“We watched two of our own die at the airport last week,” she said. “I thought they had done something stupid to get themselves pulled out of line, but apparently not. Someone’s talking to the Americans. There’s been a leak. The Family is sure of it.”

“And they think it’s us?” the man asked incredulously. “That isn’t possible. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s all been spelled out,” Hala told them, referring to the disk they’d been given. “Not just our instructions, but everything you two have been doing since you came here.”

“Sister, I swear — we’re with you!” the wife blurted. “We are Family, too.”

“No,” Hala said, waving her pistol at the woman’s ridiculous chest. “You’re whores to the American cause. Traitors.”

“It’s not true,” the man insisted. “No … no.”

The two were so intent on their denials, they didn’t even seem to notice what else was happening in the room.

Tariq had taken a plastic canister to the sink and begun mixing a small amount of the white powder into two glasses of water. Now he was using someone’s pink toothbrush to stir each one into a cloudy mixture.

He carried the glasses over to the couple on the bed.

“Don’t make a fuss,” he said. “Just drink this down. Have some dignity.”

There was fear, but also anger in the fat man’s eyes. “Or what? You’ll shoot us?”

Hala said, “It’s preferable that you do this quietly, but if you need encouragement, I’m supposed to remind you of your family back home.”

“But this is a horrible mistake!” the wife babbled on. “We haven’t done what you said. We are loyal to the cause.”

“That’s very touching,” Hala said. “But it doesn’t matter to me or to The Family. Not anymore. Now I’m going to count to five.”

“Please —”

“One.”

“I’m begging you! Sister?”

“Two.”

The man snatched both glasses from Tariq. He pressed one into his wife’s hand. “We have no choice, Sanaa. Think of Gabir. Think of Siti.”

“Think of three,” Hala said as she continued the countdown. She had no pity for these people. They were disloyal, and they were weak. This mission was too important to risk a mistake. “Four.”

The man tilted his head back and shot the mixture down like whiskey. Then his hands were on his wife’s, helping her to do the same.

The woman gagged, sobbing as she drank the milky liquid, but it went down. Enough of it, anyway. Right away, her lips went pink. Her breath started coming in sharp rasps. “I’m dying,” she whispered. “Why? Why must I die?”

The husband looked up at Hala with hatred in his eyes. “Assassin,” he said.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hala told him, and gestured at the empty glass in his hand. “You’re no murder victim, you fool. You’re a suicide statistic.”

Tariq took the two duffels and carried them to the door. Hala stayed where she was. There was pleasure in watching these people die, but it was also her job to see it through.