Memorial Day

Eighty-Eight

POTOMAC RIVER

Mustafa al-Yamani had tears in his eyes. It was exactly as he'd dreamt it would be night after night for nearly a year. They rounded a slight jog in the river, the clouds parted and beams of sun shown down brightly on the massive dome of the U.S. Capitol. The swordlike Washington Monument shot upward, marking the center of the National Mall, and the cap of the Jefferson Memorial lay in the foreground, partially concealed by a row of trees. He could not see the White House but he knew where it was, just beyond the Washington Monument. He had studied the maps over and over until each detail was seared into his memory, and now he would destroy it. Everything in sight would be leveled in a little more than an hour.

The fathers of America had designed their capital city to form a crucifix. The Washington Monument marked the center, with the Capitol and the Lincoln Memorial forming the longer center line while the Jefferson Memorial and the White House formed the shorter horizontal line. The Americans were modern-day crusaders trying to stamp out Islam. They'd even backed the Jews in retaking the Holy Land. It was time to begin a new crusade. Acrusade for the people of Islam.

Al-Yamani smiled at the view in front of him. It was just as he had dreamt it would be; the sun shining down through the parting clouds, the green trees and blue water. For the sun to come out at the exact moment when he laid eyes on the city was further proof that Allah was guiding them.

Al-Yamani placed a frail hand on Hasan's shoulder. "You have done well. There is nothing they can do to stop us now. Continue to the spot by the Tidal Basin and drop the anchor. I am going below to pray. You and Khaled may join me when you are ready."

Al-Yamani called out for Khaled. The man came up the stairs to the bridge area and stood by al-Yamani.

"I do not think I have the strength to walk. Would you please carry me below?"

Khaled nodded, choking back tears. He bent over and cradled the bravest man he had ever known. Looking like a man clutching his decrepit and dying father, he walked him down the stairs and into the cabin where he gently set him on the floor. Al-Yamani kneeled on the floor, brought his palms together, and began reciting asura.