He sat watching as archived news clips scenes unfolded on the TV. The Gateway Arch and the Space Needle in Seattle fell. Buckingham palace was engulfe... in flames. The Louvre had been bombed and witnesses cried as glass panels fell onto its priceless contents. Only one of the towers of the Cathedral of the Intercession could be seen through the smoke billowing from the remains of the Senatskaya. Smaller targets had been attacked in Australia, Canada, Japan and several suicide attacks had been. He was not interested in being reminded. But there she was. Was this destiny coming to deliver the final coup de grace? She seemed nervous, and he knew he really ought to be. “Carrie?” he asked, almost as if to no one. “Hi, Alex. This is so strange.” She looked down, as if she were suddenly reconsidering the conversation. "Yes, it is. Wow,” he stammered. He had an inclination to look upward, almost as if to curse whatever deity felt compelled to fuck with him so mercilessly. “How are you?” “How. More

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