the previous evening, he declined Miriam’s offer of a late dinner and went straight to bed. He would have preferred to eat something. But if he had sat at the table, the three would have fed him questions with the food. And Sameh had not been ready to talk.
He slipped from the darkened bedroom, padded into the kitchen, and was surprised to discover Miriam and Leyla seated by the courtyard door.
When Leyla and Bisan had come to live with them, they had moved a small table into the kitchen. Bisan would sit in her high chair while the women prepared the adults’ meal. Over time it had become everyone’s favorite place.
The predawn light softened the texture of the courtyard tiles so they seemed to glow. Sameh carried in a chair from the dining room. “Good morning.”
“We can move to the dining table, my husband.”
He kissed his wife’s forehead and seated himself. “Here is better.”
When Miriam started to rise, Leyla said, “Stay where you are, please. Let me cook.”
Miriam rose anyway, rinsed their teapot, and put water on to boil. Leyla brought him a cup and refilled the milk pitcher. The two women made a smooth dance around each other.
As Sameh was finishing a plate of eggs, Bisan crept into the kitchen. She wore pajamas with sleepy kittens on a pink background. She crawled into Leyla’s empty place and cradled her head on her arms.
As Miriam refilled Sameh’s cup, she bent over to kiss the child. “Will you take anything more?” she asked her husband.
“Toast. Please,” Bisan murmured without lifting her head. “Not too dark. Butter. Marmalade. Spread evenly out to the edges.”
“You must sit up straight if you are going to eat, dear one.”
In response, Bisan did a boneless slide from her chair and crawled into Sameh’s lap. Sameh stroked her hair and fed her the last bite of his own toast.
“Let poor Uncle alone,” Leyla said from the stove.
“The girl disturbs no one,” Miriam replied. “Especially not Sameh.”
“She’s fine here,” Sameh affirmed.
Leyla asked, “Will you tell us what happened last night?”
“Yes.” Sameh hesitated and glanced down at the child in his lap.
“Let her hear it,” Leyla said with a shrug. “It involves her, and whether we like it or not, she will know everything soon enough.”
Sameh described his visit to the Green Zone, the confrontation with Boswell, the ambassador, the elevator, the comm room.
When he was finished, Miriam asked, “Where are Marc and the others now?”
Sameh glanced at the wall clock, then at the rising sun. “They wanted to cross the border before dawn.”
“Iran,” Miriam whispered. “They have gone into-”
“Marc is fine,” Leyla calmly announced. “And we have work to do, don’t we, Uncle?”
He stroked Bisan’s hair. “Indeed so.”
Leyla asked, “What was the document Marc and the ambassador argued over?”
“It was not the ambassador who quarreled, but his aide.” Sameh explained about the official letter granting them green cards, whenever they wanted to go to America. The women became utterly still as he spoke. Even Bisan lost her sleepy demeanor. Sameh hesitated, then described how he had prayed for guidance back at the Green Zone gates. And how it seemed that Marc was the answer. As Sameh spoke, he knew this was indeed the most important revelation of all.
Any response from them was cut off by the ringing phone. Miriam glanced at the clock. Ten minutes after six. Phone calls at this time meant either another kidnapped child or someone had been arrested and was being questioned.
Sameh deposited Bisan in her mother’s lap and reached for the phone.
An American woman asked, “Is this the lawyer Sameh el-Jacobi?”
“Who is speaking, please?”
At the sound of the English words, Leyla and Bisan asked together, “Is Marc all right?”
“Ambassador Frey wishes you a good morning, sir. He wants to know if you might come for your green cards.”
“What, now?”
“He has made arrangements for someone to assist you. It will mean you don’t have to wait.” The woman sounded as though she was reading a prepared script. “It would be better if you could come as quickly as possible.”
Sameh had an Iraqi’s experience with conversations meant for listening ears. “We will leave immediately.”
Chapter Forty-Five
T he first bus lumbered around a rocky cleft and stopped as an ancient stone hut came into view. The Iranians had constructed a rough front porch, little more than a raw-plank veranda with a canvas overhang. The porch held a bunk with woven leather straps and a table with one chair. A lone cup steamed on the table. When Josh and his men slipped back in through the bus’s open door, Marc asked, “The guards?”
“Not going anywhere for a while. Locked up tight inside.”
Marc thumbed his comm link. “Hamid?”
“I am here.”
“We’re good to go. Give your men the final check.” He said to their driver, “Move out.”
Eons ago, an earthquake had dislodged a portion of the cliff face. The road threaded its way around boulders larger than the bus and descended to the riverbed. Beside them, the meandering stream flickered in the early light.
Duboe said, “Target is eleven hundred meters ahead.”
Marc said, “Any more guards this side?”
“Nothing moving between us and the perimeter.”
“Check the entire village one last time.”
While Duboe was silent, the buses passed behind yet another giant boulder and entered a narrow sandy patch. Marc keyed his comm link and ordered, “We stop and prep here.”
As the vehicles halted, Duboe said from his screen, “Two guards patrolling near village entrance. Got another on roving patrol, the fourth either asleep in one of the houses or is off the grid.”
Josh muttered, “Not good.”
“We can’t worry about that now,” Marc said. “Keep your eyes open. What else?”
“I make one guard standing to far side of the target building. My guess is the entrance is in the alley and not on the front of the house. A second guard appears to be seated where the building meets the cliff. Legs splayed out, maybe asleep.”
They off-loaded and gathered behind the rear bus. There was no chatter. When they were geared up, Marc keyed his earpiece and said, “Comm link check.” He got a forest of thumbs-up.
Then Hamid said, “We also want to blow up missiles.”
Josh grinned. “My man.”
“This threat is to our country,” Hamid insisted.
Marc said, “Josh and his men are prepared for this type of sortie.”
Hamid bristled, but softly. “What, you think we do not train? We are not ready?”
Josh stepped between them. He clapped Hamid on the shoulder. “Who is your top guy in the field?”
Hamid did not hesitate. “Is me. Then Yussuf.”
Marc said, “I need Hamid on point for the retrieval. Especially now that we’re after kids who don’t speak English.”
