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the week. “It was cold overnight so I thought you could use this.” He held out the coffee. “Lots of sugar, the way you like it.”
    Neil accepted it with a nod of thanks, eyed him with a sideways look. “Why do you do things like this for me? God knows no one else ever does.”
    “Charity is one of the most sacred tenets of Islam,” he explained with a shrug. “The Quran compels us to give to those in need.” Over the past few years he’d become more devout in his practices. It drove him crazy that so-called “Christians” walked past this man each day without giving him a second thought, let alone help of any kind. Though he suspected Neil didn’t accept charity easily. He seemed too proud for that.
    Neil shook his head and wrapped his gloved hands around the paper cup, inhaling the fragrant steam that rose from the hole in its lid. He was probably somewhere in his late thirties, but life on the street had aged him far beyond that. His dark hair was long and greasy-looking, and those dark eyes were filled with ghosts of the terrible things he’d seen and done in the name of service to his country. “Gotta tell you man, after my tours overseas I never thought I’d be friends with a Muslim.”
    “I understand.” Perfectly. The irony of their situation wasn’t lost on him, but despite his radical beliefs he was first and foremost a devout Muslim and this man was as deserving of help as any other. Glancing away from him, Mo nodded toward the bright sapphire sky and changed the subject. “Nice day today, but it’s going to get cold again tonight. You should find a shelter to sleep in.”
    Neil took a sip of hot coffee, his bearded face transforming into a blissful expression as he savored the mouthful. Swallowing, he said, “Just might do that. Thanks for this. You have a good weekend, Mo.”
    Dismissed, but not in a rude way. “You too, Neil.” The small charitable act boosted his mood even more. He took a shortcut through the park on his way back to his place, walking quickly up the street to his historic brick building. Mrs. Grandham, the elderly lady from the apartment across the hall from him was struggling with the front door when he arrived.
    He took the paper bags of groceries from her and opened it with his own key to let her in.
    “I hate getting old,” she huffed. “Enjoy your youth, Mo. It goes by way too fast.”
    “It does. How’s your kitchen sink these days, by the way? Still draining okay? I can come by and look at it again later today if you need me to.” Being the building’s superintendent had its perks, including giving him the perfect cover. No one in his building would ever suspect him of being involved with a terrorist organization.
    “It’s perfect, thanks to you.” She beamed up at him as she took the bags with a murmur of thanks and headed for the elevator without looking back.
    The mailboxes were on the left hand wall of the foyer. Unlocking his he found a few flyers, the few bills he didn’t pay online, and a white envelope with only his name typed on the front of it.
    Glancing around to make sure he was still alone in the foyer, he tore it open and pulled the two sheets of folded paper from inside with nervous fingers. The first page listed several addresses for him to check out. Two were close by, in outlying suburbs of Baltimore.
    As he got ready to examine the second sheet, he was aware of his pulse thudding heavily in his throat and his palms growing damp. The anticipation was heady, a sensation he wanted to savor. He’d been waiting a long time for this moment.
    He took a deep breath and turned the page. The second sheet had a high resolution photograph scanned on it. His target. Interesting, he thought as he studied the image. Not what he’d expected at all. Bigger, more important and complicated than he’d imagined. And below the image, in English, Eliminate by whatever means you determine necessary .
    Relief crashed over him, so strong it made him dizzy.