The FBI had an informant inside Church Dry Cleaners. His real name was Aaron Ajam, but to the members of the cell he was Mustafa Taliq. He’d been undercover for a year, recommended to Sarif by a member of ISIS here in the states.

Good undercover men come in shades of gray. They’re men whose faces you forget. That wasn’t Taliq. He thrived on being noticed. Arrogance as camouflage. It’s one of the things that kept him alive.

Taliq burned with intensity. But heat this intense burned off in time, and Taliq figured he had another year at most before he’d turn cold and need to come in. Right now he was in the middle of figuring out what Hashim was doing in America. No one inside the terrorist cells or at the FBI had been able to figure out the “why.” He wouldn’t put it past Hashim to keep certain cells out of the loop, forcing them into confusion in order to get the Bureau caught up in that misdirection while he planned an end run toward another 9/11. Whatever that might be, it would be fierce. Hashim had been responsible for thousands of deaths, so why would he stop? Taliq needed answers. And that this young emissary from across the world had appeared made him hyper-aware something was about to go down, and he was going to insert himself into whatever that was before anyone else.

36

36

In a local mosque in the center of D.C. Nazir’s ambivalence was carving a deeper fracture in his psyche. Prostrate, as his forehead pressed into the prayer rug, he was disturbed by something Taliq had said to him when they met: “Are you afraid to enter paradise?” Had Taliq noticed Nazir’s conflict? A mash of thoughts collided as his head pressed harder into the praying floor.

Hashim had told him there were reasons for their survival. Nazir had always thought it was for Allah, though Hashim was never specific with what the reasons were. He’d told Nazir that soon he would come to know. Did Hashim have his own doubts? Why had he left? Nazir tried to stop the thoughts that ran like wild horses in his mind.

A strange lightheadedness overcame him and a voice said, Protect him. Save him. He will help us all.

Nazir shuddered.

“You okay?” Taliq asked.

Nazir opened his eyes.

Prayers were over. Everyone was gone except Taliq who watched him, and reached out his hand.

Nazir took it to steady himself.

“Come, my friend,” Taliq said, guiding Nazir out of the mosque. “Let’s have tea.”

Nazir followed. But there was something about Taliq that made him nervous.

In a Starbucks near the mosque Taliq and Nazir sat in comfortable, overstuffed chairs by the window.

Nazir looked at the cup of tea in his hand and spun the sleeve, intrigued by its purpose.