Through a text from a friend at the FBI, Julian found out that an agent was missing. When he saw the attached photo of Aaron Ajam, he realized he was “Taliq.” Julian would be hard-pressed for a plan to extract Nazir now, as the FBI knew he was the last person to see Ajam alive. Where would Nazir go? Where could he go? Julian was so deep in the shit of this circumstance he poured himself another glass of scotch from a bottle he’d found in the kitchen cupboard of the cottage.

“Why do you drink so much?” Nazir asked, as he entered the room.

Julian glared at him.

“Taliq was an FBI agent. The terrorist cells won’t be the only ones after you now.”

“Why don’t you turn me in, then?”

“Fuck if I know.” He downed the scotch and poured another. “Want one?” he asked, offering the bottle and a glass to Nazir, who ignored the offer.

“What did you see in the warehouse?” Nazir asked.

“Don’t do therapy on me, okay?”

Julian stormed out of the kitchen.

Nazir followed and cornered him against a wall in the living room.

“Back the fuck off, kid.”

The two men stared each other.

“You’re a marked man. And I don’t know that I can protect you.”

“Allah will do what is best.”

“Okay. But for now, you got me.”

65

65

Jack Dean used his cane to punctuate his arrival as he moved toward Charles Bruton’s office in the Pentagon. Dean was shocked Bruton had asked to meet after all these years, but the truth was, he’d been waiting for this a long time.

“Thanks for coming, Jack,” Bruton said, as Dean entered the office.

Bruton closed the door.

The two men stood there, weighted by betrayal and guilt.

“I owe you an apology, Jack. I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I did. Ruining your career.”

“What was left of it.”

“I put the last nail in that coffin and I’m sorry.”

“Is that why I’m here? For an apology?”

“In part.”

“No thanks.”

He turned to leave.

“Jack. Wait. Please.”

Dean had one hand on the doorknob; the other gripped his cane like a sword.

“What’s the other part?”

“It’s about the tablets. What can you tell me about them?”

“You’re not wanting to make a fool of me again, are you?”

“No, Jack. I’m not.”

“You’ve talked with Paul Ledge,” Dean said.

“Yes.”

Bruton listened as Dean talked of how the stones and the tablets, and all like manifestations, were extensions of a greater truth. He talked of succession into higher consciousness. About the masters who guide us, who have ascended to realms where much is clear, much is merged. But people insist on treating it as a game, and believe the dim light of this world is the only reality.