"I don't."

"It's just an example."

"Oh."

"You know, my dad, he'll come for us."

"He will never find you."

"Will you let Abdul sex us? Or kill us?"

"No. I will not let that happen."

"He'll try again."

"I know."

He felt as if his heart and mind were ripping him in two. His heart would always love his big brother; he bordered on hero worship. Abdul had always been his hero. Bigger, stronger, smarter, tougher. A man when he was still a boy. But Abdul had been happy; he always laughed and joked and dreamed of the future. He wanted to be a professional soccer player. He wished they were still boys in the village in Pakistan. Before the drone came.

That happy boy was still inside Abdul.

Perhaps he could find that boy. He took a deep breath, hoping to find the necessary courage. He walked across the room and sat across the table from his brother.

"I have been thinking," Abdul said. "There are one-point-six billion Muslims on the planet. If each Muslim killed just four or five infidels, Islam would rule the world. And we could afford to live on the beach in southern California-for nothing."

"Uh, yes, that is an interesting idea. But brother, are you sure that Allah truly wants us to kill a hundred thousand people?"

"No. He wants us to kill six billion kuffars."

"Every non-Muslim is an infidel who deserves to die?"

"Yes."

"Could we not just behead a few Jews? Would that not make you happy?"

"It would make me very happy, and I might do that as well. But have you forgotten what the Christians did to our father?"

"No. But those people in the stadium, they did not make that missile, they did not fly that drone, they did not give the order to fire that missile. The president did. Let us kill him instead."

"Ah, if only we could. Then we would be heroes for sure. But we cannot. So we will kill a hundred thousand Americans instead."

"But they are innocent."

"No, they are guilty. All Americans are accomplices to murder, to genocide, because they do not demand their government stop waging war against Islam. They sit here in America and watch football games while their president sends drones to kill Muslims, so they can take our homes and our land and our oil, so they can subjugate us to their rule. They have made a choice. And every choice has consequences. We will strike a blow for all Muslims."

"But there will be children in that stadium. They know nothing of that."

"They must pay for their fathers' sins. My brother, if we take down that stadium, we will be heroes, as Zaheed said."

"We will be dead."

"We will die an honorable death."

He stared at his older brother. The happy boy was gone.

"Let's go to Starbucks."

"You go," Abdul said. "Get me a grande coffee Frappuccino, no whip."

"Let's go together."

Abdul smiled. "Ah, you are worried I will take the girl. You are right, I would." He stood. "Come, we will go together, brother. As we will die together." He glanced at the girls. "Tie them down."

"Hey, guard!"

Denny Macklin tapped the keys on the laptop at a furious pace-Where are you hiding, asshole?-until he heard the heavy footsteps of the overweight guard named Buddy.

"What do you want?"

Denny's eyes did not leave the screen or his fingers the keyboard.

"Did someone deliver churros for me?"

"Churros?"

"Yeah."

"No."

Dang. Denny loved churros with hot coffee. Guess he'd just have the coffee.

"Get me another skinny vanilla latte. Pronto."

"Fuck you."

"You want me to report you to the warden?"

The judge had spoken to the warden, and the warden to him. Whatever he wanted or needed was his for the asking. And he was asking for a Starbucks. He gave the guard a moment to reconsider; he finally surrendered, as Denny knew he would.

"Venti or grande?"

Karen typed through tears. Working kept her sane. The thought of never seeing the girls again threatened to break her heart. She could not imagine never seeing Little Scotty again. To lose him would kill her. To lose them would kill Scott. He would be a broken man. Forever.

"Ah, Judge, I was hoping you would stop by. I have enjoyed our talks."

Scott stood outside the Imam's cell. "My girls are being held hostage, but you're enjoying our conversations? Don't you care?"

"Do you care that Muslim children are being killed by American drone missiles as we speak?"

Scott sat on the stool and slumped down.

"Judge, do you pray to God to save your daughters?"

"I do."

"You believe in God?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because I don't believe in coincidences."

Mustafa scooted his stool closer to the bars. "Please explain."

"Not now."

"Yes, now. I must understand the man who sits in judgment of me."

Scott again held out hope that he could find some human connection with this man. This Muslim. So he answered.

"Is it just a coincidence that an ocean of oil lies beneath the Middle East, the exact spot where the three major religions of the world were founded? And that today the world depends on that oil, which dependence has brought those three religions into mortal conflict on that same spot?"

"Ah, very good, Judge. And no, it is not a coincidence. It is the end of days. Go on."

Scott summoned the strength to go on. "It's not a coincidence that humans share the same physical attributes-it's evolution. But evolution cannot account for our psychic similarities. So is it just a coincidence?"

"I do not understand."

"As a lawyer, I traveled quite a bit overseas. I met people. I talked to common people-cabbies, waiters, clerks. And everywhere I've traveled people share the same psychic desire-to work hard to improve their lot in life, but more important, to improve their children's lot in life."

"Interesting."

"But I've never traveled to the Middle East."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning parents there strap bombs to their children. We dream for our children. Your people kill their children. I don't understand that."

"Because you are not Muslim. You have not lived a life oppressed. You have lived free in America."

"Which is the third reason I believe in God: America."

"This I must hear."

"Is it a coincidence that five of history's greatest men-George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and Benjamin Franklin-came together at the same time and place-literally in the same room-to create America? What would the world be today without America?"

"There would be fewer terrorists."

"There would be chaos. Less freedom. More oppression. Disease. Poverty. And the Nazis would control most of Europe. We don't always get it right, but we try to. Without America, the world would be worse. Much worse."

"So you think God created America?"

"I do."

"My, you are a true believer, Judge. Which is good for me, I suppose."

"Why is that?"

"Because you will set me free."

Boo got her fingers on the nail clippers in her back pocket and pulled them out. She worked the clippers around until she felt the clipper on the rope that bound her wrists. She squeezed. The clipper squeaked.

"What's that?" Pajamae asked.

"Nail clippers."

"How can you cut your nails blindfolded?"

"I'm not cutting my nails. I'm cutting the rope."

"Is it working?"

"No."

Abdul wanted to sex her. She had to escape and take Pajamae with her.

"Hector, I have made inquiries. Every day for two weeks. I have received no responses. Jorge, Manuel, the shipment, the money ... they all just disappeared."

Tomas Guzman was Hector's man in the Middle East. He sighed over the phone.

"It is not like the old days. Dealing with the Taliban for the heroin from Afghanistan, they were very professional. It was all about the money for them, so you could depend on them. There was respect. These ISIS Muslims, they are different. They want the money, but they want to rule the world-who has time for that? They have no respect for anyone."

"They will have respect for me when I am through with them."

"They are religious fanatics. It is never a good thing to mix religion and money. Like money and women."