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!”
94
Hassan awoke with a start well before dawn. He was clammy with sweat, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. The dream… He focused immediately on the vivid details of the dream before it left the recesses of his memory. Dreams were a gift from Allah, clarity of purpose in a world filled with confusion. He struggled to recall every facet.
He tried to reconcile the dream with the theological realities he knew. Khalid Mobassar would be in hell unless he was redeemed by a member of his family. Nara, always rebellious, would surely follow him, but in Hassan’s dream she had become a warrior like him. Could this be her lot in life?
The Sunnis in his dream reminded Hassan of his cowardice as a child. But this morning, they also brought back memories of why the bullies had ceased their relentless attacks.
After the day Mukhtar was beaten and Hassan ran away scared, the two boys had started taking an alternate route home. But the next week, even on this new route, Mukhtar and Hassan found themselves walking down the sidewalk heading straight for the same gang of boys one block away on the other side of the street.
Hassan quickly reached into his pocket and found the money that he hoped would satisfy the bullies. This time, he and Mukhtar would run together. If they caught Mukhtar, Hassan would stop and offer them his money. If it wasn’t enough, Hassan would take a beating along with his friend. He had learned that the emotional wounds of cowardice hurt more than any physical wounds the Sunnis could inflict.
But for some reason, the Sunnis only glared at Hassan and Mukhtar and never crossed the street to confront them. They talked among themselves and narrowed their eyes, putting the fear of Allah into Hassan’s heart, and yet they allowed the Shia boys to walk by unmolested.
Two months later, when Hassan got into an argument with another kid at school, he found out why the Sunnis had backed off. The kid taunted Hassan, asking, “What are you going to do-get your sister to fight your battles again?”
When Hassan confronted Nara, he learned that his sister had indeed walked up to the Sunni gang and called out the leader in front of all his friends. She had challenged him to a fight, and when he tried to laugh her off, she attacked. Perhaps because of Nara’s rage, or perhaps because the boy felt awkward fighting a girl, she more than held her own. The boy eventually retreated, claiming that he did not want to hurt Nara. Nara shouted curses at him as he left.
When Hassan initially learned about his sister’s actions, he was humiliated and furious. But now, as he looked at Nara lying motionless on the floor, he felt only gratitude and sympathy.
Allah had never revealed his will to Hassan in a dream before-at least not the way he had last night. Hassan had heard of other great warriors who had received a direct word from Allah. In some ways, it made Hassan jealous. Wasn’t he every bit as passionate for Allah as the others?
But last night, on the tile floor of this deserted vacation home in the Outer Banks, Hassan had experienced his own encounter with the ruler of the universe. The orders from his superiors no longer mattered. Allah had spoken.
The dream called for a new plan. One of Hassan’s own making. One that fulfilled the prophecies in the dream.
Nara was destined to be a great warrior and a passionate follower of Allah. His first order of business would be to convince her that her father’s ways were wrong. Someday, according to the dream, she would follow him to paradise. Like her brother, Nara would arrive on a river of blood.