Ali was to meet all afternoon with various civic and religious officials. Amira and the two wives, accompanied discreetly by the SAVAK man, went to see some of the sights of Tabriz, among them the teeming bazaar, which was every bit as winding and medieval as she had imagined the entire city to be. Another place that she would remember ever after was the Arg-Tabriz, the remains of a huge ancient fortress that had crumbled to ruin about the time the first stones of the Blue Mosque were laid. She would remember it because of a story.

“In the old days,” said the governor’s wife, “they executed criminals by throwing them from the top of the Arg into a ditch. There was a woman sentenced to death for adultery, but when they threw her from the heights, her chador billowed out around her and caught the air like—like one of those things the military use.”

“A parachute,” said the mayor’s wife.

“Exactly. It broke her fall and saved her life, God be praised.” “She was allowed to live afterward?” asked Amira.

“Of course. It was God’s will.”

Back at the hotel, Amira collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was exhausted. In a few minutes, she would have Karim brought to her … in a few minutes. Just now she needed rest.

There was a soft knock at the door. A hotel maid entered.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Highness, but I’m to tell you that I’ll be your servant for the night. My name is Darya. Is there anything I can bring you?” She was Amira’s age and size and coloring; they could have been taken for sisters.

“No, nothing,” said Amira.

“Perhaps your Highness would like some music?” Darya indicated the suite’s receiver and tape deck, very new.

“No,” said Amira patiently. “Nothing at the moment.”

The maid came close and mouthed the word yes. Amira couldn’t understand the girl’s temerity. Then the awareness ran through her like an electric shock: this was it, the contact.

“On second thought,” she said as calmly as she could, “a little music would be nice.”

“Thank you, Highness.” Darya tuned the radio, raised the volume, and returned to Amira. “Are you ready?” she asked quietly.

“Now? Right now?”

“No. Later tonight. But are you ready?” “Yes.”

“Good. You’re going to the affair?”

“What? Oh. Yes.” A celebratory dinner was scheduled; apparently, the conclusion was foregone that al-Remal would help restore the mosque.

“All right. Go as if everything were normal, but if you can, convince your husband to leave early rather than late. Plead sickness, exhaustion, whatever.”

“That will be easy enough.”

Darya did not smile. “As soon as you are back here, have your son brought to you. Is it likely that your husband will … visit you before he retires for the night?”

“No. Very unlikely.”