“Don’t you have a curfew or something?”
Laleh’s expression darkened.
“I thought my mother would strangle me on the way out of the house. She still doesn’t know where I am. I’ve never done anything like this before. When my father comes back home …” Her voice trailed off with a shudder.
“You said he was in jail?”
“They beat him up. Out cold, like you. I’ll call Ali after sunrise for an update. He said he was taking my father to the Minister’s house, for safekeeping.”
“So he’s still in hiding?”
“So are you. I don’t know where we’ll put you next.”
Laleh checked her watch and shook her head, frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“My mother. She really will kill me. One of my brothers chased me halfway down the driveway. I was lucky to get away at all. And I forgot to bring my abaya, of course. That was probably the first thing she noticed.”
“Hey, calm down. I’ll vouch for you.”
In his relaxed state of mind he reached up and unthinkingly touched her chin to turn her face toward him. She didn’t flinch, but her eyes widened, which made him realize exactly what he was doing. He dropped his hand, embarrassed.
“Not that me vouching for you will do you any good, I guess. The crazed foreigner, with his libertine ways from abroad.”
She smiled.
“You’re still feeling the effects, aren’t you? You’ve never talked this way before. Not with me, anyway. You’re so relaxed.”
“Maybe halothane is good for me. Who were those guys?”
“I grew up with Massoud, the one from the hospital. He’s a friend of my little brother Hassan. Jean works in the building, a cameraman for French television. He shoots freelance video for us. The Belgian, Paul, is a friend of Jean’s. I think he works for Reuters.”
“I’m guessing Jean and Paul have never met your parents.”
“They’re part of the network my parents know nothing about.”
It wasn’t a boast, or a put-down. It was merely a statement of fact, a casual affirmation of her competence in having rounded up the necessary manpower for a rescue mission on short notice, as if such business was all in a day’s work. And maybe it was.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“Wait for morning.”
“Do you have coffee? Everything’s fuzzy, but I don’t want to go back to sleep.”
“I’ll brew a pot.”
She left for a moment while he stared dumbly through the darkened window into the pre-dawn sky. He heard running water and, soon afterward, the pop and gurgle of a coffeemaker. It reminded him of his first visit to Sharaf’s house, right before her father burst in on them, scolding and disapproving. She was right. Her parents would be furious. He smiled dopily.
Laleh returned with two steaming mugs. She again sat beside him on the couch—just as close as before, he was pleased to note. It was cozy, sipping coffee with her. Or maybe the anesthetic was still working its magic.
“So what will he do to you?” Sam asked.
“My father? Punish me, I suppose. The first thing he usually tries is to demand that I quit my job. When that doesn’t work he changes my curfew for a while.”
“Even earlier than ten?”
She shrugged.
“It’s hard to blame him. Not that I won’t. But I am so different from all the girls he grew up with. You really have no idea how far he has come.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Because it’s true. And he is under a great deal of pressure in his work. Even before they threw him into prison I was worried for him.”
“He tells you about his work?”
She laughed.
“He’d never tell me, or even my mother. But I hear things. I am a night owl, like him, and sometimes when he goes into his office, very late, I am still roaming the hallways like a ghost. So I hear him on his cell phone, plotting things out.”
“You spy on him, is that what you’re saying?”
She shrugged again.
“Maybe if I didn’t have a curfew, I wouldn’t be there to listen. So in that way he is getting what he deserves. But this case, the one about your friend, I think it is part of something much larger. He has even been to the palace
