She woke with a start. A glance at the window told her that night had come. Philippe was dead to the world. Trying to rouse him was like trying to wake Ali when he had drunk too much. After a long effort, she got him to a sitting position.

“What time is it?” he mumbled. “I don’t know.”

He looked at his watch, as if it contained a great mystery. “Ten o’clock,” he finally said. “Not too late.” He pushed himself to his feet, went to the washstand, and splashed water on his face.

“Not too late for what?”

“I have to go out in the town and make my presence known. Then we’ll have a visitor.” He found his medical bag and took a pill. “Two left,” he said to himself. “That should do.”

“Philippe, you’re exhausted. Can’t whatever you’re planning wait till morning?”

“No. This is the dangerous time. It’s possible that they’re already looking for us in this country. We have to move fast.”

He pulled his coat on and left. He was gone for an hour. When he returned, he seemed to have regained his energy.

“Brother Peter will be here soon. You’ll go with him tonight. By morn- ing, you’ll be in Erzurum. There’s an airport—one flight a day to Ankara.” He tore loose the lining of his coat and produced some papers. “Your plane tickets. Erzurum to Ankara, Ankara to Istanbul, Istanbul to Paris. All return tickets. And here is your new passport, and some papers for Karim.”

She looked at the passport: Jihan Sonnier, Spouse of Dr. Claude Sonnier. “Not quite two years ago,” said Philippe, “an earthquake killed fifty thousand people in the district north of Lake Van. There are many orphans.

Karim is one of them. You’re here to adopt him and take him home to France. You … you can’t have children of your own.”

Amira nodded. That much, at least, was true.

“Brother Peter has been closely involved in helping the earthquake victims, especially the children. He can answer any questions that anyone in authority may raise. And he will never betray you.”

Amira looked at the passport again. “Jihan Sonnier?”

“Your mother’s name came to me when I was instructing the forger. Is it all right?”

“Yes.”

There was an almost inaudible knock at the door.

The man who entered was small and wiry, with thinning brown hair, sun- burnt skin, and faded blue eyes. His clothes resembled those of the Turkish man Amira had seen. He and Philippe embraced like long- separated brothers. “I thank you for this, my friend,” said Philippe in English. “You know I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t life or death.” “No apologies, mate. I’m a grown man.”

Philippe introduced Brother Peter to Amira. “Forgive his abominable English—he’s Australian.”