Philippe drove west on a cobblestone boulevard through the heart of the city, counting cross streets under his breath as he passed them. Amira did not interrupt his concentration. She wanted only to be far away from this place. Karim woke long enough to say “Hello, Uncle Ph’lipe,” then drifted back to sleep in her lap. Around them cars sped slapdash, threatening to demolish clopping two-horse droshkys.

Philippe turned right and crossed a river. A few blocks farther on, he cursed in French, turned left, and crossed and recrossed the same river at a large traffic circle. Soon, they came to another bridge, and a broader stream slipped beneath them.

“The water’s high,” said Philippe. “The spring thaw in the mountains. I hope it won’t be a problem later.”

Signs for the airport appeared, then slid behind. Amira looked questioningly at Philippe.

“We’re not flying,” he said. “We’re driving out.” “They’ll be watching the airport,” said Amira. “No. They won’t be watching anything for hours.” “Where are we going?”

“To Turkey, for a start. We ought to reach the border by daybreak.”

“Inshallah.”

“Yes, if God wills it and this old Rover is worth half what I paid for it. I bought it in Rezaiye, across the big lake. The ferry had engine trouble. That’s why I was late getting to the hotel.” He glanced at Amira. “What happened back there?”

Amira told him about the SAVAK agent.

“That’s not so good. I was counting on Darya to do something for us in the morning. Ah, well. It’s not critical, and maybe she’ll do it anyway.” “Do what?”

“You don’t want to know yet. When we’re out of Iran.” “What will happen to him?”

“The SAVAK? At best, he’ll have a very uncomfortable day or two. At worst, he’ll turn up in that river we crossed.”

“We’re part of that?”

“Indirectly, anyway. And it may happen, I regret to say. But you didn’t ask him to follow you. Remember that—and what he would have done to you and Darya.”

Amira remembered Darya clawing at the SAVAK agent like a leopardess. She had never seen a woman physically attack a man—not like that. Even more astonishing, when she thought about it, was the fact that Darya was obviously the commander of the little revolutionary group, the two young men deferring to her.

They were beyond the city now, among mountains in the high desert. The road was dirt. Tabriz itself was nearly a mile high, and they had been climbing steadily ever since leaving it. A surprising amount of traffic, mainly trucks, moved north with them, a red chain of taillights in the night.

Philippe reached for the old-fashioned black medical bag that he always carried. “Hand me that water bottle, will you, my dear?”