt when he wrote the King James Bible and fought the Crusades. Now I know the power of God.

Abel thumped his Bible against the roster, pounding it on each syllable. "Jesus saves by baptism and by blood and today you must be baptized in the name of the Lord."

Floanda's husband, Zeke, rose to his feet and began singing a cappella. "We shall gather at the river, the beautiful, beautiful river," as the rest of the congregation joined in-but unfortunately the body count for the baptism was less than two hundred souls-far short of the magical number of 144,000 Abel had predicted.

This is going to be a glorious day, Abel thought, as he visualized the offering plates heaping high with money, knowing how glorious it was to walk with the Lord, knowing how much Wanda the Whip would thank him for his generosity. "Let us make a joyful offering unto the Lord," Abel said as he lifted the collection plates to the sky before passing them over his head to the elders. "And let us be thankful unto the Lord for his mercy. Dig deep in your pockets, my brothers and sisters. Dig down deep for Jesus."

After the offering plates had been circulated Abel continued. "Jesus Christ was baptized by the Apostle John, a humble servant of the Lord . . . just like me. And Jesus spoke unto John and said, 'Unless you are blest by the spirit and by the water, you shall never see the City of God.' And John replied with great humility just like me when I kneel at the feet of Jesus," Able had trouble concentrating: Wanda the Whip was sitting in the first row, in her most revealing outfit, "You have revealed a New World unto me-a glorious, though painful world." Abel rose to his full height and shouted, "Do I hear a hallelujah?"

Two hundred voices shouted as one as The Right Reverend Billy B. Abel's thoughts continued to morph between baptism and Wanda the whip mistress. "Unless a man is stricken, I say stricken, with the power and glory of the spirit, he shall not enter the pearly gates. Hallelujah! Unless a man is beaten down by the arm of the Lord, he will not sit at the feet of his master. Praise be to Jesus, our living God, hallelujah. Unless a man is baptized in spirit and in water, he shall not see the kingdom of the Lord." Abel flung himself backwards onto the omnipresent elders, knowing his congregation expected the spirit of God to hover over him, knowing his hand-picked pre-pubescent dark-eyed boys, who would someday enjoy the whip as much as he did, would shelter and protect him. And the elders caught him and hoisted him high above their shoulders like an ancient Pharaoh on his way to be with Osiris.

By 10:00 A.M. all the traffic around the reservoir had dissipated and ten-year old Andy Nelson and his friends hurried out of their homes on Grisham Street, a block or so away. "If we're quiet, we can sneak under the fence and swim before the big guys ever know what's happening."

Andy was the best swimmer, but his buddies, Nicholas and Brandon, were still novices, practicing their basics. The water's only three feet deep, Andy thought. My pet mouse could swim there safe. Andy laughed. Ever since he discovered the opening in the fence, his life had changed. Now he was the leader of the neighborhood boys and no matter what he did, he did it vigilantly, always looking for cops, suspicious men, surveillance cars . . . and aliens.

"What's that?" Brandon asked.

"Looks like a abandoned truck. I've never seen it parked here before. Let's check it out." Andy had crossed the street quickly without looking so many times that he barely noticed the police car cruising up Fourth Street.

"Stand back," Nicholas said, "let the cop car go. We don't want no trouble."

The boys were not afraid of the police-Brandon's dad worked on the force-but they knew when to avoid them and when to call for help.

Andy reached the truck first and jumped onto the rear-peering under the tarp, trying to see what was inside. "It's sort of stinky," he shouted to Nicholas as Brandon climbed aboard.

"It smells like cow poop." Andy said, vaguely remembering something he'd heard about fertilizer.

"Yeah, but why would anyone leave cow poop here?"

"Didn't the police warn us about finding things like this?" Nicholas said, remembering what Brandon's Dad had told them, "We're supposed to report suspicious things right away." He looked at Brandon for support.

"And sometimes suspicious things look innocent at first," Brandon's voice trailed off.

"So, you think we should call the police, now? You wanna mess up our chance to go swimming?" Andy pouted. He was the leader, not Brandon. "Did you bring your cell phone?"

"No," Nicholas said as Brandon shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Well without no phone, we can't call no police. Let's go swimming."

Brandon slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket. "I brought mine. Swimming's important but so's obeying the law."

Andy wanted to vomit. I'll have to find some littler kids to play with tomorrow; I'll have to break in a whole new bunch of boys.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Chief didn't want to do it, but as an added precaution, he shut down the entire Metro from Stadium Armory to Rosslyn. "Pull everyone back from Dupont and Georgetown-the girls can take care of themselves, right now I want every man in the Metro-leave no stone unturned. But be sure to leave the smoke bomb in place. We want Burns to think he's safe."

With men and dogs in place, Salmi looked at the map, "There's the red line at the corner of Twelfth and Constitution. If Burns planted the rest of the bombs in the same manner, they'll be in at least thirty yards down the tunnels. One's got to be at the corner of Seventh and Constitution and the other at Twelfth and Constitution. Get the bomb squad down there now; I'm on my way."

"How complicated was the one at Foggy?"

"It could have been designed by a ten-year old. One simple fuse. Obviously the perps didn't think we'd find it. We're not going to have any trouble defusing them. What we have to worry about is time. The marchers step off at noon." Vilano looked at his watch, "We have less than three hours."

The first team of bomb sniffing dogs arrived at the corner of Twelfth and Constitution at 9:15. They pushed the vendor's carts out of the way, closer to the street-closer to the best view in town-unaware that David Burns had offered that same space to Antwoine, the headwaiter at Mr. Henry's Restaurant, but as soon as they moved the cart, they saw a manhole cover.

"It's against the law for vendors to block city accesses-they know that."

"Perhaps it's more than a manhole cover," Officer Prosl said, as he removed it and climbed down the twenty foot ladder where he heard the sound of running water. "That's it, that's what we've been looking for-it's got to be the underground river. Look for signs of a freshly dug entrance, a hole, anything that might show us where the terrorists entered."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wanda the Whip sat in the front row of RFK Stadium along with three pimps and five girls from her stable, staring down the Right Reverend Billy B. Able.

"You gave me a counterfeit," she screamed. "You gave me a fucking counterfeit hundred dollar bill for my services. If a girl's going to be busted it ought to be for doing her job, not for passing counterfeit money."

Abel looked at her, but his cock hardened, wondering why she was there, what his flock would think of him, how he would explain this to his dad if he found out the horrible passion Billy had for whores and whips.

Wanda the Whip lifted a bull horn to her lips, so everyone could hear, "You are a sinner, little dog; crawl to your mistress and lick her boots. Show me! Show your congregation! Show the whole God damned world whom you serve."

Abel looked at his Bible, at the throng of people around him, at the young elders, at his flock, and then he looked at Wanda-her whip-her leather skirt-her hip boots. "I serve and obey my living God. I serve you I love you. I serve you."

Elder Rudolph Mackall, a sixteen year old sixth grader, who was home schooled because his mother believed public schools were filled with heathens and Roman Catholics, collapsed in what looked like an epileptic fit, banging his head on the ground as the other elders reached back to him, pulling him away from the Right Reverend Billy B. Abel.

Zeke and Floanda Jones headed for the exit, throwing up their hands in despair. "I warned you about the Reverend," Zeke said. "Praise the Lord we have time to get out of here before He sends the deluge and drowns these sinners like the rats they are."

Standing a few feet from Abel, next to the altar, Elmira the woman who had been forced to give eighty percent of her Social Security check to Reverend Abel for the past two years, smiled. Sooner or later I knew those counterfeit bills would come back to haunt your ass. Bilk an entire congregation for years, rob from the poor to line your pockets is one thing, but taking the last bit of dignity from me is not acceptible! I hope you rot in hell. Elmira took off her shoes and shook the dirt out onto the altar-and then, barefoot, she left the unholy ground upon which the Right Reverend had trod. I hope you rot in hell for all eternity. But perhaps you should live at the D.C. jail for a few years-I know there are brothers who'd love to get their hands on you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Terrell Johnson sat shackled in a small anteroom at the Marion Barry Police Headquarters as Officers Murdock and Howard peppered him with questions,

"How many bombs did you make? Twenty? Thirty?"

"I told you three."

"Just three? How many did you deploy?"

"Deploy?"

"Don't be a smart ass. How many did you hide?"

"All of them."

Murdock paused, squeezing his three-hundred pound frame into the size of a blowfish before releasing all his energy in one vehement blast, "You God damned son of a bitch. I want to know exactly where you hid those bombs."

Howard stood between the two men as Murdock took three steps toward the door, exhaled and then turned. He lowered his tone to a mere whisper and stood next to Terrill, while slowing removing a pocket knife from his pants pocket. "Tell me everything you know, mother fucker, or I swear to God I'll take your nuts right here, right now."

"What?"

"Strip him."

Howard hoisted Terrill to his feet and tugged his pants down to his ankles-a skill he mastered in the bedroom with his second wife who dressed like Dietrich.

"There's one more bomb. David has it. Take his nuts, not mine."

"David Burns? Not you?" Murdock was livid now, beyond umber, behind rage, "What if I said I don't fucking believe you?" he sawed the knife blade gently along the base of Terrill's low-hanging left testicle.

Terrill reared back, pushing against the chair, "Burns wants his land back. His great granddaddy owned most of D.C. He wants it back."

"Look you fucking little prick." Murdock glanced down at Terrill's crotch and sneered, "Yesterday, you said Burns was at Mr. Henry's. Now you're telling me he's laying claim to the entire District. Which is it? Which lie do you want to lose your nuts over?"

Terrill struggled with Howard, trying to wriggle his arms free, feeling the cool breeze striking him in between his legs. "So help me God, I'm telling you the truth, David's behind this. He's crazy-not me. He's gonna blow up the whole God damned city-if he can't have it, he's gonna destroy it." Terrill's voice grew louder, sickeningly louder and higher in timbre, as his nuts tried to shrivel into his body cavity. "He's crazy . . . he's fucking crazy." Terrill was screaming now, banging the bottom of the table with his upraised knees, spitting at Lieutenant Murdock, struggling to pull himself free.

"Maybe one nut will jog your memory, "Murdock held his knife under the table. "One little slip and you're semi-nutless. Think, bitch, think fast."

"All I know is he said something about Plan B, something about the Anacostia at the Potomac Metro, but I don't know what he meant. He ever told me nothing. You gotta believe me. He never fucking told me nothing." Terrell felt the knife pricking his nuts under the table. He pulled back in his chair, retracting his nut sack as far as it would go, "he said something about a seawall, but I don't know what he was talking about." Terrill's screams were overpowering, hysterical now. "Get that fucking knife out of me. Get it out. Get it the fuck out."

Captain Garner interrupted Murdock's sport over the intercom. "Get that son of a bitch out of there. NOW."

Five minutes after Captain Garner called Marc Villano and told him about the seawall at Potomac Avenue, Villano and Lacey boarded the police train-heading to the station by the seawall-praying they'd be in time to save the city.

"I'm sending a brigade on the next train. They'll be lingering outside the station, ready to enter as soon as you've defused the bomb. For God's sakes, find it-and give Lacey as much room as she needs." Garner silently prayed to the Holy Virgin, knowing it didn't do any harm-hoping it would be good.

As soon as the Metro door swung opened, Lacey jumped out, barking and racing down the tunnel. No time to hold her now. I've got to give the girl her head.

Within minutes, Lacey barked three times, her special signal that she'd found the bomb.

"Lacey's found it. We've got the bomb."

"Do you need back up?"

"Not yet. I see the opening. I'm going in. Keep the men in reserve. This could blow at any time." Villano crawled into the tunnel, wiggling his ass carefully, trying not to disturb anything, praying the perpetrator hadn't left any surprises as he ran his hands carefully up and down the dark walls feeling for any abnormality. After a few moments he felt a large protuberance on the right hand side, about a foot off the floor. "I've got it," he whispered into his phone. "Keep everyone out!

A half block away, Jason Brown, who was supposed to meet David Burns at the Potomac Avenue Metro Stop, boarded the elevator. He rode to the bottom, noticing the station attendant was nowhere in sight and lifted the latch of the emergency exit. Why bother with the fare card if I can get in for free?

Jason continued down the staircase from the mezzanine to the departure level, but just as he reached the bottom, Lacey spotted him and raced toward him. Jason reacted as he always did, instantly, without thinking, as he withdrew his knife, stabbed the dog and kicked her onto the train tracks.

Lacey whimpered, hunkering down below the overhanging safety ledge that contained a long row of lights to signal the arrival of the next train, as Jason tried to stab her from above. Kneeling down, he saw her cowering beneath him as he jabbed at her repeatedly-but she was too far to reach. The next train will finish the bitch. Where's David? He told me to meet him here.

Three local cops who had not heard the warning to stay out of the Potomac Avenue Metro Station headed down the stairs and saw Jason bending over the side, jabbing at something and approached him silently and within a few seconds, he was lying flat on the red hexagon terra cotta tiles, hands cuffed behind his back, face on the floor, with a knee firmly planted on his spine.

Villano wriggled out of the tunnel talking on his communicator. "I've deactivated the bomb. We're okay. Everything's okay," Villano spoke directly to Garner, but the hollow echoing effect of the Metro tunnel was enough to broadcast it down the entire one hundred and eighty three foot platform.

"Thank God," the officers said, "Thank God."

Villano approached the cops and looked down at Jason, "What's he-" but he was interrupted by Lacey's whimpering. "Lacey, what's wrong; where are you, girl?"

Marc spotted his dog and jumped onto the tracks, lifting Lacey up and placing her onto the platform, which was a foot over his head. If only Villano had been half inch taller he would have seen the blinking Metro lights on the platform, but he was more concerned with Lacey than his own safety. Lacey scampered away barking menacingly at Jason just as Marc started to jump up to her. The incoming train was filled with over one hundred of Captain Garner's best men; it was traveling at sixty miles an hour when it struck Marc Villano and carried him a hundred yards down the train tracks.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jeri Samuels who had just returned to D.C. Police Communications Central, and was working the phones for the first time since undergoing a double mastectomy, was flicking through her plastic surgeon's brochure on replacement breasts when Brandon Carnevali called asking to speak to his Dad. Jeri scribbled the boy's message in between photos of D cups and sprayed herself with Pure Passion for Women, her favorite Christian Dior product, knowing her chance of getting another man was about as hopeful as landing in Ricky Martin's bed next Saturday night, but never fully giving up hope. After a few moments, she reached Carnevali's voicemail, "Officer Carnevali, your little boy called and wants you to check out a suspicious truck parked at the reservoir as soon as possible."

Officer Carnevali had just bitten into his morning's Krispy Kreme. He listened to the message, erased it, took another bite, remembered the ass-chewing party Sergeant Casper had put him through the night before, and picked up the entire box of donuts. It's probably nothing, but I guess I'd better check it out. I don't' want to see another one of those God damned pink slips flapping in my face again.

Carnevali reached the site within ten minutes and as soon as he saw the truck, he knew he'd done the right thing. One call to Captain Garner's office took care of the stinky fertilizer truck, which was towed to Prince George's County for safekeeping.

"Boys, would you like to go swimming?" Carnevali was smarter than the boys suspected. He saw them in their trunks and he had known about the hole in the fence at the MacMillan Reservoir for months. Now's the time to mend fences in more ways than one, he thought. "Have you guys ever heard about the Boys Club of Greater Washington?"

Three heads shook 'no.'

It's brand new and it's on the corner of Seventh and Harvard-about two blocks from here. You won't believe how much fun those boys have. There's basketball, and swimming, and arts and crafts, and music . . . and they arrange trips every weekend. Interested in joining?"

Three heads looked up in delight.

"Get in my car, boys, I'll drive you over and introduce you."

"No thanks," Andy said, "no offense but we don't take no rides from strangers."

The other boys laughed, but Officer Carnevali knew exactly what Andy meant.

"Come with me, boys," Andy said, feeling secure in his decision . . . and with his friends. "Let's check out the new facilities."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

David Key Burns stood next to the Mary McCloud Bethune Memorial in Lincoln Park a dozen blocks from the U.S. Capitol Building, from noon to 12:45, looking at the Capitol Dome, waiting for the flood, listening for the screams, but at 12:46 he stopped pressing the remote detonator, dumped it into the trashcan and headed toward Union Station. Plan A obviously failed and I guess Plan B at Potomac Avenue failed, as well. Oh well . . . there's always Plan C, David thought of the mountain of fertilizer he had left at the reservoir, and spontaneous combustion ought to take care of that any day now-what's that line from the Rocky Horror Show? An-tic-a. . . . pation! David Key Burns fondled the Amtrak ticket in his pocket, feeling the sweat on his fingertips, toying with the ticket, wondering how far north he really ought to go. David Key, I like the sound of my middle name: it restores my legacy with Francis Scott Key and the Baltimore branch of the Burns family. David thought more and more about Baltimore and the Inner Harbor. Everyone attacks New York City or Washington, why in the hell doesn't anyone ever blow up Charm City? David pictured himself collecting tolls in the Baltimore Tunnel, leaving a small sack, waiting for the blast, watching the entire city of Baltimore sink into the Patapsco River as it emptied into the Chesapeake Bay and he continued whistling as he walked toward Union Station, "I see trees pf green, red roses too. I see 'em bloom for me and for you. And I think to myself . . . what a wonderful world."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On the hillock overlooking the city on Morris Road, Adman waited, watching, hoping to see the city fall into the river, wanting to see the city swallowed up. He waited, and then he looked at his watch. He waited, but nothing happened. Mall. Watch. Mall. Watch. Nothing. Adman walked to his car, which had been burglarized the night before, and realized his laptop was gone. "What the fuck! You live in a city long enough and the God damned gangsters come after you." Adman walked back to his vantage point, looking at the sky, observing the planes landing at National Airport. Then he looked toward the Mall again. Then to the planes. In and out. More and more planes. He watched the planes, forgetting the time, the Mall, and his duty. I've got to get to the airport. Now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jason Brown was sentenced to life imprisonment because the District had abandoned the death penalty; the rest of Tom Kelly's murderers and the conspirators were never captured. "Brown will have plenty of time to think about what he did," Kelly's widow said as the CBS interviewer stuck a microphone in her face which seemed alive and rosy as she held tightly onto Erik Salmi's hand, "but the family and I are praying for closure and beg America's Most Wanted to find him. God knows who that maniac will attack next." Alia jacta est, she thought, thinking of her husband as Caesar, now crossing the Styx instead of the Rubicon and of Salmi as her Cato.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Ed Lynch brought the collie puppy home he wondered if his sons would like it as much as they loved Lacey. She looks like the other dog, but I won't lie to my boys. This dog is not one of Lacey's pups. Fixed dogs don't have pups; the boys should be old enough to understand that.

"Daddy, Daddy," Jus shouted, "Lacey had her puppies. Is this one a girl or boy?"

Noah picked up the puppy holding her into the air, noticing that she didn't whine but seemed to enjoy her flight through the air. "She's a girl," he said. "Look, there's nothing here. If they don't have-"

"She's a girl," Lynch interrupted, "but she's not Lacey's pup. Lacey isn't able to have babies-some females can reproduce and others can't-"

The boys stared at their Dad.

"Lacey is not the puppy's mother. I adopted her at the pound." Ed paused, "Actually Cagey adopted me."

"Cagney?" Noah whined, "You already named her?"

"Yep, I named her," Lynch paused, trying not to get teary eyed. "She's Cagney . . . our Cagney."

"Why did you name her Cagney?"

"For reasons you'll never understand, son, but she'll be our dog forever and ever-she's our sweet little Cagney girl.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Six months later, a newly erected tombstone marked Marc Villano's grave in Congressional Cemetery, across the street from the Potomac Avenue Metro station where he'd been killed. The grass was just beginning to grow on the damp earth, but Lacey didn't care. She sat patiently on top his grave, as she had for the past six months, waiting for her master to return.

THE END



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