“I see what you mean.” Billy nodded. “Probably because he didn’t want to be noticed.”

“And there was a better chance of that by the roundabout route.”

“So why didn’t you want to be noticed, Mr. Rashid?”

“Because,” Rashid said, his face twisting with emotion, “I couldn’t. They might have killed me. They might have killed her. I had no choice.”

“Wait a minute,” said Billy. “Who are we talking about here?”

“Al-Qaeda. And the Army of God.”

A chill ran through them at the mention of the two terrorist organizations.

“What did they want with you?” asked Dillon.

“They called me. The man spoke excellent English and perfect Arabic. He told me I was under surveillance and could be killed at any time. He said I had to think of him as the Broker. He gave me no connecting number, but said they wanted to talk to me in person. That’s why I went to Hazar, that’s why I took such a roundabout route, they told me no one must know. The gun was given to me in London. It appeared in my desk drawer, but I didn’t know what to do with it, and I just wrapped it up in the cloth and stuck it in the car. I’m not a terrorist, you must believe me.”

“But why did they call you?”

Rashid’s face contorted again. “To talk about my daughter. My beautiful, thirteen-year-old daughter, Sara. They were… they were brought in by my father. He is very wedded to the old ways, and when he told us he intended to marry Sara to a cousin, a person we had never even heard of-a thirteen-year-old girl!-we refused, my wife and I. She’s English, too, a doctor. We refused-and then he just took her. Took her away. And now Sara is in Iraq.”

“Bloody hell,” Billy said.

“Please-I don’t know who you are, but you must be with the government in some way. Can you help me? I’m not a terrorist, but I’ve learned a lot about the Army of God. I can tell you everything I know if you only help me get my daughter back. Please?”