“Five feet, no more,” the guard ordered.

Hashim waved his hand in acknowledgment. He turned back to Dominique.

“How we live is important to getting a deeper understanding of our thinking. There was no speech of bin Laden’s in which he didn’t recite poetry.”

“I know. And the raid in Abbottabad found books by Bob Woodward and Noam Chomsky.”

“His cabinet of curiosities. No one is looking at the fact Zarqawi wept. And Muhammad Omar acted on dreams. But Ahlam al-Nasr. She’s who you need to study now. She’s the poet of jihad.”

“I’m not here about poetry.”

“You’re here to learn how we think. The key is in our tears, our dreams, and our words.”

She realized she’d gotten caught in her drive to make sense of the mystery and the search, when a pivotal answer was in the deeper truth of what he said.

“The president listened to you?”

“Yes. Even the parts I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought me mad to say.”

“But he didn’t think you mad, did he?”

“It didn’t seem that way. Tears, dreams, and poetry may be a harder sell.”

“Are you familiar with the magazine, Dabiq?”

“No.”

“It’s a glossy ISIS periodical that focuses on issues of unity, truth-seeking, community, and jihad.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“It portrays the Islamic State as they see themselves, as I used to see it. Boasting victories and painting romantic images of the restoration of an Islamic golden age, and heralding a new caliphate based on holy war.”

“Charming.”

“Dabiq is also a town in Syria. It’s supposed to be the location for one of the final battles according to Muslim myth.”

“The apocalypse?”

“Yes. One of the magazine’s monthly issues was called ‘Just Terror.’ That’s who you’ll be dealing with—in case you forgot—when you attempt to tell them we share a spiritual DNA that the tablet speaks of.”

“Can you help me?”

“I can’t give you a lesson plan on how to transform the way we’ve been taught to think.”

“What can you do?”

“Whatever there is, if anything, I don’t want to go back to that dark place inside. And, even if it were possible, I couldn’t do it from here.”

“From where could you do it?”

“I’d have to be in the heart of it again. And I’d be killed the moment they knew I was there.”

“Not if they believed your surrender was a ruse.”

Hashim chuckled.

“You have an active imagination, Miss Valen. You expect too much. No one would believe me.”

“But if they did?”

“I don’t imagine your Secret Service would relish the idea of setting up all that deception for me. Is this why your president sent you? To turn me into your spy?”

“He sent me to ask for your help. How that might be accomplished was never discussed.”