“I accept,” Kazimi said finally. He trusted his intellect. He could match wits with any Mensa member. Bacon might get a rush from betting, a sin for true Muslims, but he’d regret ever making this challenge.

“Very well,” Bacon said. “Let us begin.”

Crossing the room, using his cane for leverage, he went over to the ebony table, deposited his whiskey tumbler, and retrieved from the place setting the serrated steak knife Kazimi had noticed earlier. Then he took up his previous spot in front of the open door, symbolically positioning himself between Kazimi and his freedom.

“Now then,” Kazimi said. “Ask your question. Test me. I am not afraid.”

“In Allah’s name.”

“In Allah’s name.”

Bacon leaned forward and held out the knife, ebony handle first.

“It is not a question,” he said, “but a deed you must perform. Take the knife.”

Kazimi hesitated. Bacon waved the handle of the blade, encouraging him.

“If you refuse you will lose without even having tried,” he said, a sardonic smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

Kazimi wavered, then grasped the knife by its handle, point facing out.

“Very good,” Bacon said, smirking. “Well done. Now then, to win our little game, I ask you to kill me.”

The guards moved instinctively toward the man, but he held them back with a raised palm.

“Take the knife and kill me,” he repeated. “If you do, I give my word that you may walk out of here without any interference.” He swiveled to face his guards. “Is that understood?” The men nodded. The reluctance Kazimi detected in both their eyes and mannerisms made him feel certain Bacon’s offer was for real. Bacon took a step forward until the tip of the blade, quavering in Kazimi’s outstretched hand pressed up against his ample abdomen.

“Go ahead, Dr. Kazimi. Do it. Kill me and then walk away.”

Kazimi pushed with the blade, but not hard enough to puncture the fabric of Bacon’s white shirt, or worse the skin underneath.

“I give you three seconds to comply. Plunge the blade and walk away. Three…”

Kazimi pressed a little harder.

“Two…”

Harder still.

“One.”

Kazimi let the knife drop to the floor.

“How did you know?” Kazimi asked with his head bowed, keeping his gaze fixated on the blade, his one possible means of escape.

“Take not life, which Allah has made sacred—except by way of justice or law. Thus doth He command you, that ye may learn wisdom. Chapter six, verse one-fifty-one. Murder in self-defense is permissible, but here I was unarmed. Taking a life this way is forbidden by your religion. It would be considered a haraam—a truly detestable act that would anger Allah. Am I not correct?”

“You are,” Kazimi said.