Daniel Cross asked the two men in the front seat of the car parked as close as they could get to Hoover’s Cooking. “You guys happy? You wanna give me high marks, praise, something like that?” Zurif and Saflin turned toward him at the same time, startling Cross enough to send his shoulders whiplashing back against the seat rest. “Praise comes only from Allah,” said Zurif. “But you can rest assured you have proven yourself before His eyes.” “And the rest of this holy mission follows in accordance with His will,” Saflin added. Zurif nodded in agreement. “We are nothing when measured against the scope of that. The sooner you realize and accept your place, the more peace you will find basking in Allah’s good graces.” “I told you I’m not interested in converting. That’s not what this is about.” “Actions speak louder than words,” said Saflin. “You are now one of us, a soldier in the army of the one true God, who owes all to Him and His word.” Saflin and Zurif kept talking, but Cross stopped listening to them.
