Another man stepped past the door and Casius felt his chest tighten. Short-cropped, black hair with a streak of white topped the man’s hollow face. He was looking at Abdullah Amir. The man bore a surprising similarity to his brother. Casius’s hand twitched instinctively on his lap and he calmly closed his fingers.

The man stood with his arms limp at his sides, eyeing Casius with drooping eyes. He wore a white cotton shirt with short sleeves and tight maroon pants that ended an inch above black leather shoes. Casius felt a thin chill break down his spine, and he suddenly wondered if he could pull this off. The whole thing.

A corner of his mind had expected this, of course. But now looking at Abdullah, the truth of it all hit his head like a sledge and he wondered if he’d overestimated his mental strength and patience.

By Abdullah’s raised eyebrow, he saw Casius’s fear. “You think I’m a ghost?” he asked.

Casius swallowed and regained composure, his mind still reeling. The man could have no clear fix on his identity. At least not yet.

Abdullah stared, unwavering. “Who are you?”

Casius suppressed the instinct to launch himself into the man now and be done with it. He glared at the man without answering, gathering his resolve to play his cards as planned.

“Abdullah,” Casius growled softly.

The Arab’s eyes registered a flicker of doubt. For a moment he looked nonplussed.

Casius spoke before the man could utter a word. “Your name is Abdullah Amir. I killed your brother ten days ago. You look very much like him. Your brother was an effective terrorist—you should be proud.”

Casius smiled and the man blinked, stunned to silence. Every muscle in his thin body went taut, baring veins at his neck and forearms.

“You killed . . . Mudah is dead?” Abdullah sputtered. For a moment Casius thought Abdullah might shoot him there, on the spot. Instead he regained his composure slowly as if he could flick it on and off between those ears. It spoke well of his strength, Casius thought.

“CIA.” Abdullah spoke as if he’d just swallowed a bitter pill. Now a different glint flashed through the man’s eyes. “And what is your agency doing so deep in the jungle?” he demanded.

“We’re looking for a killer,” Casius said. “Perhaps you, Abdullah. Are you a killer?”

The man found no humor in the question. He looked at Casius carefully. “What is your name?”

“Your family is in Iran. In the desert. What brings you to the jungle?”

The Hispanic guard shifted his one good eye to Abdullah, his gun still leveled unwavering at Casius’s head.

“Why did you kill my brother?” Abdullah asked.

Casius considered the question. “Because he was a terrorist. I despise terrorists. You’re monsters who kill to feed a blind lust.”

“He had a wife and five children.”