Northeast Washington DC, January, 2078, Wednesday…

It was an unusual meeting of minds. Sitting around the table were the leaders of twelve of the DC, Virginia, and Maryland Mundo Domini cells. Juan Pablo, who was intimidated just by Paul Sanford alone, felt supremely uncomfortable with this religious mafia of killers. But they were uncomfortable too. In many ways they were competitors, territorial along the same lines as the gangs to which they owed their genesis.

The priest let Paul Sanford take charge.

"Thanks for coming. I'm not certain this is a good idea, but we'll see." He gestured towards Juan Pablo. "Our little miracle worker here has big bucks behind him and grandiose plans for striking a blow at the unfaithful." The terrorist distributed packages of briefing slides around the room. "Real fancy shit here. Look at this for a few minutes, and then we'll talk about it. Oh, by the way, these copies don't leave the room."

Juan Pablo looked around the room. Most of these people did not fit the common man's idea of what a terrorist should look like. Some were quite well dressed although the attire was not as conservative as your average Washington bureaucrat. Most just looked like ordinary people.

But he was always taken aback by the eyes. If the eyes were not the empty eyes of killers, they blazed with the hellfire of fanaticism. There were more men than women, but the women that were there were killers too. And many of those around the room were supremely intelligent, experts in what they did, and quick to understand a plan.