"Well, if I were Muslim, I'd get the hell out of town."

Abdul slid the sharp knife along the judge's neck, right over the carotid artery.

"I would like nothing better than to cut your fucking head off."

"Brother, no. He is a federal judge."

"So?"

"Where am I?" The judge spit bile. "Who the hell are you?"

Abdul sighed. There would be another time.

Scott felt hot breath on his face and a foul smell in his nostrils and a whisper in his ear.

"Judge, do you see how easily we can take you? We can do it again, any time we want. We can take you away from your daughters, your friends, your life. We can take your life. We can cut your head off and put the video on YouTube. We can mail your head back to your daughters to put on the mantle like a trophy. We can do that, Judge-and we will unless you release the Imam."

"You're in this with him?"

"He is our leader. He is a prisoner of war."

"What war?"

"The American war against Islam. You have forty-eight hours to release him. Or else."

"Or else what?"

"You do not want to know 'or else,' Judge. I promise you."

Metal scraped against metal again, and Scott felt a cold breeze. Hands grabbed him and pushed him. He hit the ground hard and rolled over. He heard the van speed away. He lay there a moment and assessed himself: his head was clear; he had not suffered a concussion. Satisfied with his mental condition, he struggled to a sitting position, but he couldn't free his hands or his eyes. He heard a boy's small voice.

"Why you tied up, mister?"

"Please take this blindfold off."

Fingers grasped at the blindfold, and it was soon off. Scott blinked against the light until his eyes had adjusted. He looked around. Three young black boys surrounded him, their hands on their knees, regarding him as one would a stranded shark on the beach. Interested, but wary.

"You endorse Under Armour?" one boy said. "I'm gonna get me a Nike contract when I'm in the NBA."

"I'm a judge. Two men kidnapped me. Please untie my hands."

The boys did as he asked then helped him to his feet. Scott had been dumped in the projects of South Dallas. He had been there once before but in a red Ferrari that had attracted a sizable crowd. A blindfolded and bound white man dumped from a van had attracted only three boys.

"You boys know where I can borrow a cell phone?"

One boy reached to his back pocket and held out a cell phone to Scott.

"You can use my iPhone. It's a six."

"A. Scott!"

Boo barreled out of the house and down the sidewalk and into Scott's arms just he stepped out of Louis's car. Pajamae followed on her heels. Both girls cried into his shirt. As he cried. He was not afraid for his own personal safety; perhaps it was all the football, too many hits to the head, to worry about his own future. But he was afraid for the girls' future without him. They depended on him. They needed him. To raise them. To take care of them. To watch over them. A man protects his children.

Beckeman slammed on the brakes and skidded the sedan to a stop in front of the judge's house. He stood outside embracing his daughters. The big black bailiff stood next to them. Beckeman got out and ran over.

"Judge, you okay?"

"I think so."

But his face was red and scratched, his hands were scraped, and his clothes torn and dirty. As if he had been thrown out of a moving vehicle.

"We need to take you to the ER, get you checked out. And debrief you."

"No. You can debrief me on the way to the courthouse." The judge stood tall and faced Beckeman. "I have a decision to render."

"Thank God the judge is okay," the president said. "Now find those Arabs."

"Yes, sir."

"Is your man up to it?"

"Yes, sir. Beckeman is the best we've got. And he's not afraid of bad PR if he kills Muslims."

"Good. Because I want those two Arabs dead before kickoff."

"Sir, we now know there are more conspirators out there. Perhaps we should consider canceling the Super Bowl."

"No. If we shut down the Super Bowl, they win. That's not going to happen, not on my watch. The Super Bowl will be played on February seventh."

The president pointed a finger at the director.

"Find the Arabs. Or find a new job."

"Mr. President, if we don't find them, we'll both be looking for new jobs."

By noon, Scott had exchanged Under Armour for Brooks Brothers; he addressed the packed courtroom from the bench.

"In our legal system, judges have an important role: to uphold the Constitution. That role often requires a judge to make hard decisions, rulings that are unpopular with the public, rulings that protect an individual's rights seemingly at the expense of society's morals and traditions. Terrorism is the latest arena in which the individual's constitutional rights seem to be pitted against society's best interests. Terrorist attacks scare us. We want to be safe, at least here at home. We want our government to keep us safe from terrorists. The easiest way to do that would be for the government to arrest every suspected terrorist and throw him in prison. But that would not be the constitutional way to keep us safe. That would not be the American way."

The U.S. Attorney and Agent Beckeman squirmed at the prosecution table.

"Omar al Mustafa and twenty-two co-defendants were indicted and arrested on terrorism charges. The government requested they be detained pending trial. As required by law, this court held a detention hearing on Friday. At that hearing, the government failed to produce any credible evidence that Mr. Mustafa and his co-defendants are flight risks or dangers to the community, the only two bases for pretrial detention in federal court. At seven this morning, I had decided to grant pretrial release to all defendants."

Beckeman hid his face in his hands. The Imam restrained a smile.

"But at seven-thirty this morning, credible evidence came to my attention, evidence that more likely than not connects Mr. Mustafa to the stadium plot and that irrefutably establishes that he presents a clear and present danger to the community. I was abducted off the streets of Highland Park by two men who claimed they work for Mr. Mustafa."

The crowd gasped. Word of Scott's abduction had apparently not reached his courtroom until now.

"These men threatened to behead me unless I release Mr. Mustafa. That is not going to happen. The court finds the following facts pursuant to the Bail Reform Act: "One. That on this date the presiding judge was abducted by two men who claimed allegiance to defendant Omar al Mustafa; "Two. That the two men demanded Defendant Mustafa's release from federal custody under threat of additional unlawful acts against said judge; "Three. That such abduction of the presiding judge in Defendant Mustafa's federal criminal case evidences a willingness of persons aligned with Defendant Mustafa to commit violence acts, with the apparent blessing of Defendant Mustafa; and "Four. That such unlawful conduct can properly be attributed to Defendant Mustafa.

"Therefore, based upon the facts found by the court, the court states the following conclusions and reasons for the pretrial detention of all defendants: "One. Omar al Mustafa is a danger to the community; "Two. The other defendants are also dangers to the community because they are obedient to Defendant Mustafa; "Three. The evidence establishes by clear and convincing proof that the defendants are dangers to the community and likely to intimidate or threaten jurors or witnesses; and "Four. The defendants failed to rebut the presumption of detention set forth in section thirty-one forty-two-e-three of the Act.

"Therefore, the defendants are ordered detained by the U.S. Marshal's Service pending their trial in federal court. However, due to the publicity attendant to this case and the public animosity toward the defendants, which will no doubt be heightened due to this morning's events, the court orders that the defendants be held in the federal detention center in the Earle Cabell Federal Building in Dallas, Texas, for their own safety."

"Scott, are you okay?" Karen asked.

Scott had collapsed into his chair in chambers. He was mainlining toffee. Karen and Bobby stood on the other side of the desk.

"Shit," Bobby said. "Kidnapped in broad daylight in Highland Park. These guys got balls."

"I'm okay. It was scary, but mostly I was scared for the girls."

"That someone would take them, too?"

"No. That they'd be okay without me."

"Don't say that, Scott," Karen said.

She started to cry; Bobby embraced his wife. Scott's phone rang. It was the attorney general.

"Cumulative justice, Scott."

"You were right, Mac."

"The Constitution wasn't written for people like them. They're barbarians, living in the dark ages. The Founding Fathers created this country for civilized people who believed in freedom and justice. These people believe in oppression, abduction, beheadings, terror. In the name of Allah. Now you see what we're dealing with every day, trying to keep this country safe." Mac sighed heavily. "You okay, Scott?"

"I am. Thanks for checking in."

"Thank you for detaining those people. You're doing the right thing. You're protecting the American people."

"And the judge."

Mac laughed. "Helps to keep a sense of humor."

"Hopefully, this case will calm down now."

Mac fell silent for a moment. Then he spoke in a soft voice.

"Scott, you watch out for yourself. These people won't quit until we kill or capture them."

Abdul and his little brother watched the evening news account of their morning activities.

"Breaking and frightening news on the Omar al Mustafa case. Presiding Judge A. Scott Fenney was abducted this morning while out for a jog in Highland Park by two unidentified men in a white van, men who told the judge that they are followers of Mustafa."

"See?" Abdul said. "It worked."

His little brother had not wanted to kidnap the judge, but Abdul had insisted, and his brother had followed. As he always had. As he always would.

The reporter on the television: "The judge was released two hours later in South Dallas. He was blindfolded and bound but unhurt. Three boys came to his aid."

The screen cut to a street scene with three black boys.

"This white van, it stop right here, the door swing open, and they throw this white man out. Then it speed off. So me and Rodney and Isaiah, we run over here and ask the man if he need help. He be wearing some cool Under Armour, say he a judge, asked to borrow my phone. I got me an iPhone Six-unlocked. He called Louis, we all know him, and he was here in no time. Judge, he say thanks and got in the car and they leave."

Back to the reporter: "I showed the boys a photo of Judge Fenney, and they said that was the man they helped. This case is getting more frightening by the moment."

Anchor: "We go now to FBI headquarters in Dallas where a press conference is just beginning."

"I'm FBI Special Agent Eric Beckeman. I'm in charge of the Joint Terrorism Task Force. I can confirm that U.S. District Judge A. Scott Fenney was in fact abducted this morning by two Arabs we believe are connected with the stadium plot."

Beckeman stood in front of a clump of microphones and a firing squad of cameras.

"Agent, how did the FBI allow a federal judge to be abducted? That doesn't happen in America."

"Judge Fenney declined our offer of a security detail."

"But he's presiding over the trial of the most dangerous man in Dallas. Who's in control? You or him?"

"That's still an open question."

"What if they had beheaded him?"

"They didn't."

"What if they had?"

"They didn't."

"Will the judge have a security detail going forward?"