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was enough to cause Hassan’s brother, Ghalib, to take the extra precaution.
    Hassan secured the soldering iron in its metal stand. Just below the tip were two brown-edged scars that had been burned into the table earlier in the day when the tool had slipped from its makeshift holder. Two teaspoons and more tape were all Ghalib had needed to reinforce the stand and make it stable. Hassan flexed his hand, trying to release the tension of the last five minutes’ white-knuckle session.
    Ghalib crossed the room to admire his older brother’s work. “Is it done?”
    â€œIt is done,” Hassan said with a sigh.
    Ghalib placed his hand on Hassan’s damp shoulder. “Then we are ready to go?”
    â€œTomorrow, Ghalib. We will do it tomorrow.” Hassan patted his brother’s hand, then stood and took Ghalib by both shoulders. Although only six years separated the two siblings, the premature gray around Hassan’s temples and the extra three inches of height seemed to triple that spread. “Father would have been proud of you, little brother.”
    â€œAnd of you,” Ghalib replied with a heavyhearted smile.
    With one final shoulder clap, Hassan walked to the kitchenette and put a pot of water onto a hot plate. As he stood leaning on the narrow counter, he noticed that his right leg was bouncing up and down. He forced himself to stop. Ghalib needed to see strength and confidence, not this nervousness.
    Tomorrow didn’t scare him—death held no fear anymore. Hassan just wanted to make sure that they would die in such a way as to further Allah’s cause. If only he could be certain that they were doing the right thing. Just a quick phone call, a brief “Is this okay?” “Yes, it’s okay” would set his mind and heart at ease. But that was impossible now.
    Two months ago, all communication had halted from the leadership of the Cause to Sheikh Hamza Yusuf, the leader of the madrassa where Hassan and Ghalib had been taught the truth about Islam and what Allah expected from his followers. Then, two weeks ago, the madrassa and its accompanying mosque had been raided. Sheikh Yusuf had disappeared during the raid—whether into the hands of the American government or through one of the escape routes, Hassan did not know.
    For days afterward, Hassan and Ghalib had remained paralyzed in their apartment, waiting for the inevitable knock. Hassan knew that the amount of explosives and accompanying electronics squirreled away in their small living space was enough to send them both to prison for many years. The television said that the raid on their madrassa had been just one of a massive series of raids across the country that had effectively put an end to the Cause in America.
    Confused and frightened, the brothers had prayed for direction for their next steps. It had all seemed so right and so clear as they’d listened and studied and grown through the wisdom of Sheikh Yusuf. Step one, step two, step three—it was a formula that would lead them directly to paradise. But now they were on their own. Allah knew their hearts, and he knew the paths they should take. He must speak to them now.
    The beginnings of their answer came one night as they were watching the television. A special report broke into the investigative crime show, telling of a suicide attack on a bus in Portland, Oregon. Two days later, word came that another bomb had gone off at a religious music festival in Illinois. A day after that, two more explosions took place in Dallas, Texas, and Charlotte, North Carolina.
    That was when Hassan realized that Allah was speaking to him. Leaderless cells like his were no longer looking to men for guidance. They were looking directly to God. And what would God have Hassan and Ghalib do? Finish what they had started!
    That “aha” moment had taken place three nights ago. Now Hassan and Ghalib were ready to make their own mark in the cause of