No. It couldn't be. They killed the judge's daughters. Beheaded them. And now they would upload the video to the Internet so the world could see their deaths. And the judge. He would see his daughters' heads being hacked off.

Denny wasn't going to let that happen.

He couldn't save the judge's daughters, but he could find the video and delete it from the Internet. Knock it down as fast as they put it up. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do with his time.

And he owed the judge that much.

Scott sat at his desk in chambers. Louis filled the couch. The others were searching for the girls, but Scott had to come to court to tend to urgent matters then he would return to the search. He would find his girls. He would kill the men who took them. Of that he was certain.

"Judge?"

He looked up to a detention center guard standing in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Judge, this ain't right."

Beckeman put the Imam to the concrete floor and his right knee in the Imam's chest. He lowered the Taser to his arm. First the arm, then the chest.

"Get the hell out!"

Beckeman turned to see the judge, the guard, and the big black bailiff standing outside the cell.

"Open this cell," the judge said.

The guard unlocked the door. The judge stepped in. The black man followed him in. The cell seemed small now.

"You get out, Judge. I'm authorized by the president. National security."

"I'm authorized by the Constitution. This man is in federal custody by my order, not the president's. Get out now-unless you want your own cell. Unless the president wants the press involved."

Beckeman stared down the judge.

"It's a war, Judge."

"Out there, maybe. But not in here. This is a courthouse."

Beckeman released Mustafa and stood; he stared at the judge then slapped the Taser into his hand. He walked out.

Scott helped the Imam to his feet.

"Are you okay?"

The Imam sat on his cot. "Yes. I think he was bluffing."

"I don't think so."

"I thought you sent him."

"To torture you?"

"What would you do to save your girls?"

Scott studied the Taser. "If I thought it would work, I might. But I'd do it myself. I wouldn't send someone to do it for me."

He again studied the Taser. Would it work? The Imam read his mind.

"Go ahead, Judge. Do it. We would do it to you without a second thought. We would cut your head off and send it to your family."

"Why?"

"You are an unbeliever." He held up the Koran. "God said, 'Do not grieve for the unbelievers.' "

Scott stared at the Imam then at the Taser. He hit the button and the volt popped. Why shouldn't he? The Imam knew where his girls were being held. He took a step toward the Imam but felt a big hand on his arm. He turned; Louis shook his head. Scott lowered the Taser.

"I'm not you. And this isn't Syria or Iraq. This is America. We're better than that. We're better than you."

The Imam smiled. "We will see about that. We will see if you are better than us when ISIS strikes in America, time after time, when Americans are beheaded on the streets of America. We will see then, Judge, if Americans are truly better than us."

Denny found the video. It had just been uploaded to the Internet. He clicked on it. The scene was all too familiar: the black ISIS flag, a man dressed in black and holding a sword, a hostage kneeling before him. But there were two hostages. Two young girls. The judge's daughters. The video played. Denny watched in horror. He covered his eyes. He couldn't watch the ending. He deleted the video.

"Well?"

It was the director.

"The judge stopped me."

"You didn't wait until he went home for the day?"

"No, I didn't. He threatened to go to the press if I didn't stop."

"You think he will?"

"No."

"Did you get anything from the Imam?"

"No."

"God help us."

Beckeman hung up. Agent Stryker barged into his office carrying a laptop.

"Captain, you gotta see this."

"Okay," Scott said, "I've marked off the search grids for tonight."

Everyone stood around the kitchen table.

"We have twelve hours till sunlight. We can cover a lot of ground tonight."

Someone banged hard on the front door. Scott walked to the door and looked out; Agent Beckeman and a dozen other men in suits stood on his porch. He opened the door. Beckeman did not seem happy.

"Agent Beckeman."

"Judge, may we come in?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He stepped inside; the other agents followed. They crowded the small living room. Beckeman glanced toward the kitchen.

"Come on out, Pea."

Cat emerged from the kitchen; the others followed.

"You knew about this? His girls getting abducted?"

"How do you know?" Scott asked.

Beckeman looked from Cat to Scott. "You're a federal judge. You can do whatever you want." He pointed a finger at Cat. "You're an FBI agent. You do what you're told."

"How do you know?" Scott said.

"You're suspended, Pea. Gun and badge."

Scott grabbed Beckeman's lapels and yelled in his face, "How do you know?"

Beckeman stared at Scott a moment then dropped his eyes. Scott released him. Beckeman nodded at another agent. The agent placed a laptop on the coffee table and sat in front of it. He typed then turned the screen toward Scott. On the screen stood a man dressed in all black with a black scarf concealing his face except for his eyes; he wore yellow sneakers. He held a long sword. Kneeling before him were Boo and Pajamae; they were bound and blindfolded. Scott's knees buckled; he dropped to the floor and closed his eyes.

"No ..."

"Play it," Beckeman said.

"Hold on," Frank said. "That's not right. Scott's-"

"Play it!"

The agent activated the video. Scott opened his eyes at the sound. He wanted to hear his daughters' last words. He wanted to see them alive once more. He wanted to kill the man with the sword.

"We are here in America," the man said. "And we are here to stay until America leaves the Middle East. It is our land, our lives, our oil. Get out of the Middle East, and we will get out of America. You leave us alone, we will leave you alone. Until then, we will bring death and destruction to Americans just as America has brought death and destruction to Arabs. This war will be like Vietnam for America; before this war is over, you will beg for a truce."

He raised his sword.

"We will show you no mercy. We fight for Allah. For our homeland. For Muslims around the world. You have killed our children. Now we kill yours."

"Oh, please ... don't kill us!" Pajamae cried.

"A. Scott's gonna kill you, asshole!" Boo shouted.

The man grasped the sword with both hands and swung it down hard at Pajamae's neck- "No!" Louis screamed.

-but he stopped the sword an inch away from her skin. He looked up at the camera.

"Judge Fenney, release the Imam immediately or the next time I will not stop the blade."

The screen went black. Scott's hands were trembling, and his heart racing. Boo was right; he would kill him.

"Run it back," Beckeman said.

The agent manning the laptop ran the video back to where Pajamae said, "Oh, please ... don't kill us."

"She said something," Scott said.

Beckeman nodded. "They edited it out. She said 'Abdul.' "

"Thanks for not letting Abdul kill us," Boo said.

The good brother had brought them more falafel.

"My brother, he has lost his soul."

"You know, if you let us go, A. Scott, he'd help you. He's that kind of man."

"But we kidnapped you."

"My mother ran off with a golf pro, and he defended her."

"True."

"Then let us go."

"I cannot. I could not let Abdul behead you with his sword-"

"Behead?" Pajamae said. "Sword? Oh, sweet Jesus."

"-but to save your life, I had to make a pledge to him, on our father's soul."