The Jews looked at one another haltingly. Behrouz knew they did not, at least not specifically. In truth, neither did his own men. He had been ordering searches of synagogues at a breakneck pace for the last month. His crews would burst in and gather papers, files, and computers. On appearances it was madness without methods, a roughshod turnover that seemed absent any cohesive objective. Favored were property deeds, construction blueprints, bar mitzvah records, and flash drives. Less in vogue were service calendars, garbage collection bills, and prayer book invoices. In the end, the keepers of the holy proceedings were simply left to sweep up, reorganize, and carry on in brooding silence. Complaints were regularly filed, of course, but ignored with an equal consistency that took no one by surprise.

Just to keep things straight, Behrouz gave his stock explanation.

“I am here because Jew assassins have been infiltrating our country. Even though their hopeless plots fail, I am left to wonder if they will try again. I am left to wonder if they are getting assistance from traitors inside our blessed country. Would either of you be aware of such treachery?”

Neither man responded, which actually pleased Behrouz—it was better for everyone to keep things simple. A rabbi had gotten demanding last week, and the only person to benefit in the end was a reconstructive dentist. Behrouz decided there was no more to be said. Just as he was about to leave, a scrawny dog padded into the courtyard. The mutt made a beeline for the two interviewees, but before it could identify a master the squat sergeant lashed out and kicked it with a heavy boot.

The dog yelped, and it was the rabbi who reached out to the cowering creature.

“Sit still!” the sergeant barked at the rabbi.

The dog skittered away with a limp that may or may not have already been there. Behrouz stepped closer, his face etched in a new severity. He put out an empty hand, and the sergeant filled it with the thick baton from his belt. Behrouz slapped the nightstick once in his palm, then whipped around and struck the sergeant a savage backhand blow to the head.

The man fell like the brick he resembled. He was still for a time, then groggily began to roll back and forth. Two of Behrouz’s other minions watched from a distance. Neither moved, clearly unsure how to react.

“We are not animals,” Behrouz muttered under his breath.

Ten minutes later they were all back in the sedan, the woozy sergeant in the backseat next to Behrouz. He rubbed the side of his head, his expression asking, What was that for?

Behrouz only said, “Did you get everything?”

The answer came from the front seat, a man with a stack of papers and files in his lap. “Yes, enough to keep us busy for days.”