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behind the cars. They came to a high, shrub-pocked hill that suddenly dropped away. A vast valley of flat desert sat below. In the middle of the valley, several miles away, there was activity. Like a village of ants, a small cluster of buildings could be seen. There were trucks, cranes, and at least a dozen trailers. It looked like the beginning of a settlement or a construction site.
    As they moved closer, men started walking toward them in a line that spanned several hundred feet. The men were dressed in black, their heads covered. There were at least a hundred of them. Soldiers.
    The three vehicles continued to rip across the orange and brown dirt.
    As the vehicles charged at the line of gunmen, they went from walking to running, weapons out. As the vehicles drew closer, the figures grew clearer. Every single soldier was sprinting directly at the vehicles. Each clutched an assault rifle, which he trained out in front of him as he ran.
    Nazir looked up as the distance between the vehicles and the soldiers disappeared. The pickup truck abruptly sped up so that it was in the lead. The other SUV fell in behind the Land Cruiser. They came closer and closer to the line of gunmen. Every muzzle along the line was arrayed in a steady fracture, like dark eyes. A quarter mile became a tenth of a mile became a hundred yards became a hundred feet. The gunmen stopped running. In unison, they raised their rifles and trained them at the three vehicles, preparing to fire. And then, with a suddenness that made even Nazir jerk in his seat, the two SUVs shot out—one to the left, one to the right, and the three vehicles crossed the line of soldiers at the same time, cutting between black-clad gunmen who, as the vehicles crossed between them, raised their muzzles in unison, aiming them at the sky, then shot off rounds into the air as they all screamed: “Nazir! Nazir! Nazir! Nazir!”
    The vehicles ripped past the men toward the collection of trailers, vehicles, and soldiers.
    There were eighteen trailers in all. Most of them were steel shipping containers, arrayed in a line. There were also a few mobile homes with windows.
    Smoke came from a burn pit several hundred feet away.
    Hundreds of men milled about. The temperature, by 8 A.M., was in the eighties.
    The vehicles emptied, save for Nazir, who remained inside.
    The soldiers greeted the arriving ISIS men with handshakes and hugs. After more than a minute, Nazir opened the door and climbed out.
    He was dressed in a light blue short-sleeve shirt and light gray trousers. Nazir’s hair was parted on the right and combed neatly back. He was the only individual not wearing the uniform that had come to be, throughout the world, the feared uniform of ISIS: black pants, black shirt, black bandanna wrapped around the head.
    As Nazir emerged, everyone turned and let out a raucous, sustained cheer. Several soldiers fired their guns into the sky.
    Nazir didn’t react.
    He moved into the throng of men, greeting them with handshakes, which he gave as he looked each in the eye and said nothing. He moved down the line of men. At some point, he noticed something to his right, in the distance. In the middle of the trailers was a large steel cage. It was empty.
    â€œWhere are they?” asked Nazir after he finished greeting his soldiers.
    â€œIn the trailer, sir,” said one of the men.
    â€œIs the cameraman in place?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œGood,” said Nazir. “Proceed.”
    The soldier nodded to one of the guards near the first trailer. The guard acknowledged the silent order and walked down the line of trailers, opening the door to the third one. After almost a minute, a gunman stepped back out. He was followed by two more gunmen. Then came the American couple.
    The woman had long blond hair. She was slightly overweight. She was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. Black tape was wrapped around her mouth. Her hands and feet were tied with rope. She moved