"It's an odd culture."

"Only three letters separate a culture from a cult," Agent Beckeman said.

The AG handed the book to the Assistant AG and exhaled. "Mustafa, he's been operating his own little ISIS franchise right here in Dallas."

"He wasn't exactly flying under the radar," Scott said.

"Hiding in plain sight."

"I'd like to waterboard that son of a bitch," Beckeman said.

The attorney general exhaled as if a father whose young son had spoken out of turn in front of grownups. Without even glancing that way, he said, "Beckeman, you're an FBI agent in America now, not a Marine in Afghanistan. Try to keep that in mind."

"But he has no criminal history?" Scott said.

"No."

"So you have evidence that he's an ISIS sympathizer," Scott said, "but no evidence that ties him to the stadium plot. How do you know he wants to kill Americans?"

"His own words. He hates America. He wants America brought down."

"Where was he born? Iraq? Afghanistan? Syria?"

"Chicago."

"He's American?"

"As apple pie. Omar Mansour, born three May nineteen fifty-nine. Parents were Jordanian immigrants. Father was a doctor, mother a professor of Islamic theology, the mainstream stuff. Omar was a brilliant student, went to the University of Jordan in Amman to follow in his mother's footsteps. Lived there fourteen years, got a doctorate in Sharia law, but he fell in with the jihadi Salafism crowd. We believe he came under the influence of Abu Musab al Zarqawi, the founder of ISIS, and Sheikh Abu Muhammad al Maqdisi, his spiritual mentor, in Jordan. They believe that any government that does not rule by strict Islamic law as practiced by Muhammad himself-which is to say, not the mainstream stuff-is an infidel regime and should be violently overthrown. They consider it their holy duty to wage jihad to bring the world under Sharia." The AG shrugged. "Not exactly live-and-let-live sort of guys. Anyway, he came back home in ninety-five, set up shop in Dallas, and adopted the nom de guerre Omar al Mustafa. He must have seen that movie."

"What movie?" Scott said.

"Lion King," Beckeman said. "All these jihadists, they adopt names from places they lived, where they were born, historical figures they admired-like I'd be Eric Abu al Callahan." The agent chuckled. "Dirty Harry. His last name was Callahan."

Scott grunted in response. How else does one respond to that?

"Yeah, I figure Omar fell in love with the Lion King, named himself Mustafa."

He and the others laughed. Scott did not. He was confused. He had seen that movie only a few Saturdays before with the girls.

"You mean Mufasa? That was the lion king's name. Not Mustafa."

"Really?"

The AG turned to Agent Beckeman. "You got the name wrong? It's not funny now."

Beckeman offered a lame shrug; the AG shook his head and returned to Scott.

"Osama was an educated elitist from a rich Saudi family. ISIS founders were street thugs from Jordan. During the war, they were the al Qaeda franchise in Iraq, but they split off and became so violent that al Qaeda disavowed them in twenty-fourteen. Imagine that. Anyway, being street thugs was okay at first, but now they need religious cover for their barbarism. And that's where Mustafa comes in. He's one of the most prominent Islamic clerics in apocalyptic exegesis."

"Which is?"

"End of days. That's the religious foundation of ISIS, that the apocalypse is upon us. The messiah-they call him the Mahdi-will soon return to earth and purify the world of the infidels."

"Who are?"

"Us."

"They want an apocalyptic confrontation with America," Beckeman said. "In the desert of Syria, in a town called Dabiq. They think the prophecies foretell it, the 'final battle,' as they say, killing the kuffars."

"Seems crazy, I know," the AG said, "but most Muslims in the Middle East believe this end of days crap. Who knows how many in the U.S. But it brings a lot of young Muslims to Mustafa's mosque. He's their spiritual father."

"He's like that old blind monk in Kung Fu," Beckeman said. "And they're his grasshoppers. He radicalizes them, brainwashes them, and sends them to their deaths in Syria while he sends his own sons to Ivy League schools."

"The radicalization of young Muslims by old clerics is a big problem," the AG said. "And mosques are jihadist factories right here in America."

"You saw their faces in the courtroom," Beckeman said. "They'd just as soon cut your throat as look at you. Like Haddad. Two years ago, he was just a college kid. Today, he's conspiring to blow up a football stadium. Or he was."

"Maybe he was just a college kid."

"He was a terrorist."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Now he's dead."

Agent Beckeman shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

"What was the probable cause?"

"He was Muslim."

"He was an American citizen."

"Scott-"

"You can call me judge."

Agent Beckeman snorted. "Judge, with those guys, being a Muslim comes before being an American."

"Now he's a dead Muslim American."

Beckeman almost laughed. "Muslim American? I don't tell people I'm a Catholic American. I'm just an American, and that's damn well good enough for me."

There was a long awkward moment, which was finally broken by Beckeman's boss.

"You feel better now?"

"Actually, I do." The agent turned back to Scott. "The tip said he was heavily armed and his apartment was rigged with explosives. We couldn't take chances. When he went for his gun ..."

"Did you recover a gun?"

"No. But I saw him go for a gun."

"You shot him?"

Beckeman nodded. "Three times in the head."

"You're a tough guy, Agent Beckeman."

"That's why I run the Task Force. Watch those ISIS videos, those guys hacking civilians' heads off with machetes, they're tough guys, too."

"Did you recover bomb-making materials from Haddad's apartment?"

"No. But we recovered architectural plans for the stadium. Why else would he be studying those plans? Because Mustafa wants to bring that stadium down on those people. If he does, he'll be the man among Muslims."

"Not all Muslims are like that."

"The hell they're not. There are three kinds of Muslims: jihadists, jihadist wannabes, and jihadist sympathizers. Why aren't the so-called mainstream Muslims calling us, ID-ing the bad guys? Did you know the bullies in your neighborhood? They know the jihadists in their mosques. But Muslims won't rat out Muslims because they say the Koran prohibits it. Because they secretly sympathize with them. Because extremist Islam is mainstream Islam today. After the Paris attacks they had a moment of silence for the victims at a national soccer match in Turkey. The fans-Muslims-booed and chanted 'Allahu Akbar.' Those fifty thousand fans were mainstream Muslims? We don't want to face the truth: we are fighting a religious war-because they are. Because they want it to be. The West versus Islam. Because that feeds into their end of days narrative. Every Muslim's allegiance is to Muhammad, not their country-not to America or Britain or France, as we saw in Paris. If they ever have to choose between America or Muhammad, they'll choose Muhammad."

"Agent! Those are inappropriate comments."

The Marine-turned-FBI agent took two quick steps toward his boss as if to punch him. Instead, he took a toffee from the bowl. Which he pointed at his boss.

"You're political, Mac, just like the president. He won't even call them 'Islamic jihadists,' calls them a generic 'jihadists' instead. Like there might be some Baptist jihadists out there. He's playing politics. He's afraid of offending Muslims. I'm not. My job is to stop them. And that's what I intend to do." He turned the toffee on Scott. "And you, Judge, need to get on board. You need to understand who these people are. Who Mustafa is. Before people die. They hate us, Judge, and they're not through with us yet."

"When will they be through with us?"

"When we're all dead."

"Little dramatic, don't you think?"

"The harsh truth, Judge. Look at the Syrian immigrant crisis. One million Muslims walking into Germany, Austria, Slovenia ... but they'll never be Germans or Austrians or Slovenians. They'll never assimilate. They'll always be Muslims. And one day they'll rise up against the Germans and Austrians and Slovenians. One day, they'll kill them."

"How do you know that will happen?"

"Paris. France let the Muslims in, now the Muslims kill the French. Why? Because the country they were born in bombed ISIS Muslims in Syria."

"This is Dallas. The Bible Belt. You probably arrested half the Muslims in town."

"Hardly. A hundred fifty thousand Muslims live in Dallas."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Still, Paris, London, New York City-but Dallas? Not very sexy."

"For these people, killing is better than sex. Hell, they do suicide bombings so they can have sex with virgins in heaven."

The AG nodded. "They do. Seventy-two virgins."

"What do they want?"

The agent ticked off on his fingers. "One, Christians and Jews out of the Middle East. Two, the world under strict Islamic law. Three, a return to the glory days of the Ottoman Empire, when Muslims mattered."

The AG grimaced as if in pain. "Scott, please don't quote Agent Beckeman. The liberal press would kill us."

"You're a liberal Democrat."

"No. I'm not a Republican. There's a difference."

"We're off the record."

"Thank you."

Agent Beckeman regarded his own fingers then pointed his index finger at Scott again.

"One thing more I know, Judge. They're here. Living among us. Plotting against us. Waiting for instructions to activate. Like that other Cruise movie."

"Jerry Maguire?"

"Jerry Maguire? No. War of the Worlds."

"You sure you got the right movie this time?" the AG said.

He gave Scott a sly wink; Beckeman ignored the AG. His voice turned somber.

"And that's exactly what this is, Judge. A war of the worlds. Their world or ours. Their way of life or ours. There's no truce, no peace with honor, no cohabitating this planet peaceably. There's no winning their hearts and minds. There's only dead or alive. Them or us."

Scott leaned back in his chair and noticed the public defender hiding on the couch. He had forgotten about her.

"Ms. Meyers ...?"

She looked up like a lost child. "Yes, sir?"

"Do you have anything to add?"

"Uhh ... no, sir?"

Scott blew out a breath. The Sixth Amendment to the Constitution guaranteed the Imam and the other defendants the right to competent defense counsel. Ms. Meyers might be that counsel one day; but not that day.

"Ms. Meyers, I'm considering appointing experienced private counsel to represent the defendants in the detention hearing. How would you feel about that?"

"Relieved."

He turned back to the G-men. "Anything else, gentlemen?"