“Someone should tell him where his son is,” she says. “You can’t detain someone without reason.”

“Only scum would defend a terrorist.”

She should stay calm for her father, but her heart slams against her chest, trying to escape. He sinks to his knees, panting, unable to stand any longer. Hannah slips her arms under his armpits and pulls. Swiftly, she grabs him by the waist and says, “Lean on me.”

None of the guards moves to assist. Hannah screams, “One of you help me carry him to the car, whether you like it or not. If you’ve given him a heart attack, I will sue your asses.”

“Be calm, be calm,” Baba says. “I can walk to the car.”

They’ve missed a downpour. The sidewalks and pavement are darkened by wetness. Steam rises from the hot surfaces. It touches their faces, and she feels as though they’re walking through a gauze curtain. The cars look fresh and clean. Hannah breathes the moist air.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, she brings her hands to her face. Soon her shoulders shake and she sobs as though she has lost someone she loves. Her face is a wall of tears, her mouth a cave of saliva.

Baba puts his hand over hers on the steering wheel. “Are you OK?”

“We can’t leave him there,” she says.

She has been calm and stoic. She has been pragmatic. Her dad must not speak Arabic. They must not appear angry. But Fouad’s situation hits her hard. She is thinking about how she never knew what she was missing the years she was gone. She has family again, she knows. She feels how scared Fouad must be.

“We’ll get him out,” Muneer says. “God willing. They can’t keep him forever.”

She’s too distraught to drive, so they switch places. She lowers her window and puts her arm on the sill, her head in the crook of her elbow. The breeze on her face lulls her.

At the hotel Muneer calls Lamees. He is ashamed of what happened—attacking a guard—and yet not ashamed. This is what you do to protect your family. You act and pray to God for forgiveness. You use vitamin Waw—for wastah, connections. Hannah will not understand, but wastah works in America, too. On his instruction, Lamees calls Uncle Fareed, who calls a guy who knows a guy who knows a prince who knows a US official. By the next day, everything is arranged.

In the morning, over coffee and muffins at the hotel Starbucks, he tells Hannah they can go back to the detention center to pick Fouad up, and he won’t need her help with the book anymore.

She asks if he’s sure. She wants to be involved, she says.

“I’m tired,” he says. “Perhaps I will write it later.”

Hamza sees the connection before Hannah does.