“We crossed at the river. I thought we were being pursued.”
He stood abruptly, raking his fingers through his hair. Iran was the worst country for him to get stranded in. He’d rather go back to Iraq. There were US air bases in Iraq, and in Turkey. There were allies to contact. In Iran, he was completely isolated.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Are you?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No. I don’t.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I think you did.”
“For what reason?”
“For Hasan.”
She drew in a sharp breath, as if his words pained her.
He didn’t buy it. “Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?”
She stood, wiping the tears from her face. “I wasn’t sure you remembered him.”
“I remember him.”
“Would mentioning his name have made a difference?” she asked bitterly. “Would you have rushed to help Hasan’s surviving family members?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I will tell you what is not fair,” she retorted. “My brother bled to death in Syria, because he was your interpreter. That is not fair. His wife died in childbirth because the Da’esh threatened to kill anyone who assisted her. That is not fair. Ashur has no parents and I have no husband! That is not fair.”
“And you want to make things fair,” he said in a low voice. “That’s why I’m here. An eye for an eye.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “No. I care for you.”
“Don’t you dare say that,” he said, closing the distance between them. “You screwed me. You used me to get out of Iraq, you let me get you off, and then you screwed me. But not the way we both wanted.”
She slapped him across the face.
The sharp crack echoed through the room and his head tilted to the side. It was a direct hit, but he hardly felt it. He was too focused on his own rage, on the darkness inside him and the blood pounding in his ears. This moment had been coming since he’d left the torture chamber. It had been building to a flashpoint.
She retreated a step, her throat working. She was afraid of him.
Good.
He advanced, lightning-quick, as she shrank back against the bathroom door. He braced his hands on either side of her, using his arms like bars to hold her prisoner. She couldn’t escape.
“Just admit it,” he said, crowding her. “You brought me here as payback. You wanted me to suffer because you blame me for Hasan’s death.”
She shook her head in denial, lips trembling. He slammed his palm against the door, overwhelmed with fury and frustration. He wanted to shake the truth out of her. He wanted to kiss her until she confessed her sins.
Then he felt the cold bite of metal against the side of his neck. It was Ashur.
“I blame you,” the boy said.
A strange sensation came over Hud as Ashur pressed the blade to his throat. He could only describe it as an out-of-body experience. He looked down at himself and saw a man he didn’t recognize, using his strength to intimidate a woman. He saw a manifestation of anger and violence and toxic thoughts.
He saw his father.
He took a deep breath and snapped back to reality. The point of the knife cut into his skin, dangerously close to his jugular. Layah stared at him with wide eyes. Hud couldn’t make any sudden movements. Ashur had already nicked him. Blood trickled into the hollow of his throat.
“You sharpened your dagger,” Hud said.
“Move away from her or I will kill you.”
Hud stepped back from Layah, his hands raised. When Ashur lowered his knife, Hud grasped the towel at his waist to keep it from falling.
“Sit,” Ashur said to him.
Hud sat down on the edge of the bed. Layah stayed where she was, with her back pressed against the wall. Hud could disarm Ashur easily, but he didn’t. They needed to hash this out. “You think I failed Hasan.”
“I know you did.”
“You’re right. I did. We all did.”
Ashur blinked at this unexpected admission. A month ago, Hud wouldn’t have made it. Now that he’d spent time with Ashur and Layah, he felt compelled to give a deeper explanation. And maybe, Hud wanted to come clean.
“He was a member of our team, but we didn’t protect him,” Hud said. “We didn’t make sure he traveled with an armed guard. We didn’t put him in a safe house or insist on bringing his family to live on the base. We let him down.”
“You promised him a visa for one year of service,” Ashur said.
Hud nodded, though he didn’t handle those arrangements. It was the usual reward, and many interpreters didn’t live long enough to collect.
Ashur continued, his voice flat. “After a year passed, he was told that he had to wait for visas for my mother and I. So he continued to work for your military. Do you know what happened to him?”
“Yes,” Hud said.
“Tell me.”
“He was killed.”
“How?”
“His throat was cut.” Hud omitted the part about the missing tongue. Ashur might not be aware of every detail. “Your mother was heavily pregnant at the time. She went into hiding because of threats made by Hasan’s killers. She couldn’t get medical attention. We sent a doctor from the base, but it was too late.”
Ashur’s mouth thinned. “You know these things, but you do not care.”
“I do care.”
“Liar,” Ashur said. He moved closer, touching the blade to the underside of Hud’s chin. Layah let out a strangled sob. Hud prayed she wouldn’t interfere. “You didn’t care enough to protect him! Did you know he was Assyrian?”
“No,” Hud said, swallowing hard.
“An Assyrian interpreter is a perfect target for the Da’esh. You should have known this. It is your job to collect information and understand the enemy.”
Hud couldn’t argue there. He’d assumed Hasan was Muslim. The Assyrians looked like Arabs to him, with their dark eyes and hair. Hud’s main concern was how well Hasan spoke the local languages, not his ethnic or religious
