"I'm begging you."

Federal judges do not speak privately with criminal defendants. That's a rule. But what rules apply when terrorists take your children? Scott stood outside the detention cell; the Imam sat inside. Iron bars separated the two men, but their religious beliefs divided them. Scott had handed the abductors' note to Mustafa. He read it then handed it back to Scott.

"Shame."

"Please release my girls."

"I cannot do that."

"They're just little girls. They didn't hurt anyone."

"Judge, I cannot release your girls because I did not take your girls."

"Your men did."

"They are not my men."

"They kidnapped me to get you released. Why would they do that if they're not your men?"

"I do not know. You should go to the FBI."

"They said they'd behead my girls."

"And they will."

"So you know them?"

"No. Beheading is part of the plan."

"What plan?"

"The plan to put terror into the hearts of the unbelievers."

"But we want to live in peace with Muslims."

"We don't want to live in peace with you. We want to live under Sharia."

Scott sighed and pulled a chair next to the bars. The Imam held the key to his daughters' freedom. He knew the men holding them; he could order them freed. Scott had to find a way into his heart, a father-to-father connection with this man. For his girls.

"I've watched your YouTube videos and interviews. Here in America, you have the freedom to say all that."

"Then why am I in this jail for saying all that?"

"You're in this jail because the government thinks you conspired to use a weapon of mass destruction."

"And what do you think?"

"I think your men kidnapped my children to get you released."

"Are you going to release me?"

"No."

"Then why would I take your children?"

Scott's shoulders slumped. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why all of this? Why terrorism?"

"Why are you asking me? Ask the Christian and Jewish terrorists."

"What Christian and Jewish terrorists?"

"The American and Israeli armies. The biggest terrorists in the world are the Americans, followed closely by the Jews."

"Omar, my children are innocent."

"Oh, we are on a first-name basis now? Well, Scott, innocent Muslim children die every day in the Middle East, killed by weapons made in the USA. Why should American children be exempted from death?"

And Scott realized that there was no way into this man's heart. Hate had turned his heart to stone. Scott stood and walked to the door but stopped at the Imam's voice.

"So, Judge, are you going to release me to save your daughters?"

"No. They want you out because they can't execute the plot without you. If I release you, you'll bomb the stadium. You'll kill a hundred thousand people."

"You would sacrifice your children for strangers in a football stadium?"

"No. I'm going to find my girls and kill your men. Then I might release you so I can kill you, too."

The Imam smiled slightly and looked at Scott over his reading glasses.

"When I get out of this cell-and I will, you know that, you are a judge-my standing among Muslims around the world will rival the caliph. Omar al Mustafa defied America and won. And you will help me win."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you are a man of principle. A true believer. In the Constitution. That it was meant to protect people like me."

"Abdul, those people are disgusting. Why do you watch those videos?"

Abdul watched ISIS beheading videos like his brother watched football. After his father's death, his path in life had blurred. But when he had first watched the ISIS video, The Clanging of the Swords, Parts 1-4, it was as if his path had come into focus. He knew his destiny in life, which was death. Abdul removed the video from the player and tossed the remote to his little brother.

"Watch football."

His little brother changed the channel to ESPN but he was not his same giddy self. It was media day at the Super Bowl. Reporters interviewed the players. Rich athletes. "The life of this world is but a sport and a diversion," the Koran said. They should be praying to Allah. Soon they will. For mercy. His little brother looked so sad, Abdul felt obliged to cheer him up.

"So, brother, who do you think will win, the Cowboys or the Patriots?"

"The Muslims."

"How can you not find two Arabs in Dallas, for Christ's sake?" the director yelled at Beckeman. "I mean, how many Arabs can there be?"

"About a hundred fifty thousand."

"In Dallas?"

"Yep. We've cleared hundreds of males at the mosque. We have hundreds more to clear."

"We have six days."

"I know. Ask the president again-"

"I did. He said no again."

Scott tried to focus on the lawyers, but he could think only of his daughters. He had eaten breakfast with them and taken them to school. They had kissed him before jumping out of the car. He had watched them run up the sidewalk and disappear inside the school. What if they had disappeared from his life?

"What do you want us to do?"

Scott snapped to the moment. He realized every person in the courtroom was waiting for him to speak.

"I'm sorry, what?"

His cell phone vibrated. He checked the number: "Unknown."

It was the girls. They had escaped and borrowed a phone. They were calling their father to come get them. He jumped up.

"Thirty minute recess."

Scott bounded down from the bench and through the rear door leading to his offices and chambers. The crew followed on his heels. Carlos shut the door behind them. Scott placed the phone on his desk and activated the speaker. Everyone gathered around.

"Boo?"

"Hello again, Judge."

A man's voice he recognized. The girls had not escaped.

"We have your daughters."

"If you hurt my girls-"

"You are threatening me? When I can slit your daughters' throats any time I want? Judge, threats at this time are not wise."

"Please don't hurt them."

"That is much better."

"What do you want?"

"You know what we want-release the Imam."

"Let me speak to them."

"Okay. I will do that for you."

The bad brother whispered to Boo, "You say anything to give us away, I will cut your throat from ear to ear."

"I won't."

"I am putting the call on the speaker. Talk. Your father can hear you."

"A. Scott?"

"Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah."

"Don't be scared."

"I'm not. Pajamae is, but I'm not."

Scott could hear Pajamae's voice in the background: "Judge Fenney, help us! I'm scared!"

They were alive. Scott breathed out with relief. Karen buried her face in her hands and cried.

"Calm down, Pajamae. It'll be okay."

Boo came back on the phone: "Panic attack. She can't stand to be tied up."

"You're tied up?"

"And blindfolded. But they took the gags off. We can talk."

"Are you hungry?"

"They gave us food. Falafel. Whatever the heck that is."