“He said he would.” Several times each week, Sameh attended the morning prayer service. He had invited Marc while still at the hospital, where they had ferried all the rescued children save Abdul. Afterward, he could not say why he had done such a thing. Only that it had seemed right at the time.
The previous night, Major Lahm had called a hospital administrator, who was also a friend, alerting him to their arrival. The hospital staff had responded with tender zeal. A ward had been evacuated. The rescued children had been checked over and comforted and settled two to a bed, in some cases three. Lahm had asked for volunteers from his exhausted men to stand guard. All had wanted the duty. Sameh had watched the policemen argue with quiet intensity over who would hold the honor, and felt his own composure finally unravel. He was unaccustomed to so many miracles in the space of one day.
That had been the moment when he had asked Marc to join him for the next morning’s service. Marc had seemed to find it difficult to respond, his voice sounding rather strangled to Sameh. Or perhaps it was just that he too felt the day’s strain. Marc had thanked him, calling the invitation a gift.
Which was what Sameh related to his three women as he drove through the early morning light. The American, Sameh told them, had called his invitation to wake up and find a taxi and travel across town for a dawn service a gift.
Bisan, Leyla’s daughter, declared from the back seat, “He is nice. I like him.”
Miriam replied, “You have not met him.”
“Mama has. She says he is nice too.”
Leyla said, “Bisan, shah, it is not proper.”
“Well, didn’t you say so last night?”
Sameh asked, “What else did your mother say?”
“Uncle, please. Don’t encourage her.”
Miriam said, “Bisan does not need encouragement. She takes after Sameh. She has all the encouragement she will ever need built inside her. She is like the battery bunny, no? She goes and goes and goes.”
“Mama says the American looks like Omar Sharif.”
“I did not say that.”
“You said he was tall and handsome and had eyes like the Egyptian. I know which Egyptian you meant. There is only the one for you.”
“Now you have embarrassed your mother,” Leyla said.
Miriam chuckled. “What is the embarrassment in this? We all know you moon over Sharif. Someone says his name, she can’t breathe.”
“You go like this.” Bisan sucked in a huge breath through pursed lips.
Sameh decided it was a good time to change the subject. “I am astonished that no one has asked me anything more about what happened last night.”
Bisan, not so easily diverted, added, “Mama said something else about the American. She said he has sad eyes.”
“That I did say,” Leyla agreed. “He carries great sorrow from the death of his wife.”
“When did this happen?” Miriam asked.
“Three years ago. She had a stroke,” Sameh said.
“I thought he was young, this American.”
“He is. His wife was only twenty-nine. He took a leave of absence from his work. He was with the government then. Intelligence.”
“He told us he was an accountant,” Leyla said.
“He is. The director of his agency fired him. He went to night school while taking care of his wife.”
Miriam said, “He told you all this?”
“I asked, he explained.” Sameh hesitated, then added, “I think he’s nice too.”
“I am glad to hear this, since you have never before invited an American to join us for church.” Miriam glanced over at Sameh. “He is truly a Christian?”
“He attends the same church in America as the missing man, Alex Baird. Marc agreed to come this morning. More than that, I cannot say.” When the traffic came to a stop, Sameh looked at Miriam, then again into the rearview mirror. “Why do you not ask me more about last night?”
“First, because you are exhausted. Second, because it is everywhere.”
Bisan announced, “Uncle Sameh is a hero to his people. That is what he said.”
“Who says this?”
“The justice minister.” This from Miriam.
“The justice minister called, and you did not wake me?”
Bisan said, “It wasn’t the justice minister on the phone.”
“And you know this how?”
“He was on television this morning. With Major Lahm.”
“They wanted you on the television with them,” Leyla explained. “I told them what you have always said to tell people who want to interview you. You are successful because you are not in the spotlight. You live to serve. I told them this. They did not like it. But after the second time I said it, they stopped calling.”
“But they talked about you,” Bisan said. “They say you are a great man.”
“Major Lahm phoned as well,” Leyla said. “He and his men are to be reinstated to their previous positions. He wants you to know he owes you a lifetime debt.”
Miriam said, “We are here, husband.”
“Eh, what?”
“The church. Don’t miss your turn.”
Bisan jammed one finger against the window. “There on the top step. Is that the American?”
“Yes, that is Marc,” Leyla softly replied.
– – Marc descended the church steps as Sameh’s car turned into the parking area and was inspected by the guards. When a trio of women emerged, Marc watched them adjust the brightly colored silk scarves around their heads. The little girl could only be Leyla’s daughter. She possessed the same poise as her mother, the same finely sculpted features, the same eyes holding depths of emotion at which he could only guess. Marc felt his chest constrict and could not name the reason. He feared his attention on them would be considered improper, so he focused on his host, Sameh. Yet the three tugged at the periphery of his vision like magnets.
Sameh seemed to fumble for words. “You are here.”
“Thanks again for your invitation.”
“I would like to introduce my family. This is my wife, Miriam. Leyla you already know. And this is Bisan, her daughter.”
“It is an honor.”
Miriam had the same beauty as her niece and the girl, only in Sameh’s wife it had been softened by age. She was still slender and held herself as erect as the others. She said, “It is you who honors us, Mr. Royce.”
“Come,” Sameh said. “I dislike being late.”
As they crossed the parking area, Bisan asked in her careful English, “You are a secret agent?”
Leyla said, “Bisan. Is this proper talk for church?”
“We are not inside yet, Mama. Can he just tell me that?”
At Leyla’s nod, Marc said, “The correct term is operative. And yes, I was. For six years. But most of the time I rode a desk.”
“Please, you ride on a desk?”
“It means I stayed in headquarters. I wasn’t in the field.”
“You liked this?”
“Sometimes. Other times it was awfully boring.”
“But safe, yes?”
Marc took a careful look at her. “May I ask how old you are?”
Leyla replied, “My Bisan is eleven. Going on thirty.”
“Your English is excellent, Bisan.”
“I learned it from Uncle Sameh. For my papa. He was very good with English.”
“And many other things,” Sameh replied. “He was a judge. And a giant among men.”
Miriam murmured, “God keep his soul at peace until the final day.”
“Come,” Sameh said. “The service is about to begin.”
The year before his wife had suffered her stroke, Marc and Lisbeth had attended a wedding in an Orthodox church in Washington, D.C. That structure had been relatively new. But there had been an unmistakable aura of age about the place and the service and the rituals. Marc had loved the feeling of being connected to his faith’s ancient heritage.
The sensation he had known in Washington only hinted at what greeted him here.