He looked at his watch. It was now past midnight, and he knew in his heart she wasn’t going to come. Whether it was a shot across the bow to Chris for the way he’d “treated” her, standing her up last night, or whether she was suspicious, he didn’t know.

What he did know was that if she didn’t show, he’d wasted this night. Because of it, he had only one more cycle of darkness to kill the three kids. She was going to get away. He’d planned tonight as a repeat of last night, convinced he could entrap her, but maybe that had been the lack of sleep talking.

After dumping Chris’s body in the bay, blood leaking out and bubbles forming around the cinder blocks, they’d returned the boat and walked back to the hotel. He’d really wanted to sleep, but had waited for Devon to show up. He had, drunk, but with a key.

They’d discussed the alternatives, and Devon had said he could keep the boys in play for another day, plying them with liquor. He’d put Devon to bed and asked Carlos what they should do. They now controlled two of the three legs for success: one, Chris, at the bottom of the ocean; two, the boys, under Devon’s sway; but the third—the woman—was outside of their control, and she was a wild card that could affect everything.

Jacob had planned on killing the boys tonight, then taking the train to Rome, a full two days in advance of when they were supposed to be there in their new personas. Enough time to survey the terrain before pretending to be something they weren’t.

But the woman beckoned. Chris’s dark secret was running loose, capable of forestalling all they hoped to accomplish. He’d discussed it with Carlos, Devon snoring five feet away, and they’d decided to attempt to kill her.

The next morning, they’d sent a bleary-eyed Devon back to the boys with a mission. He’d entered the room with the key he’d taken, and woken up the hungover teenager sleeping there. Devon had spent an interminable amount of time in the room, annoying the hell out of Jacob. Waiting in the lobby, his eyes gritty from the lack of sleep, watching people from all over the world eating the breakfast buffet, Jacob began thinking about just bashing the kid’s head in to get the information he needed.

Jacob wanted to hack the chaperone’s computer, using social engineering through Devon’s newfound friends. Devon had learned the night before that the boys hadn’t brought their own systems, and that they all got a minimum of five minutes every other day to send well-wishes to whomever they wanted, Chris leaning over their shoulders as they typed. All Jacob needed now was the password.

He’d started to ask for another glass of water, getting a stare from the waitress because of his lack of having ordered anything of monetary value, when he’d seen his partner come down the stairs. Devon smiled, looking like he was still a little drunk, and Jacob wondered if it was the liquor or the lifestyle. Devon sat down and handed him a slip of paper, saying, “I got it.”

Jacob unfolded the slip, seeing a barely legible scribble, and said, “No spike? He didn’t wonder why?”

“No. He’s out. Probably the first time he’s ever been drunk.”

“And the rest of them?”

“Same way.”

“You know you have to trap them all day. Keep them happy.”

Devon smiled and rubbed his eyes. “That’s not going to be an issue. I’ll get them drunk again. Last night they were talking about how today was their day. Time of their life and all that. I’ll take ’em out. Hell, they won’t get moving until at least one. Once I’m done with them, they’ll sleep for the rest of the night.”

Jacob had started to remind Devon of the stakes, of how Devon needed to keep his head about him, then remembered that Devon had been on cocaine benders that had lasted for days. Altar boys from an affluent high school stood no chance.

He’d said, “Get your passport picture before you become engaged again. It’ll be your only chance.”

Jacob had left him, going to the chaperone’s room, praying the key still worked from the soaking last night. It had. He’d entered, seeing the clothes splayed about, as if the owner were coming home. It had given him pause. He’d gone into the bathroom and seen the toothbrush. It was . . . almost melancholy. He’d caused the death of a man, and was seeing the vestiges for the first time. The artifacts left behind. He’d thought again of his worth, strangely proud and wondering if he was wasting his talents in the service of the Islamic State.

He’d opened the laptop on the desk, typing the password Devon had gleaned. It had worked. He’d scanned all the emails until he’d found one from someone named “Poster Girl.” He’d used a search function, then rummaged through past emails, finding photos she’d sent: her wearing a bikini, her holding a poster from Chris’s company, selfies with major cleavage, lingerie with a Staples “easy” button on her crotch. They went on and on.

He felt like a voyeur, but couldn’t quit clicking. He looked into her eyes, knowing he was going to kill her. He came to terms with the choice.

He created an email, asking her to meet “Chris” at the bistro on Assassini, and apologizing for missing their earlier date. Blaming business. Then he’d left and collected Carlos at their hotel, both getting their own passport pictures for the forging to come.

That had been twelve hours ago, and she still had not shown. Now he was contending with a waiter who’d run out of patience, just as he had in the hotel. The café was famous for wine, and he had done nothing but drink water. The man came out one more time and said, “Are you sure the lady is coming?”

Jacob said, “No. I’m not. I’m sorry.”

He threw some money on the table and stood up, the waiter growing indignant. Putting his notebook into his apron, he started to say something—maybe a curse, maybe a slur—and Jacob caught his eye. It was enough. The man took the money and retreated.

Jacob walked to the end of the alley, finding Carlos sagging in the seat of the johnboat. Jacob tapped the aluminum, waking him up.

“She’s not coming. Get the boat back. We’ll need it tomorrow.”

“What now?”

“We’re out of time. We keep the boys tomorrow, and kill them tomorrow night.”

“What about the girl?”

“Nothing I can do about that. For all I know, she’s flying back to America. I contacted Omar, but he didn’t reply. We don’t have a lot of choices. We kill the kids and get to Rome. Tomorrow night.”

“Maybe we should wait for guidance from Omar.”

Carlos saw Jacob’s aggravation and said, “You know, in case he has a change or something.”

Jacob looked away and said, “I don’t know why he didn’t answer, but I’m not waiting on him for a decision. For all I know, he’s dead.”

66

I blinked my eyes, the lids feeling like sandpaper from staying awake for the last thirty-six hours. On the screen was a still image from the YouTube video, showing a clearly terrified Shoshana tied to an ornate wooden chair. Behind her stood a large man wearing a black hood with the eyeholes, nose, and mouth cut open haphazardly, as if it had been done in haste.

He had blue eyes and was holding what appeared to be a large serrated bread knife. Something that would do significant damage to the neck it was against, and not in a humane way. Staring at the screen, I felt impotent, wanting more than anything to be with her in that moment. I wished I could will myself to her location, teleport right into the middle of the room, then set about delivering justice to every one of the murdering psychopaths.

As much rage as I felt, it was a candle to Aaron’s sun. He was quiet and showed no outward displays, but the heat coming off of him was palpable. He kept looking at me for a miracle, believing the US government had some magical way to resolve the situation, but I feared we were already too late. Rashid had given up nothing in an initial interrogation, either because he didn’t know or was holding out. The Taskforce continued to work him, but our best intel was the video.