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"What river?"
"I don't know."
"Ask the son?" Rapp turned back to the map.
"The York River."
Rapp found it on the map and traced it with his finger. He turned quickly and picked up the transcript of al-Adel's interrogation that he had been reading when McMahon and Stealey had come in the room just ten minutes ago. He flipped through the pages searching for the passage that he couldn't quite remember. Rapp ignored both Hanousek and McMahon who tried to ask him what he was doing.
He found the passage and skimmed it. "Debbie," Rapp said earnestly, "ask the son if his dad has a boat."
Her reply came two seconds later. "Yes, he does."
Rapp pinched the bridge of his nose. "Has anyone bothered to check and see if it's there?"
Rapp could hear Hanousek ask the question, but he could barely make out the man's answer. He was saying something about his father never leaving his car parked outside, and that was why he noticed the cab and the truck in the garage right away and he'd heard about it on the news so he called the police right away, and no he hadn't had time to check on the boat.
"The boat!" yelled Rapp. "Go see if it's there."
Rapp grabbed his secure mobile phone and punched in Dr. Akram's number. Someone else answered and told Rapp Akram was busy. "I don't care what he's doing, put him on the phone right now."
Less than five seconds later Akram was on the line. "Mitch."
"Are you with al-Adel?"
"Yes."
"Ask him why they planned on attacking New York by boat." Rapp turned around and looked at the map again, shaking his head and silently cursing himself for not seeing it sooner. It made no sense. Why would a man who couldn't swim decide to get on a boat, when he could simply drive the bomb into the city? The answer was obvious. Because he feared detection.
Akram came back on the line. "He said something about sensors at all the bridges and tunnels leading onto the island."
"Just like D.C." Rapp looked back up at the map.
"What sensors?" asked Akram.
"Never mind, I'll tell you later." Rapp ended the call and a second later Hanousek was back on the speaker phone. He already knew what she was going to say.
"The boat is gone."
* * *
Eighty-Six
POTOMAC RIVER
They were only twenty miles from their destination. The wind had picked up a bit, so it was difficult to tell if the rain had diminished or not, but it looked as if it was clearing to the east. Al-Yamani had been worrying about the weather all morning. His greatest fear was that the entire event would be canceled. Losing the weapon that was to destroy New York was enough of a setback, he did not need another. He had journeyed all this way, and he desperately wanted the president and the other American leaders to suffer Islam's fiery vengeance. The rain would reduce the number of people who were predicted to show up for the event, but al-Yamani would gladly spare thousands of those people their lives if it meant he could kill the president.
Today would mark the beginning of a true global jihad. Al-Yamani would show his fellow Muslims that America was not so mighty after all. He would show them that with great sacrifice even America could be brought to her knees. Al-Yamani knew that America would strike back. He doubted they would have the courage to retaliat
e with nuclear weapons, but if they did it would still be worth the sacrifice. They would be drawn out from behind their relatively safe borders and forced to fight.
Muslims from around the world would resent them for the godless people that they were. The destruction of the American capital and its leaders would have disastrous economic effects mostly here in America, but in today's global economy everyone would be affected. The master plan, with a strike in Washington and then a follow-up attack in New York, would have undoubtedly shattered the American economy and sent the rest of the world into a global depression. But even so, a nuclear attack in Washington was no small feat. At a bare minimum, it still had the potential to create great economic hardship.
Muslims were used to hardship. They would flourish in a global recession, whereas the fat, lazy Americans would not. They would be seen for who they were in the face of such hardship, and resentment for them would continue to grow. Al-Yamani took great solace in knowing that he was about to ignite a revolution. It was the one thing that helped him ignore the pain that had spread to every single inch of his body.
They were now approaching what looked to be a large bend in the river. Hasan, who was driving the boat, pointed to the left. "I think that is what they call Mount Vernon."
"What is it?" asked al-Yamani who was sitting next to him.