and celebrate our victory in the palace of the puppet president, Ali Abdullah Saleh!”
The men stood again and shouted, “Death to Saleh!”
The Panther smiled and raised his arms, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He himself would not be leading this attack, though some among his jihadists might question why he was not joining them. In fact, Captain Zuhair had raised this issue.
Bulus ibn al-Darwish did not fear death, but he did fear capture, especially at the hands of the Americans, his former compatriots. He feared prison, he feared torture, he feared the humiliation of having his family in America—his father, his mother, his sister—seeing him kept like an animal in an American prison.
Death was far better, and to die during jihad would assure his immediate ascension into Paradise. But there was no guarantee of death in battle.
If he were taken prisoner, the entire jihadist movement in Yemen would suffer or collapse. So for that reason, and because God willed him to stay alive and free to fight the Crusaders, he could not join the attack.
But he did intend to be there to join in the victory, and to oversee the execution of the survivors.
He motioned for his men to be silent, and he said to them, “I will be with you at the moment of victory.” He drew his jambiyah from its sheath—still stained with the blood of the Belgians—and raised it high. “I will join you in cutting the throats of all who fall into our hands. No mercy! No prisoners!”
The men cheered wildly.
Captain Zuhair tilted his head toward Lieutenant al-Rashid and whispered, “He does know how to cut throats.”
Al-Rashid nodded.
Bulus ibn al-Darwish turned and faced toward the Kaaba in Mecca, raised his arms, and called out, “God is great!”
“God is great!”
“Let us now pray.”
It was not the time of the dawn salat, though the dua—the prayers for supplication in times of crisis or danger—could be said at any time, so Bulus ibn al-Darwish sat cross-legged facing Mecca, as did his men, and he recited from the Koran, “ ‘When the heavens are stripped away, the stars are strewn, the seas boil over, the tombs burst open, then shall each soul know what it has given and what it has held back.’ ”
The Panther then said, “Let each man now pray silently to God for strength, for courage, and for victory in battle.”
Again the desert went silent, except for the wind from the Empty Quarter.
Bulus ibn al-Darwish prayed silently, beseeching God to give his men courage. He prayed, too, for himself and said, “Let me cut many American throats this night.”
But as often happened when he prayed for American deaths—such as before the Cole attack—other thoughts intruded into his prayers and his mind; thoughts of his childhood and school years in America. Thoughts of his family, and his former home.
These were troubling thoughts, confused memories, and they weighed heavily on his soul.
He had not been happy in America, but he was happy now in the land of his ancestors. Yemen was ancient and once pure, and he would make it pure again.
He looked up at the wondrous desert sky, a sky that had not changed since the days of his forefathers—since the day of Creation. He vowed, “The land of Yemen shall be as clean and pure as the sky above it.”
And God spoke to him: “You, Bulus ibn al-Darwish, will be the savior of Yemen and Islam.”
He felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Captain Zuhair, who said softly, “If you have a moment, sir, before I move the men to battle.”
The Panther stood and followed Captain Zuhair into a mud hut.
Inside the small hut, lit by a single candle, was Lieutenant al-Rashid.
Captain Zuhair began, “I am confident, sir, in total victory tonight.” He paused, then said, “But I must report to you, sir, that I have just received, by cell phone, some information from our friend who is inside the American compound.” Zuhair continued, “This man reports that the Americans and their security forces, who number perhaps thirty, are arming themselves and their laborers, including our friend, and they are preparing themselves for an attack.”
The Panther stood quietly in the dark and did not reply. Could this be true? Or could it be that Captain Zuhair was losing his courage?
Captain Zuhair suggested, “Perhaps, sir, we should delay this attack until another night. Perhaps a week. The men can train further. Also, sir, we should consider adding more fighters to the force.”