“‘Religious violence rises from a loss of identity and a misguided reading of holy texts. And from restlessness with a God who doesn’t seem to care. This lesser jihad comes from rage at a Western vulgarity that humiliates.’”

“Are you trying to make a case for terrorism? Condoning what Hashim did? Condemning it? Besides Islam, you’ll be taking on the Jews and Christians, and…”

“I’m not defending or attacking anyone. I’m showing the core that extremism comes from. Evil demands we not distance ourselves from it by making them monsters. In order to write about it I need to embrace it.”

“And, do you?”

“I do. But I don’t empathize with it.”

Dominique had mastered the art of neutrality and picking up vulnerabilities in her interviewees. That’s why she was good at her job. Her silences provoked more truth telling than not. She was used to people challenging her points of view. Thrived on it. And, in the judgment and defense that laced Isabel’s words, Dominique got how patronizing Isabel could be, which helped her drill deeper in this character before her.

“It was presumptuous of me to show this to you.”

“I didn’t mean to doubt your patriotism.”

Dominique flashed on the Baghdad debriefing after they were rescued in the desert, when the General had his doubts as to her loyalty.

“Too many see the world in black and white, and project their fear and inadequacy on the Other, when we don’t even know them, or care to. I know that sounds like blasphemy. But it’s important to consider the source. We are not dry bones cast upon the earth, but flesh and blood in search of connection and meaning.”

“You remind me of my sister.”

Dominique picked up subtle warmth in her voice when Isabel spoke of Arama.

Dominique achieved what she’d planned—to touch the heart of another, and lead them through an uneven land, like she’d been led. It was a manipulation in service of a greater good, and she let the space remain open, to discover more about this young lawyer.

“What happened over there?” Isabel asked.

Dominique was silent, knowing it was Isabel’s attempt to shift the conversation.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“No, it is,” Dominique said, aware of the importance of sharing more.

“When I got back, I visited mosques. I wanted to be in rooms steeped in their belief, to feel the carpets on my forehead and feet, and hear the call of pray. I wanted to feel what they felt, or get as close to it as I could.”

“Because of what happened in the warehouse?”

“Yes.”

“So, you had a religious experience?”

“That’s too narrow an explanation.”

“What would you call it?”

“I can no longer avert my eyes to things that must be seen.”