He hurled it against the wall, shattering it.

“The Americans have no shame.”

“These were not American. They are from Denmark.”

He turned to see his brother, Mudah, walk through the front door. His brother had made the trip from Iran for this occasion. It made sense—the future of the Brotherhood rested in this one plan they had hatched. “God’s Thunder,” they had dubbed it. And it was by all measurements a plan worth a thousand such trips.

“They might say the same about you. You’ve just destroyed one of their trinkets without reason,” Mudah said.

“And you’ve just killed them,” Abdullah said.

“Yes, but for good reason. For Allah.”

Abdullah’s lips lifted in a small grin. In many ways, they were different, he and his brother. Mudah was happily married, with five children—the youngest, a two-year-old daughter, and the eldest, an eighteen-year-old son. Abdullah had never married, which was one reason he had been chosen to spearhead this mission into South America. He wasn’t as devout as his brother. Mudah lived for Allah, while Abdullah lived for political reasons. Either way, they had their common enemy. An enemy both would give their lives to destroy. Materialism. Imperialism. Christianity. America.

“Yes, of course. For Allah.” He looked out the window. “So now this jungle will be my home.”

“For a while, yes.”

“A while. And how long is a while?”

“As long as it takes. Five years. No more than ten. Worth every day.”

“If it doesn’t kill me first. Believe me, this jungle can drive a man mad.”

Mudah smiled. “I do believe you. What I have more difficulty believing is that the CIA actually cooperated with us.”

“You don’t know the drug trade. I gave them enough information to indict two drug cartels in Colombia in exchange for this one small plantation. It’s not so hard to believe.”

Mudah was silent for a moment. “One day they will find it hard to believe.”

Abdullah let the comment pass. They would indeed.

“Have they found the other one?” Mudah asked.

The question brought Abdullah back to their immediate concern. “If not, they will. He killed one man. And if they don’t find him, I will. We can’t afford survivors. It wouldn’t serve any of us.”

Mudah paused and looked at Abdullah. “You make Father proud, Brother. You will make all of Islam proud.”

WHEN TANYA found consciousness again, it was to the sound of clunking above her. She sat up groggily, thinking the night had ended with morning—the nightmare passed. But when she opened her eyes, darkness remained and she knew with a sinking dread that she had dreamt nothing.

The clunking though, that was new. She opened her mouth to scream out when muffled voices drifted into her box. Strange voices muttering foreign words. Her heart bolted and she closed her mouth.

Her body began to quake again. She grabbed her knees and willed it to stop. The boots paused very near, maybe in the hall, and then they dragged something away, into the living room. She shuddered at the images the sound evoked and began to sob under her breath.