Fatal Convictions

93

the present the outer banks of north carolina

Hassan pulled into the driveway of the beach house a few minutes after midnight. He had taken his usual precautions and lined the basement floor and walls with plastic. He had used plastic gloves and walked around in shoes that were a size and a half too big for his feet.

The Outer Banks area was largely deserted during the second week in December, especially this late on a Sunday night. After he prepared the room, he carried Nara in from the car and placed a hood over her head. It may be Allah’s will that his sister die, but nothing said he had to look into her eyes as he killed her.

The plan had been laid out in excruciating detail. Tomorrow, after court started, Hassan would send an e-mail from Nara’s iPhone to Taj Deegan at work. Afterward, he would toss the phone into the North Landing River.

By the time he sent the message from the Chesapeake area, Nara would already be dead in the Outer Banks. But he would make sure they didn’t discover the body until he was ready. By then, it would be impossible to pinpoint the time of her death.

In Hassan’s opinion, the e-mail struck just the right balance between caution and desperation. It would be the final nail in Khalid Mobassar’s coffin: Ms. Deegan: Last night, I told my father that I was not willing to take the stand and lie on his behalf. Now, I’m afraid to go home or anyplace where the men who work for my father might find me. I heard one of them say that if I was killed like the others, the jury would never believe that my father was the one behind all the beheadings. I’m scared and I have nowhere to turn. Can we meet? I would be willing to testify about some things you need to know if you would put me and my mother in the witness protection program. I can be reached at this e-mail address. Nara Mobassar

Hassan returned to Nara’s car and opened the trunk. He pulled out a second syringe and needle along with his sword and sharpening stone. Leaving the items in the room with Nara, Hassan went into the bedroom to retrieve a pillow and blanket. He placed the pillow under Nara’s head and covered her body with the blanket, then set the needle onto the end of the syringe and gave Nara a second shot designed to keep her unconscious until four or five in the morning.

Hassan went into a different bedroom and retrieved another pillow and blanket, making a mental note to take everything with him when he left. Tonight he would lie next to Nara on the hard tile floor. In the morning, one hour before dawn, he would awaken, perform a ceremonial cleansing, say his morning prayers, and end Nara’s life.

It would be a dramatic blow for Allah. Khalid Mobassar’s reforms would be fully discredited. His daughter would not be around to pick up the mantra. Instead, two days later, her headless body would be found on the altar in Alex Madison’s former church.***

The nightmares haunted Hassan throughout the night, more vivid and real than ever. They started not with Hassan fighting in triumph against the infidels, but with a glimpse into hell. Flames leaped and engulfed shrieking men and women whose faces contorted with pain as the fire melted their skin. Hassan tried to look away but could not.

Most horrifying of all were the faces he recognized. Not just friends who had been weak in the faith, but members of his own family. The man who had raised him was there, looking grim and determined, not crying out like the others. Khalid Mobassar refused to admit he was wrong even in the depths of hell. Nara was there as well, reaching out to him, but a large gulf separated them. Her eyes were dark and pleading.

And then her face transformed. The melting skin hanging from her skull was restored to the classic beauty that had stirred the hearts of so many men. The flames disappeared, and she was dressed in white, sitting on a black stallion. Like Hassan, she held a sarif in her right hand, her horse stamping and snorting beneath her. “Allahu akbar!” she shouted.

She turned to Hassan, and he nodded as they spurred their horses and charged ahead together. Just before they plunged into the horde of infidels before them, Hassan stole a final glance at his sister. She had the same look of fierce determination he remembered from their days growing up together. But this time, it was not the rebellious fire that he had seen so often in her eyes. It was the fire of complete devotion.

They rode side by side, swords swinging in every direction, infidels dropping around them in a futile attempt to dislodge the warriors from their horses. Hassan wielded his sword with all his might, his muscles glistening with sweat and growing weary as he struck blow after blow. As always, the infidels kept coming, mostly Americans and Jews with possessed eyes and heinous laughs. There were Sunni Muslims opposing him as well, including some faces he recognized from his childhood. An arrow dropped him from his horse, and he was swarmed by hundreds of infidels. But Nara had circled back, creating a swath through the enemy as she tried to rescue her brother. Just as he reached out for her, an infidel’s sword swung through the air, slicing toward his neck…

Then came the calm. He was standing on the golden carpet, before the magnificent throne of Allah. This time, he was not alone.

He stood next to Nara, her chin held high, and Allah smiled at them both. He placed a crown of virtue on each of their heads. The crowd began to chant- “Allahu akbar!” -but the noise could not drown out the words of Allah himself.

“Welcome to your reward!”