At this time on a warm Sunday evening, the tunnel was not being used by commuters. The bright orange lights lit the way for families returning from a day in the city or travelers heading to JFK International or La Guardia Airport.

Tall, white-haired, white-bearded Eival Ekdol rolled down the window of the hearse. He breathed in the oil-thick air, air which reminded him of Moscow. He didn't think about who the people around him were or what they were doing. It didn't matter. Their deaths were the price of fighting for a new world order.

As he neared the tunnel exit, the Russian native pushed in the cigarette lighter. His left front tire blew, and he guided the swerving hearse to the wall. He ignored the curses of drivers who had to change lanes to avoid hitting him. Americans were always swearing, as though bad things had no right to happen and, moreover, were directed at each of them personally.

Ekdol put on his emergency lights, got out of the hearse, and walked to the tunnel exit. Upon emerging, he took a cellular phone from his pocket and pretended to speak. He continued to speak as he walked toward the tollbooths.

He passed a transit officer, who was sitting in a police car by the booths. The young man asked if he needed help.

"Thank you, no," said Ekdol in thickly accented English. "I've phoned for help."

"Is it just the tire?" asked the officer.

"No," Ekdol told him. "The axle."

"Well, it's dark in there," the officer said. "Someone's gonna hit you. You got flares?"

"No, sir."

He popped the trunk. "We'd better go put some out."

Thank you," said Ekdol. "I'll join you in a moment. I must phone the bereaved."

"Yeah," the officer grinned. "Helluva thing to have funeral with no body."

"Exactly, sir," Ekdol said.

The officer got out of the car and went to the trunk. Removing a box of flares, he headed toward the tunnel, whistling.

Still pretending to talk into the phone, Ekdol walked around the tollbooth. Moments later, a Cutlass came through one of the token gates and pulled up beside him. Before getting in, Ekdol pressed the pound sign on the numeric keypad.

As the Cutlass sped off, a yellow fireball erupted from the mouth of the tunnel, sending smoke, chunks of stone, and shards of metal in every direction. Cars just emerging from the tunnel were blown end over end. One cartwheeled over the transit officer and smashed into a van at the tollbooth. Both vehicles blew apart, engulfing the toll booth in flame. Other cars were pounded flat at the entranceway by falling debris, while inside the tunnel there were the muffled sounds of secondary blasts as burning cars exploded. Within moments, the toll plaza was covered with rolling white smoke and a thick, horrific silence.