She asked what she believed was an innocent question. “You have a sister in Cuzco?”

Dominique saw Isabel’s body tense, and she sat up in her chair as if she’d been called on by a teacher for not paying attention.

“My sister has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. Why bring her into this?”

It was a defensive reply and piqued Dominique’s curiosity.

“Finding things about people is what I do. It gives me a better picture.”

“My sister and I haven’t talked to each other in a long time.”

Dominique could feel Isabel wanted to take the conversation away from her sister, but Dominique didn’t let her.

“Then you’re not aware there was a supposed miracle at the hospital where she works.”

“Really?” Isabel said, feigning innocence.

Her response left Dominique with the sense there was more here than met the eye.

“I spent time in Peru before the Middle East. Hiked Machu Picchu. Spent a couple of weeks in Cuzco. Made some friends. They’re still there. They have some interesting beliefs.”

“I come from a culture that takes little responsibility for itself, Miss Valen. God will make all things better. They never look at what their part is in circumstances.”

Isabel was digging herself deeper into Dominique’s curiosity.

“That’s not always true,” Dominique said, working the conversation.

“Does this have something to do with what happened in the warehouse?”

Isabel was desperate to shift the attention off her sister and the miracle.

“I guess I’m like some of those in your culture. I believe in miracles. That I’m alive is testament to that.”

“Would Hashim consider it a miracle? Him being alive?”

Isabel queried like a lawyer desperate to change the subject.

Dominique smiled at Isabel’s attempt to turn the discussion around.

“Ask him when you get him in court,” Dominique said, knowing there was something she’d touched on that Isabel was evading. Dominique would find out what that was.

53

53

From their Nissan, parked across the street from the Department of Justice, Nazir and Taliq waited. They’d been following Dominique for days. It was late afternoon. A raging thunderstorm had the people on the street running for cover. Taliq’s burner phone chirped with a text. He looked down at the message.

“Is that from Sarif?” Nazir asked.

“Yeah,” Taliq said, lying.

“What did he say?”

“Same old, same old. ‘Where’s Hashim?’”

But it wasn’t from Sarif. It was from Taliq’s contact at the FBI. It said: Getting hot. Get out!

Taliq knew as soon as the cells found out about Hashim there would be orders to assassinate him, so Taliq needed to extricate himself before the shitstorm hit, and he’d be in the crossfire. But there were things he still wanted to know.

“I’m gonna ask you for the last time. What happened in the warehouse?”

Nazir glared at him.