Fatima, though familiar with much Western culture, was not aware of the sect. “No.”

Ibrahim said, “Suffice to say moderate. Hence, to the armies and the security services of the West you are invisible. You can cross borders and get to targets and not be regarded as a threat.”

Targets, she thought in horror. Her hands quivered.

“You will be assigned a target in Italy and you will carry out an attack.”

She gasped, and refused the tea Ibrahim offered. He sipped, clearly relishing the beverage.

“Now we come to the second reason you have been selected. You have family in Tunisia and Libya. Three sisters, two brothers, all of whom, praise be to God, have been blessed with children. Your mother too is still upon this earth. We know where they live. You will fulfill your obligation to us, complete these attacks, or they will be killed—every family member of yours from six-month-old Mohammed to your mother, as she returns from the market on the arm of her friend Sonja, who will die too, I should say.”

“No, no, no…”

Ignoring the emotion completely, Ibrahim whispered, “And now we come to the third reason you will help us in this mission. Upon completion of the assignment, you—and your husband and daughter—will be given new identities and a large sum of money. You will get British or Dutch passports and can move where you wish. What do you say?”

The only word she could.

“Yes.” Sobbing.

Ibrahim smiled and finished the tea. “You and your family will travel to Italy as refugees. A smuggler I work with will give you details tonight. Once you arrive, you will be taken to a refugee camp for processing. A man named Gianni will contact you.”

He’d risen and left, with not another word.

They’d no sooner landed in the Capodichino Reception Center than Gianni in fact called her. He explained in a guttural voice, clear and still as ice, that there would be no excuses. If she fell ill and could not detonate the bomb, her family would die. If she were arrested for stealing a loaf of bread and could not detonate the bomb, her family would die. If the bomb did not go off because of mechanical failure, her family would die. If she froze at the last moment…well, she understood.

And what should happen but, of all horrific coincidences, her husband had been snatched by that psychotic American! That in itself had been terrible—she loved him dearly—but the incident had also brought the police. Would they find the explosives and phone and detonator that Gianni had left for her? Would they relocate her and her daughter while they searched for Khaled?

Yet he had been saved.

That was, of course, wonderful. Yet it tore Fatima’s heart in two. Because everyone, from Rania to the American police to the Italian officers, had worked so very hard—some even risking their lives—to save Khaled, a man they didn’t know, a man who had come to this country uninvited.