This did not surprise Rapp. The overwhelming majority of Muslims did not agree with what these terrorists were doing in the name of Allah. Rapp just wished they were more vocal about it.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. He's a real pious bastard, this one. We got into his apartment yesterday during the afternoon sermon. The whole building empties out, so we figured it was pretty safe. We took a look at his computer." Coleman extracted a memory stick from his pocket. "Copied his hard drive for you."

Rapp grinned and took it. "Thank you."

"It's filled with porn."

"No way?"

"Dead serious. A lot of really kinky shit. Mostly bondage."

Rapp studied the memory stick. "You just never know with these idiots, do you?"

"Nope, but it doesn't surprise me one bit."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. They're all running from something. What else?"

"Best spot to hit him is obviously between the mosque and the apartment. Five round trips a day. Before sunup, just after noon, late afternoon, just after sunset, and then my favorite…his ten o'clock trip."

"Why not early in the morning?"

"It would work," said Coleman, "but the sunrise call to prayer has double the attendance that the evening one does. By the time he heads home it's almost eleven, and the streets are empty."

"He walks alone?" Rapp asked, still not believing the intel report he'd received earlier in the week.

"Yep."

This guy was a real moron, but pretty typical when you looked at his early years. Khalil Muhammad, Egyptian by birth, had grown up in the clutches of an offshoot of the Muslim Brotherhood, indoctrinated into the strict unyielding brand of Islam perpetuated and funded by the Wahhabis out of Saudi Arabia. At the age of fifteen he and a group of peers stoned a reporter to death for writing an article that was critical of the madrasa they attended. The religious school he attended had sent every single one of its graduates off to fight in the Afghani war against the Soviets. It was rumored that many had been sent against their will.