'This student can determine those moments when active involvement must replace passive debate, when force takes over from words. Nassir talked too much, justified too much.'
'And you don't?'
'I'm not the issue, you are. What proof of treason do you have?'
'The woman, Yateem,' replied Kendrick, answering the former question not the current one. 'Zaya Yateem. I was told she was—’
'Yateem a traitor?' cried the terrorist, his eyes furious.
'I didn't say that—’
'What did you say?'
'She was reliable—'
'Far more than that, Amal Bahrudi!' The young man grabbed the remaining cloth of Evan's shirt. 'She is devoted to our cause, a tireless worker who exhausts herself beyond any of us at the embassy!'
'She also speaks English,' said Kendrick, hearing still another note in the terrorist's voice.
'So do I!' shot back the angry, self-proclaimed student, releasing his prisoner within their prison.
'I do, too,' said Evan quietly, glancing over at the numerous groups of inmates, many of whom were looking at them. 'May we speak English now?' he asked, once more studying his bleeding shoulder. 'You say you want proof, which, of course, is beyond my providing, but I can tell you what I've seen with my own eyes—in Berlin. You yourself can determine whether or not I'm telling you the truth—since you're so adept at determining things. But I don't want any of your brother animals understanding what I say.'
'You're an arrogant man under circumstances that do not call for arrogance.'
'I am who I am—’
'You've said that.' The terrorist nodded. 'English,' he agreed, switching from Arabic. 'You spoke of Yateem. What about her?'
'You assumed I meant she was the traitor.'
'Who dares—’
'I meant quite the opposite,' insisted Kendrick, wincing, and gripping his shoulder with greater force. 'She's trusted, even extolled; she's doing her job brilliantly. After Nassir, she was the one I was to find.' Evan gasped in pain, an all too easy reflex, and coughed out his next words. 'If she had been killed… I was to look for a man who's called Azra—if he was gone, another with grey streaks in his hair known as Ahbyahd.'
'I am Azra! cried the dark-eyed student. 'I am the one called Blue!'
Bingo, thought Kendrick, staring hard at the young terrorist, his eyes questioning. 'But you're here in this compound, not at the embassy—’
'A decision of our operations council,' broke in Azra. 'Headed by Yateem.'
'I don't understand.'
'Word reached us. Prisoners had been taken and held in isolation—tortured, bribed, broken one way or another into revealing information. It was decided that the strongest among us on the council should also be taken—to provide leadership, resistance!'
'And they chose you? She chose you?'
'Zaya knew whereof she spoke. She is my sister, I her blood brother. She is as certain of my dedication as I am of hers. We fight together to our deaths, for death is our past.'
Jackpot! Evan arched his neck, his head falling against the hard concrete wall, his pained eyes roaming across the ceiling with the naked bulbs encased in wire. 'So I meet my vital contact in the most impossible place possible. Allah may have deserted us after all.'
'To hell with Allah!' exclaimed Azra, astonishing Kendrick. 'You'll be released in the morning. There is no scar across your throat. You'll be free.'
