When he finally made his way down the stairs next to the colorful duo, he said, “You two interested in a little warming up?”

“Good call,” the dad answered. “We’ll take two.”

“You look like a kid who likes whipped cream,” Todd said to the boy.

“You betcha!”

“All right, two chocolates-one with super massive mongo amounts of whipped cream-coming right up.” Gotta work the tips, Todd thought as he lifted the belt off of his neck and set the tray down on the steps.

Carol was doing her best to enjoy the game, but her mind was far away from the stadium. She had purposely sat on the far end of the line of eight seats so she could process. She tried to pretend the reason she was so quiet was that she was really into the game.

Sure, there will still be three couples left. And it isn’t like Paul and I haven’t discussed this very eventuality umpteen times. But the reality of it actually happening is like a slap in the face. Why couldn’t they just be snowbirds living half the time here and half in Arizona? Well, that makes a lot of sense, you goose-if they were here for Mustangs season, they would be spending winters here and summers in Arizona. Oh, why am I even worrying about this? What’s done is done.

“Hey, Carol, great game, huh?” Abby Rawlins called down to her.

“They’re my Mustangs!” Carol replied, forcing herself to give the biggest smile that her face could fake.

When the game clock indicated 6:30 left in the second quarter, the man sitting in seat 102-4A slowly reached into his coat, pulled out a thin wire attached to a 6.3 mm plug, and connected it to a jack that was just barely visible in the tip of a football-a ball that had been on his lap the entire game.

As the digital numbers on the giant clock across from his seat passed 6:15, he toggled a small switch on the cylinder in his left pocket, arming the device.

At 6:05, he stood and turned his back to the field and yelled to the people around him, “I am the Cause! May Allah have his retribution! Allahu Akhbar!”

As the spectators within hearing distance reacted with fear and shock, the man pressed down on a button set in the top of the cylinder.

In a split second, an electrical signal was sent through a wire into the center of the football, triggering the blasting cap, which had plenty of power to set off a reaction in the surrounding explosive. The football exploded.

The detonation sent a shock wave filled with ball bearings tearing through the man’s body and shooting out in every direction. The man, along with everyone within twenty feet of him, was immediately ripped into small pieces. Even beyond twenty feet, the ball bearings continued to shred flesh as the shock wave scrambled internal organs. As the distance grew greater, the shock wave became less deadly, but there was no stopping the ball bearings. The deadly projectiles continued to fly until something-or someone-intercepted their path.

Riley and Keith Simmons reached to slap hands as they did before each play. As their hands met, Riley heard a whistling sound and, at the same time, saw Simmons’s eyes grow wide. A concussive shock wave slammed against Riley’s abdomen-a feeling he hadn’t experienced since the mortars dropping in the Bagram Valley. Then the sound of an explosion overpowered the deafening crowd noise.

Riley’s military instincts kicked in immediately. He dropped to a crouch and scanned the stadium for the source of the blast. What he saw rocked him to the core.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Simmons fall to the ground holding his left thigh-red beginning to stain the white of his uniform pants. At least three other Mustangs were down.

Smoke was pouring out of section 102. It looked as though everyone within a thirty-foot radius of the blast’s epicenter had been killed instantly. Seats and debris littered the area, along with massive amounts of blood.

The crowd of seventy-two thousand stood in stunned silence.

The second man was gratified to hear the explosion. It had begun! Allah had finally brought his wrath again to the shores of the Great Satan. Never again would anyone in this country feel safe.

The first explosion had taken place in the first level, where everyone in the stadium could see it. It had gotten everyone’s attention, which was its purpose. The purpose of the second explosion was to create mass confusion and get people moving. Thus, the second man’s position was in the top deck, across the stadium from the first explosion.

After the first blast, the second man began counting. When he reached fifteen, he stood and slid sideways onto the stairs. He faced the crowd and began shouting the words he had been practicing for weeks.

Todd Penner was shaking the whipped cream can when he heard a roar that he had heard only once before-when he and his dad were fishing the Bear Creek Lake and a bolt of lightning had hit about twenty-five feet away from them. Instinctively, Todd looked up at the sky for a thunderhead, then realized that they were much more likely to face a blizzard than a rainstorm this time of year. Then he saw the smoke in the lower section across the stadium.

Todd stood looking at the scene of destruction, too horrified to move. The tray of hot chocolate lay at his feet. The silence of the crowd was eerie. Suddenly, a man began yelling. The speaker was on the steps about four rows down. Todd heard something about an American and wrath, but that was all he could make out. The man was facing the section to Todd’s right and was holding both arms up as he spoke. In one hand was a football. Todd couldn’t see what was in the other, but the poised thumb gave a pretty good indication of what it might be.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Todd bent down, picked up his tray, and let the hot chocolate fly. The nearly full tray hit the man in the neck and right shoulder, causing him to go sprawling backward and the ball to go flying out of his hand. Screams of surprise and pain came from the people surrounding the man as the hot liquid splashed onto their hands and faces. The man tumbled down the steps and crashed face-first into the metal guardrail.

As Riley crouched on the 30 yard line, the crowd finally reacted to the explosion. It was as if a switch had suddenly been thrown, and pandemonium broke loose. People were screaming and holding on to wounds all across the playing field and as far as three sections over in the stands from where the bomb had gone off. Everywhere, people began fighting and pushing for the exits. Players ran toward the tunnels.

Riley ran to Simmons to check his wound, but the linebacker was already starting to lift himself up.

“I’m okay,” Simmons yelled over the noise.

“Can you get yourself off the field?”

When Simmons nodded, Riley pointed him to the side tunnel and gave him a push. Simmons joined the stream of people rushing to get under the stadium, while Riley began scanning the crowd again.

The initial surprise of the attack was being overtaken by anger. The anger soon progressed to rage. After the attack at the Mall of America, Riley had no doubt who was behind this. You better hide deep in your caves, you cowards! Even if it’s the last thing I do, I swear I’ll hunt you down!

Todd ran down the steps toward the man he had hit with the tray of hot chocolate, though he had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. But before Todd could reach him, the terrorist was pounced on by a bald man with a salt-and-pepper goatee who had crawled his way over a row of people, leaving two bloody noses and a black eye in his path.

“Police!” the man yelled at Todd as he drove the would-be bomber’s face into the guardrail one more time, causing a horrible crunching noise that Todd heard even above the screams and curses filling the air around him. As the off-duty cop whipped out some handcuffs, a massive wave of people came rushing down the steps. The smell from the first blast was just beginning to reach their noses.