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precious, you kept it hidden until the treasure was meant to be uncovered. Only Western women advertised their wares for the entire world to see, leaving little to the imagination. For Hassan, a place of worship—even godless worship like this—seemed a strange venue to promote lust.
    During the service, he positioned himself on the opposite side of the sanctuary from Ja’dah. Occasionally, he would steal a glance at her. During the singing, he noticed that Ja’dah sometimes closed her eyes and raised her hands. At one point, he thought he saw a hint of moisture in her eyes.
    After the service, Ja’dah went to an out-of-the-way restaurant with a group of church members. They were all relaxed and smiling. Hassan recognized one of them as the man from the text message. An hour and a half later, Ja’dah came out of the restaurant with the middle-aged man. The man climbed into the front seat of Ja’dah’s car, and the two of them talked for another thirty minutes. The man had his Bible open, and before he left, they bowed their heads and prayed.
    As the man walked across the parking lot, Hassan started his car and drove past the line of parked cars that had separated them. When the man looked up, Hassan slowed and allowed him to walk right in front of the car. He was midforties and getting a little soft around the middle. Blond hair, soft blue eyes, pudgy nose, and smooth skin. The man gave a quick wave of thanks to Hassan for allowing him to cross.
    Earlier, when the group was eating dinner, Hassan had found the man’s name in the church directory Hassan had grabbed earlier that evening. Martin Burns. He had two older children with him in the directory picture—a daughter who appeared to be in high school and a son who looked to be in middle school. There was no mother in the picture. Most likely Burns was separated from her. And now Burns was putting the moves on another man’s wife. Men like Martin Burns didn’t deserve to live another day. Hassan would be doing everyone a favor.
    Sacrifice. Martin Burns had undoubtedly nodded along when the preacher told him how much he should be willing to sacrifice for the cause of Christ.
    Hassan would help him understand what sacrifice really meant.

12
    “According to C. S. Lewis, there is danger in the belief that ‘all will be well’ when in fact all is not well.” As Alex looked out on the faces of his congregants at the start of his sermon on Sunday morning, it was clear the words were falling on deaf ears. Literally as well as figuratively.
    The average age at South Norfolk Community Church was somewhere north of mandatory retirement. Attendance was holding steady at about seventy on most Sundays, and the women outnumbered the men by about two to one. Pastors weren’t supposed to play favorites, but Alex was especially fond of a group of six or seven silver-haired widows who sat toward the front on his right side, snuggled firmly into the padded mauve pews, who couldn’t resist an amen or two even during Alex’s weakest sermons. When it came time in the service to greet one another, Alex went straight to the little pack of senior saints, gave each a hug, and came away smelling strongly of old perfume.
    “We have an amazing ability to deceive ourselves,” Alex said. “Christ knew this. He told his followers that many would think they were going to heaven, saying ‘Lord, Lord, didn’t we do many wonderful works in your name?’ But he would tell them that he never really knew them.”
    Deacon Harry Dent stifled a yawn. Somebody’s cell phone rang. A visiting single mom, sitting two-thirds of the way back on the left, turned red when everybody stared.
    Alex didn’t let it bother him but kept preaching as if he had a stadium full of rapt listeners. Just before the closing prayer, he walked out from behind the podium, down the front steps of the platform, and into the aisle. Like most churches, there was some unwritten rule that nobody could sit in the first two