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said, Nick never once allowed himself to feel as though all of this was unnecessary, and that any third-year law student could try and convict a defendant like Feroz Saeed Alivi. Nick understood the importance of this trial to human history, and its psychological impact not only on himself and Lauren, but on everyone who had been touched by the events of September 11, 2001. And yes, Nick had an agenda that went well past a conviction on all counts contained in the book-length indictment. Nick wanted—no, he needed —for Feroz Saeed Alivi to die at the hands of the United States government. Nick was under no illusion; for the first time in his career, he wanted blood. He wanted to witness firsthand Feroz Saeed Alivi’s ultimate demise by lethal injection.
    Throughout his adult life, Nick had struggled with his feelings about the death penalty. Given the opportunity, he could passionately argue either side. But in the past twelve months, since Alivi’s capture in Yemen and Nick’s appointment as lead counsel, Nick had read and heard and observed evidence that left no doubt in his mind that capital punishment was right and just under certain circumstances. And this case certainly qualified. Not only because of the carnage Alivi and his cohorts inflicted on this country more than a decade ago, but because he was unrepentant, and because he continued, even after his capture, to make threats against American citizens and their allies and interests around the globe. And yes, because some of those threats had been directed specifically at Nick himself, in his capacity as a federal prosecutor. And because those threats hadn’t been limited to him, but included the only person he had left on this earth. Threats that had included his seventeen-year-old daughter, Lauren.
    For the past year, Nick had lived in a constant state of terror. It had started with anonymous letters in his home mailbox and was followed by e-mails from self-proclaimed jihadists. After a few weeks, Nick’s office phone began ringing. Weeks later, his home phone. After Nick had his number changed, his cell phone was compromised. And then his daughter’s. That’s when Nick got angry. Livid. That’s when Nick first demanded a face-to-face meeting with Feroz Saeed Alivi.
    â€œNot going to happen,” Kermit Jansing told him one day over the phone.
    In a barely controlled rage, Nick shouted, “You tell your client to lay the hell off my family, or I’ll . . .”
    â€œOr you’ll what?”
    Nick finally realized how helpless he was. Alivi, though behind bars, was provided more protection than any other inmate in the history of the United States. Alivi couldn’t communicate with the outside world except through his lawyers. So he couldn’t be pulling the strings; he couldn’t be threatening Nick and his daughter through his associates in the United States and abroad. Or could he? Was Kermit Jansing—wittingly or unwittingly—carrying coded messages on behalf of his client? There was no way to know. The attorney-client privilege rigidly protected all communications exchanged between the two men. For a while Nick began to wonder whether bringing Feroz Saeed Alivi to trial in New York City had been the right call by the U.S. attorney general after all.
    But no, as time went on, Nick refused to be intimidated. When his boss, U.S. Attorney Preet Bharara offered to replace Nick on the case, Nick flew into a frenzy. This was his case, his conviction. And he wouldn’t be frightened off.
    During the summer months, as the threats became greater and more specific, Nick finally accepted protection from the FBI and New York Police Department. “Don’t watch me,” he told the special agent in charge of his family’s safety, “watch Lauren. Make sure she’s protected at all times, day and night.”
    If anything happens to Lauren, he’d thought grimly, I won’t be able