Dominique stared at him until he lowered the gun.

“Okay. You tell me why you’re here?”

“I’m here because of the things I’ve done,” Hashim said. “There is no forgiveness unless it comes from Allah.”

“Allah’s not here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Allah is in all people.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I came to ask your forgiveness. Both of you,”

“Forgiveness? There’s no forgiveness for you.”

“Julian. Listen to him,” Dominique said.

Julian steeled himself against her plea and didn’t take his eyes off Hashim.

“I understand your rage and your doubt.”

“You don’t understand shit.”

“You can call the police. But hear me before you do.”

“What could you say that would change my mind to see you as anything but the evil you are?”

“You’re right. I don’t deserve forgiveness, or to live. But if I do, I promise I will do all I can to bring the caliphate down, because they will get stronger unless someone reveals what they know about them.”

Hashim labored to a kitchen chair and sat.

Julian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A week and a half ago Hashim was about to execute them. Now, he was a frail man asking forgiveness, and offering to take down the caliphate.

“Why should we believe anything you say?”

Hashim spoke of his mother. A beautiful soul he’d drifted from in his rise to power. He spoke of his father, how he’d hated those who misused power, possessions and money. It was a powerful drug for a young boy to be mentored to take down the privileged. More powerful than the vulnerability of his mother. He spoke of the veil of forgetfulness that had lifted since their deliverance in the warehouse, which opened him to those buried memories.

“I grew to despise my mother’s meekness. It had no place in the world I saw. So, I followed in my father’s footsteps. I regret that.”

“Those are just words,” Julian said.

“I understand.”

“More words.”

“Make your call, then.”

Julian took out his mobile.

“Wait,” Dominique said.

“Okay. You tell me what we do now.”

“Why won’t you get it? Something unfathomable has brought us here. Why won’t you see it?”

“Because he murdered thousands of innocent people.”

“Our hands are bloodied, too.”

“You’re comparing us? Fuck you.”

He raised his gun into the air.

“Julian. Stop it,” Dominique said, and slapped his face.

He was pulled farther across the tightrope he’d been on, deeper into his own conflict with all he’d done, and all that had occurred.

Survival in his world demanded black or white. Hashim had colored it in an unsettling shade of humanity.