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"It is where George Washington lived. The man they named the city after. And up ahead is Sheridan Point. Once we clear it I think we will be able to see the city."
Al-Yamani smiled. "Where is Khaled?"
Hasan yelled for his friend and a moment later he was at al-Yamani's side. "Get the scientist and have him arm the weapon."
Khaled lowered his voice to a whisper and asked, "When he's done, can I kill him?"
Al-Yamani would have liked to do it himself, but he doubted he had the strength to dispatch even someone as weak as Zubair. "Yes, you may."
"Thank you." Khaled turned and went below. A moment later he returned with the scientist.
Zubair had one of the lead aprons on and was holding his laptop. Al-Yamani was about to tell him to take the apron off, but decided it wasn't worth it. They had seen only a handful of boats all morning, and right now they were the only boat in sight.
"Do you need any help?" asked al-Yamani.
"No. I only need to know when you would like the bomb to go off." Zubair checked his watch. "It is eight minutes past eleven right now."
"Two hours from now."
Zubair tilted his head in a questioning manner. "How much longer until we reach the dock?"
"We should be there in an hour."
"That will not leave us much time to get away."
"It should be more than enough."
Zubair was about to argue and then thought better of it. These other two soldiers of the jihad had been giving him dirty looks for two days, and he got the distinct impression they would like to hurt him. "Very well."
Zubair walked to the stern, stepping out from under the canvas cover and into the falling rain. He had spent months designing the fire set so that he was the only person who could both arm and disarm the weapon. With the aid of his computer it would take only a few seconds to start the countdown. Zubair opened the cooler and briefly admired his work. No longer was the oxidized hunk of poison visible. It was concealed by an outer shell of plastique explosives and a complex maze of blasting caps and six separate firing circuits. If by chance anyone found the bomb, there was no way they would be able to defuse it in time. Each firing circuit was independent of the other, and each one used its own unique set of wiring with multiple false leads built in.
The Pakistani scientist plugged a cable into the data port he'd placed near the top of the weapon and plugged the other end into his laptop. Holding the computer with one hand he pecked the keys with the other. He entered two separate sets of passwords to get to the proper screen and then punched in the countdown sequence. He wanted to be as far away as possible when this filthy weapon exploded. The numbers 02:00:00 appeared on all six detonator screens. Zubair smiled at the knowledge that only he could now stop this explosion from occurring. He entered one last password and then watched as all six screens began counting down in unison.
Zubair closed his computer, unhooked the cable, and then shut the cooler. He turned around to get out of the rain and ran smack into the chest of the imposing Khaled.
"Are you done?"
"Yes," Zubair answered a bit nervously. He did not like the way these two men treated him.
The scientist's spastic demeanor, the laptop, the lead apron, and the rain-slick surface of the deck, all contributed to what happened next. Khaled reached out and grabbed the Pakistani by his free arm. His other arm plunged up and out with the four-inch blade that had been at his side. Instead of piercing the Pakistani's chest like he'd planned, the blade hit the lead apron and stopped dead.
The Pakistani screamed and tried to spin away. In the process, the laptop came up and hit Khaled in the chin, stunning him for a half second. He recovered quickly though and reached out to grab hold of the back of the Pakistani's shirt. This time he would not be thwarted by the apron. He swung his blade viciously and plunged it into the side of the man's neck. When he withdrew his blade the entire back of the boat as well as Khaled were sprayed with bright red blood.
The geyser of blood hit Khaled in the eye, and he lost his balance for a second on the rain-soaked deck. At the same time the Pakistani jerked wildly and broke free of the larger man's grip. With blood spraying out between his clenched fingers, Zubair reeled, stumbled, and then fell over the side of the boat and into the river.
The boat was traveling at twenty mph. Hasan turned to al-Yamani and asked, "What do you want me to do?"
Al-Yamani looked through the rain at the body in the water. Zubair was already sinking, though his arms were slapping the surface, and he was struggling to stay alive. No one could lose that much blood and survive. He looked down at an embarrassed Khaled. He was covered in blood as was a good portion of the deck and the side of the boat, though the rain was already washing it away.
Al-Yamani looked straight ahead and said, "Keep going. Even if they find his body they won't be able to stop us."
* * *
Eighty-Seven
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Rapp burst through the door and sprinted across the rain-soaked parking lot to the waiting helicopter. The wind had picked up a bit, and the sky was clearing to the east. The rain would not last much longer, and as soon as it stopped, people would start flocking to the river and the National Mall. Rapp opened the starboard door of the Bell 430 helicopter and jumped in. The door to the executive helicopter clicked shut sealing out the noise of the twin Allison turbine engines and the five spinning rotors.
