Blown Coverage by Jason Elam

across.
    A gasp escaped his mouth when he pulled out the contents. There were five thin packets of one hundred dollar bills, each with
     a band stamped with $1,000 wrapped around it. Isaac had never seen that much money in one place at one time. He resisted the urge to count through the
     money and instead lifted the rest of the contents.
    In his hand he held three documents. Unfolding the first, he found a computer-printed map with a large X on it. The second and third documents were similar to the first but displayed different locations. A shudder went through
     his body as he realized what he was being asked to do. He fell to his knees and raised his hands to heaven.
    “Oh, Allah, I declare that you are one! Thank you for calling me to your service. Give me the strength and the determination
     to carry out whatever tasks you lay before me. There is no God but you. There is no God but you. There is no God but you.
     . . .” Isaac repeated these words over and over. His prayer blended with the steam from his whistling kettle, and they both
     slowly ascended to heaven.
    TUESDAY, MAY 12, 8:30 P.M. CDT
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
    Mohsin Ghani breathed into a paper bag that still smelled of his breakfast egg and cheese biscuit. It had been four minutes
     since this bag had become his primary air source, and he was only now beginning to get himself under control.
    Somehow in the past week, Mohsin had convinced himself that they had decided not to use him. Maybe they had gone a different
     direction. Maybe they had realized how much more he could benefit their cause by remaining in the position he was in. Maybe
     they discovered what a coward he really was. However, all those hopes had crashed to the ground the moment he sat down in
     his Mercedes Roadster. There, on the steering wheel, resting against the protruding speedometer and tachometer, was an envelope.
    Mohsin slowly opened his eyes, praying that maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe he was sick and didn’t know it and was simply
     having a hallucination. Maybe he had forgotten that he had placed a bill there that needed to be taken care of after work.
     Maybe . . . maybe . . . But there it sat. “‘Warrior!’” he screamed. “Who are they kidding?”
    Angrily, he snatched the envelope off the steering column and ripped it open. Inside were four sheets of paper. The first
     was a Google map with an X .
    “What is this? Am I supposed to meet somebody here? Do they think I’m a pirate looking for buried treasure? Idiots!” He angrily
     tossed the first sheet onto the passenger seat and saw that the second was a map like the first. “Could you people have at
     least left some instructions? I’m not a mind reader! This is ridiculous!” The second map joined the first, and a third map
     was about to meet the same fate when he stopped cold.
    His hand began to tremble as he looked at the fourth sheet. There was no map on that page. There was only the hand-printed
     word Trunk .
    Sweat broke out all over Mohsin’s body, and he could feel his breathing rate beginning to increase. He loosened his tie and
     undid the top button of his shirt. “No . . . No . . . No, no, no!” Mohsin slammed his fist into the passenger seat with each
     word. He grabbed the wheel with both hands and cried out, “Oh, God! What should I do? Help me, help me, help me!”
    Leaning forward, he rested his head against the warm leather of the steering wheel. After a couple of minutes, Mohsin said,
     “Come on, you can do this. You can do this!” Mustering all his courage, he reached out and pressed the trunk release.
    His legs felt rubbery as he stepped out of the car, and he steadied himself on the roof, leaving streaky fingerprints on the
     glossy black finish. Before going to the rear of the sports car, he reached back in and grabbed his paper bag.
    “Come on, Mohsin, you know you can do this,” he muttered to himself. “What could be back there—a body?” He tried to chuckle,
     but the