—You cannot help me. You have ruined me. Not even a whore could have brought as much shame to our family as you have done.

Nara’s mouth fell open. Leo saw her falter, for a moment he wondered if she would need to steady herself against the wall. She didn’t. Her father continued, sensing weakness, wanting to hurt her, his desire to inflict pain stronger than self-preservation.

—I allowed you an education and you taught yourself to be blind. You cannot see what is happening to your own country. It has been invaded. It has been stolen from under your eyes and yet you celebrate this fact.

Still suffering from shock, Nara clung to one of her previous arguments, referencing her father’s role as a builder, a creator, not a terrorist.

—You work with the government. You are an architect.

—Shall I tell you what I learned from the history of the buildings around us? Hundreds of years ago the British invaders destroyed the ancient Charchata bazaar in retaliation for the murder of their envoy. That is how invaders weigh the life of one of their own against our nation. A whole city is not worth one of their officers, they would tear it down to rubble. The same will be true for the Soviets because this is not their home, not their land, no matter what destruction they bring they can always return to their cities and their families. I have never worked for the Soviets. I worked for the people of Afghanistan, the people of Kabul.

Nara stepped forward, only three paces from her father. Leo thought there was a chance he’d strike her, even in the cell. His arms and ankles were not restrained. Nara asked:

—You knew of the attack?

—Knew of it? I drew them a map of our apartment and marked with a cross where you would be sleeping.

Leo had not translated a word. He glanced at Borovik. The interrogator seemed to know exactly what was going on and said:

—The father has admitted his guilt, yes?

Leo nodded. Borovik continued:

—That was the easy part. What we need are the names of those involved.

Leo whispered:

—There is no chance he’ll give up those names. Borovik agreed.

—The pride that helped us will now work against us. You are right, the father wouldn’t tell us the names. His wife is a different matter.

Borovik gestured at the guard on the door. There was the sound of an adjacent cell being opened. A young man appeared, blindfolded, his hands tied behind his back. Leo didn’t recognize him. Nara’s mother stood up, raising her face for the first time, hands locked together, pleading:

—No!

It was a desperate, animal-like cry. Leo asked Borovik:

—Who is that man?