“Even at risk to our family?”
“You will tell him.”
Kazim turned back and said, “A ransom was demanded.”
Sameh guessed, “But it had nothing to do with money.”
“Correct. There is to be a gathering of Tikriti elders. We Sunnis are split over this new regime. Some wish to ally themselves with the Shias and create a government of unity.”
“The Alliance, yes, I have heard of this. You back them?”
“I see the nation’s wounds. I wish to see us heal and move forward.”
“And the thieves who stole your child?”
“They demanded I vote otherwise.”
Sameh leaned back in his seat. “But how could this be tied to the disappearance of three Americans and one-”
The blast was near enough for the explosion to shake the windows. The entrance doors rocked inwards. Alarm flashed across every face.
The hospital’s children’s wing went completely silent. The doctors and nurses froze where they were and waited. Sameh had seen it happen before, during other visits to medical facilities. The doctors and nurses listened for the alarm, for the sirens. And the telephones. As the police operators learned of the extent of casualties, they phoned the hospitals. If the phones in this division rang, it meant children had been injured. Everyone in the room knew this. It was a part of Iraqi life. They waited together, and no one breathed.
The phones remained silent. Murmurs of astonishment began to fill the room.
The woman seated behind Kazim clutched her daughter more tightly and said, “We should leave this place.”
The man rose to his feet and said to Sameh, “I will see what I can learn.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A s they finished with the final Tikriti family, Sameh received a call from Hassan’s office asking him to meet him at the courthouse. The woman’s voice carried a sense of dramatic urgency, reflecting years of pressing people to do what Hassan wanted, and do so immediately.
Leyla drove Sameh from the hospital to the courthouse. This was a practice they had started during their earliest days as lawyer and assistant. Sameh could not look back at that time without recalling the pain that had brought them together professionally. Leyla, the elfin sprite whose laughter had brightened their world for years, had withdrawn into the dark garb and mood of widowhood. Miriam had suggested they bring Leyla into the world her husband had formerly occupied. Give her the sense of carrying on where her husband had left off. Bringing justice and honesty to those in their most vulnerable hour.
Leyla glanced over at him. She must have sensed the reason behind his mood, for she asked, “Do you ever think back on our first days working together?”
“Every time you sit behind the wheel,” Sameh replied.
“You taught me to drive,” Leyla said. “You thought it would give you more time to think.”
“Instead, it impelled me to pray harder.” Sameh pointed ahead. “Watch out for the bus.”
Normally such suggestions only led to argument. This time, though, Leyla simply asked, “Has it ever done any good to say such things to me?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
She was forced to stop, hemmed in on all sides by immobile traffic. She tried to create a gap between a truck and a derelict van, and was rewarded with blaring horns and words shouted through open windows. Normal Iraqi etiquette was forgotten the instant drivers sat behind the wheel. She said, “I know what you want to ask me.”
Sameh kept his gaze on the car sweltering in front of them.
“You want to know if Bisan and I would leave Iraq without you. And take Miriam to America with us.”
Sameh felt his throat close up from more than heat and exhaust.
“Miriam will not leave Baghdad unless you come with her,” Leyla said. “No amount of argument will change her mind. It will only hurt her. I beg you not to even try.”
Sameh nodded at her wisdom. “And you?”
“For Bisan, I would do it. For her life. For her future.” Leyla wiped her cheek with a shaky hand. “Though I will miss you both with every breath. And it will break Miriam’s heart. And Bisan’s.”
Sameh wanted to say, and his as well. But speech was impossible just then. Instead, he reached over and took her hand. But when he felt the warm wetness on her fingertips, his constricted heart felt like it cracked wide open.
It was almost a relief when his phone rang. Sameh released his grip in order to pull it from his jacket. He read the number and coughed hard enough to force air into his lungs. “I must take this. It is Duboe from the embassy.”
“Come with us,” Leyla said, her voice quavering with the effort it required to plead. “For Bisan.”
Sameh opened the phone and said, “Regretfully, I cannot come to the embassy now.”
Barry Duboe asked, “But you’re interested in accepting the ambassador’s offer of green cards?”
Sameh glanced at Leyla and said, “Very much.”
“Okay, you’ve got a stay of execution. Did you hear about what your boys have been up to?”
The realization flashed in the wavering heat. “Not the explosion we just heard.”
“Right the first time.”
Leyla looked over in alarm. “Marc was at the blast? Is he all right?”
Sameh lifted his hand. Wait. “What happened?”
“The bombers were targeting that mosque by the big market. What’s it called?”
“El Shorjeh.”
Leyla exclaimed, “Tell me Marc is all right!”
Barry Duboe must have heard her, for he said, “All the white hats walked away safe and sound.”
When Sameh passed on the news, Leyla removed her hands from the steering wheel and clasped them together in prayer. He rested his hand on her shoulder as he said into the phone, “Tell me what happened.”
“Your guy and his mates were apparently camped out on the square. They spotted the incoming bombers and diverted them to an alley. How exactly, I’ve not a clue. But they did. The blast took out all the windows for blocks, maybe caused some structural damage to the nearest buildings. But only the bombers were killed.”
Sameh murmured his thanks to the Almighty. “Where are they now?”
“They got scratched up by flying debris. A doctor at the police camp across from the mosque is giving them a head-to-toe. Major Lahm is the man of the hour. And he has been talking to the press about what a great job the Americans did. How they are Iraq’s great friends. How we will be allies for a thousand years. Blah, blah. He hasn’t named our guy. But everybody at the embassy knows, especially Boswell. Which means nobody dares move against you or Marc. We’ve spent years trying to build the sort of bridges your man has created in a few days.”
“So Lahm has publicly described an unnamed American as an honored friend of all the Iraqi people?”
“Matter of fact, I’ve got the transcript right here. The translator had trouble with one word. Lugal. He wrote it down, must have thought it was important.”
“Lugal is not Arabic. It is Sumerian.”
Leyla looked at him in astonishment. “Someone called Marc a lugal? Who?”
“Hamid.”
“The policeman called Marc a lugal?”
“It is on the radio.”
Duboe said in Sameh’s ear, “Who are you talking with?”
“Leyla, my niece. She is driving me to court.”
“Way that lady drives, she ought to aim for the nearest hospital. Tell me why this lugal thing is important.”
“It comes from Gilgamesh. Our earliest story. It means a champion. A hero. Like a lion.” Actually, it meant more than that. A lugal could be trusted with the fate of the nation. Educated Iraqis who heard this would be astonished. Sameh could not recall an American ever being described in such a manner.
“Whatever,” Duboe said. “The thing is, Lahm said it first. Then he met with the justice minister. Now the minister is echoing the major. They’re all talking about you as well. By name. How you are the glue that’s binding all this together, making it such a success. So now everybody at the embassy is treading lightly. I just met with the ambassador. Marc has bought you a couple more days.” Duboe’s next words were lost to a rush of sound. He shouted, “Hang on a second. There’s an incoming chopper.”