“Will you tell me?”
“No. It’s classified.”
“I assume it was one of Mohammed Rahim’s men.”
Hudson didn’t confirm or deny it.
“Was the story you told Ashur true?”
“Yes.”
“Rahim was not in Telskuf. I would not have gone there if he was.”
“He wasn’t one of my torturers.”
“But you thought he was inside the building where you were captured?”
“I wasn’t captured inside the building. I was captured in a tunnel underneath the building after it exploded.”
“Was it a trap?”
“I think so.”
“Who were your captors?”
“The faces changed. There were some high-level guys the first week. Near the end, they were just guards.”
She nodded, understanding. Rahim certainly could have planted a bomb in Telskuf. He was responsible for a number of atrocities in Syria and beyond. He’d ordered the execution of the rebels outside Palmyra, where Khalil had been killed. She didn’t know if Rahim was involved in Hasan’s death, but he’d been in Hasakah at the time, and he had a band of butchers at his disposal. She’d always suspected one in particular, Abdul Al-Bayat.
“Are you plotting revenge, like Ashur?” Hudson asked.
“No. I am concerned that your escape from Telskuf was communicated to Rahim.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“It is possible that those men with rifles were sent to look for us.”
“How would they know where to look?”
She swallowed hard, thinking of Ibrahim. She’d told him not to go back to Telskuf, but he was old and stubborn. “Ibrahim knew my travel plans. He is Assyrian, and has access to a vehicle. He might have been questioned.”
“Would Rahim’s men follow us here?”
“They can’t get into Iran or Armenia, but they can get close.” She reached into a colorful bag Miri had brought up with breakfast. It had a map, two razors and a checkered headscarf. She unfolded the map and spread it across the floor.
Hud’s expression turned flat. “You’ve had this all along?”
“No. Miri gave it to me this morning.” She pointed to their location. “Today we are going to Nordooz, where we will walk across the border. As you can see, it is only a few kilometers from Azerbaijan. The Da’esh may be able to travel freely there from Turkey. I do not believe they will come so far for us. I only wish to offer you information.”
“How generous.”
She moved her finger across the border, ignoring his sarcasm. “My parents will meet us on the Armenian side. They live in Yerevan, which has a US Embassy.”
“You’re going to introduce me to your parents?”
“If you like.”
“What do you expect me to say to the authorities?”
She hadn’t considered this problem. She’d been so focused on the journey, she couldn’t see past the end. She rose to her feet and paced the room. If he told the truth, she might be considered a war criminal.
He stood with her. “You know why I stayed with you in Rajan?”
“No.”
“I wanted to give you a chance to get away before I called my commander. I didn’t want to interfere with your quest for freedom.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, guilt-struck. Another apology would make no difference, and it might set him off, so she didn’t bother. “You don’t have to lie for me. I will face the consequences of my actions.”
“You could be deported.”
“If God wills it,” she said in Arabic. “I made this journey for Ashur, not for myself.”
A muscle in Hud’s jaw flexed, as if he wanted her to argue, or to beg and plead with him. “What if we’re stopped in Iran?”
“I will say you are my husband.”
“I don’t look like him.”
“You can cover your hair, and shave.”
“I’m supposed to pass for Arab by shaving my beard?”
“Many Arab men shave. Especially young, professional men like Khalil.”
“What profession?”
“He was in law school.”
“A lawyer and a doctor.”
Now a desperate refugee and a dead soldier. She pushed aside her emotions, which threatened to crash over her like an ocean wave, and brought him the headscarf. “This is a keffiyeh.”
“I know what it is.”
She supposed he’d worn one before. Military men from all over the world found them useful in the desert. She handed him the razor also. “If we are stopped on the way, stay silent. I will say you are dumb.”
“Dumb?”
“Unable to speak or hear.”
“Mute,” he said, shaking his head. “Deaf-mute.”
“Deaf-mute,” she repeated.
He turned the razor over in his hands. “You can do all the talking, but I don’t trust Iranian officials. If something goes wrong, I won’t cooperate. I won’t let them take me in. Do you understand?”
“You will kill them.”
“If I have to.”
She knew without asking that he’d rather die than be held captive again. Whatever the Da’esh had done to him, it was worse than death. “I have Khalil’s passport.”
“I saw it.”
“Do you have mine?”
He rummaged through his pack and tossed it at her.
She picked it up in silence. Then she folded the map and handed it to him. “You can keep this until we are in Armenia. For good faith.”
He accepted the map and pocketed it, avoiding her gaze. He would leave her in Armenia. He’d probably never speak to her again.
She couldn’t force his forgiveness. She couldn’t make him confess his feelings for her. Maybe he didn’t have any. It wouldn’t be easy to say goodbye to him, regardless. Somehow, over the course of this journey, the pieces of her broken heart had knit together, and she’d found a place for him. She’d thought she’d never love another, after Khalil. She’d been wrong.
Fighting tears, she secured her passport with Khalil’s. She would hold both in case they were asked for documents. Hudson’s eyes darkened at the sight of her binding the two booklets with a rubber band. He’d been angry with her for withholding the map and travel information. Now he seemed angry about the passports.
He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door. She made a rude gesture, like she was flinging dirt at him. Then she yanked the nightgown over her head and got dressed. The Yazidi skirt looked nice with her dark blue tunic.
Ashur returned from breakfast as she was tidying
