The girl nodded, as if confirming something she already knew. “His room is stocked with liquor—a special service the hotel offers some guests. Will he drink before going to bed?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Good. There’ll be something extra in each bottle. He’ll sleep very late tomorrow and appear to be drunk when he wakes.”

Amira said nothing. Everything was moving so fast.

“Be ready to go at a moment’s notice,” Darya instructed. “When it’s time, I’ll knock. Just one knock. Bring your things and follow me without a sound. Keep the boy quiet.”

Amira was trying to sort it out. “Won’t they know? I mean, won’t they find out about whatever you put in the liquor? Won’t they know who did it?”

“So what? We’ll all be far away.” “Where will you go?”

Darya looked at her with something like contempt. “I’m sorry,” said Amira. “It was a stupid thing to ask.”

“I won’t tell you where, but I’ll tell you a little about why. I want you to know that we’re not doing this for you, or for your friend, and certainly not for money.”

“Then … why?”

“It may not have occurred to you, Highness, but your disappearance will embarrass the shah—and perhaps strain relations between him and your father-in-law. Creating problems for the Peacock Throne is the cause to which I—and many like me—have dedicated ourselves.”

“You’re a fundamentalist?” asked Amira.

“Hardly. Do I strike you as one of those? But we work with them when it suits our needs.” Darya paused. “I’m talking too much. Rest, Highness. You have a very long night ahead. Call the front desk if you need me.”

After a while, Amira turned the radio down. She had heard revolution spouted by students in the cafés of Paris, but she had never met a real revolutionary. Now, suddenly, she was a pawn in someone’s deadly chess game against the shah.

It had to be God’s will, she thought, for never could she have willed it herself.

O

Karim was asleep. Amira waited in the traveling clothes she had worn on the flight from Teheran. From time to time, she heard the soft footsteps of the SAVAK man patrolling the hall. What would be done about him?

There was no sound from Ali’s suite. Earlier, she had heard faintly through the door the familiar tink of bottle against glass, followed after a time by noises of clumsy stumbling. Now nothing.

For the dozenth time, she checked to make sure that the jewel case was in her bag. It was. Stop being obsessive, Amira. Just wait calmly. It’s in Philippe’s hands. And Darya’s. And God knows who else’s. Had she remembered her passport? Yes, there it was. Would she even need it?