T he four Tikriti families arrived at the hospital soon after all the other reunions were completed. The medical staff knew who they were, of course. Two of the nurses and a janitor made themselves scarce the instant they arrived. One of Hamid’s men looked like he wanted to do the same. Sameh did not speak. There was nothing he could do about the situation. A change in the regime did not erase memories or bring back loved ones. Leyla, bless her, responded with her customary warmth. She brought the adults tea, filled the empty silences with quiet conversation, and personally supervised the reunions.
Sameh held the most important family for last. This man had occupied a lesser position on Saddam’s inner council for several years. He had been privy to much, and blind to even more. He wore his shame like a cloak. His name was Kazim.
Sameh waited until Leyla had settled the glass of tea before the man to say, “You were approached during America’s attempts to bring the Tikriti into peace talks.”
The gentleman’s hand shook slightly as he lifted the tea. “I was.”
“How are your connections now?”
“The Americans call when they want something. I have never had the courage to ask them for anything. But for you…”
“I was not speaking,” Sameh said, “of the Americans.”
During the Iraq troop surge, some of the heaviest fighting took place in the Triangle of Death. The U.S. generals assaulted the terrorists’ strongholds with overwhelming force, tactics the Americans referred to as “shock and awe.” Then they sought out potential allies within the local community, offering these elders safety and support in rebuilding, so long as they turned their backs on the insurgents. The Tikriti seated across from Sameh had been one of the first to respond.
Kazim took a careful look around the room before replying, his voice low, “The extremists have condemned me to death.”
“They also stole your child, no?”
“The enemy who committed this crime is unknown to me. But the hand who pulled the strings, yes. That is my thought.”
Sameh was feeling his way forward here. “Did the kidnappers issue a ransom demand?”
Kazim took his time settling the tea glass back in the saucer. “Who is this asking me such questions? And for what purpose?”
His wife was seated a few feet away, rocking their three-year-old daughter in her lap. Most of the reunions had followed a similar pattern. The children wailed and clung to their parents. Some even struck at them for leaving them to be captured. When the pent-up anxiety was released, however, the children fell asleep. Their little fists clung to the parent holding them. Nothing disturbed their desperate slumber, not even the next family’s noisy reunion.
His wife leaned forward and poked at her husband. “What kind of question is that? You must address with respect this honored gentleman who saved our child, and you must answer him.”
“Your husband asks a valid question,” Sameh calmed her. “We are searching for three missing Americans and a missing Iraqi. A Shia youth.”
Kazim said, “Again I must ask, who is this ‘we’?”
“That is why I speak with you now. The answer is, I do not know. It appears that some Americans would prefer to see them stay lost. While others seek them. And the same is true with the Iraqi community.”
“And the government?”
“The family is not without influence. The father is one of the Grand Imam’s largest supporters. But the government refuses to assist. They say the son has eloped. With an American nurse.”
“Is this possible?”
“We have evidence that it is not.” Sameh had the distinct impression that nothing he said surprised the Tikriti. “But few seem to care.”
“So they seek to shame the imam and his followers.”
“Perhaps.” Sameh grew increasingly certain the man knew more than he was saying. “And yet there are questions without answers. Such as, why have the kidnappers not asked for ransom? And why are there those among both governments who pretend nothing has happened?”
A remnant of the man’s former presence returned. Kazim’s hands ended their nervous clasping and unclasping in his lap. The eyes became hooded. Sameh shivered. Oh yes. The man knew.
Kazim asked, “And why approach me with such questions?”
“Another of this group, an ally to the new regime, he too had a child taken.”
“His name?”
“I cannot say, any more than I would ever disclose yours.”
Kazim nodded his understanding. Otherwise the man had gone completely still. As though he was seated back at the council table, with the madman Saddam at its head. Where any gesture or word or even glance could be reason enough for his demise.
Sameh went on, “This gentleman who lost a child as you did, he never received a ransom request. And when he approached the government for assistance, they turned deaf. And when his child was returned, they acted as though it had never been taken.”
Kazim did a curious thing. He turned in his chair and looked at his wife. The woman responded with a slow nod, her face full of the dread wisdom that comes from residing close to deadly power. “You should tell Sayyid el- Jacobi all you can.”
“Even at risk to our family?”
“You will tell him.”
Kazim turned back and said, “A ransom was demanded.”
Sameh guessed, “But it had nothing to do with money.”
“Correct. There is to be a gathering of Tikriti elders. We Sunnis are split over this new regime. Some wish to ally themselves with the Shias and create a government of unity.”
“The Alliance, yes, I have heard of this. You back them?”
“I see the nation’s wounds. I wish to see us heal and move forward.”
“And the thieves who stole your child?”
“They demanded I vote otherwise.”
Sameh leaned back in his seat. “But how could this be tied to the disappearance of three Americans and one-”
The blast was near enough for the explosion to shake the windows. The entrance doors rocked inwards. Alarm flashed across every face.
The hospital’s children’s wing went completely silent. The doctors and nurses froze where they were and waited. Sameh had seen it happen before, during other visits to medical facilities. The doctors and nurses listened for the alarm, for the sirens. And the telephones. As the police operators learned of the extent of casualties, they phoned the hospitals. If the phones in this division rang, it meant children had been injured. Everyone in the room knew this. It was a part of Iraqi life. They waited together, and no one breathed.
The phones remained silent. Murmurs of astonishment began to fill the room.
The woman seated behind Kazim clutched her daughter more tightly and said, “We should leave this place.”
The man rose to his feet and said to Sameh, “I will see what I can learn.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A s they finished with the final Tikriti family, Sameh received a call from Hassan’s office asking him to meet him at the courthouse. The woman’s voice carried a sense of dramatic urgency, reflecting years of pressing people to do what Hassan wanted, and do so immediately.
Leyla drove Sameh from the hospital to the courthouse. This was a practice they had started during their earliest days as lawyer and assistant. Sameh could not look back at that time without recalling the pain that had
