Only three weeks earlier, Malik had finally summoned the courage to ask the old man’s permission to conduct certain outside projects on a freelance basis. Onassis had glared at him for a long moment before clapping an arm across his shoulder. “I should have known that Omar Badir’s son wouldn’t be content to work for anyone else, even me. But I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be young. Someday, you’ll go. Meanwhile, stay with Onassis. Who knows, you may even learn something. As for these special projects, you have my blessing on three conditions. First, you work on your own, on your own time. Second, my name is never mentioned. Third, ship nothing of which your conscience disapproves.” “I spoke with him,” Malik now told Farid. “I owed him that. He has no objection.”

“Ah, good. God wills it, then.” Farid leaned forward, squinting up through the windshield, as if trying to discern some imminent change in the desert weather. “So, you are doing well?”

“As I said, well enough.” At last, they were getting to the point.

“I wonder,” Farid said, “if you’ve had much time to consider the matter of the child.”

Only every waking hour, thought Malik. It was why he was in al-Remal at this moment, after all. “I have,” he said. Suddenly, a panicky thought seized him. “You got my letter, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course. And destroyed it, as you asked, and pretended to have lost it.”

“Good.” Malik relaxed. “Well, what do you think? Will it work?” Farid pulled the car over, stopped, and turned to look Malik full in the face.

Malik understood. It was all but impossible for a Remali to discuss serious matters when he could not look the person in the eye.

“Perhaps you’ve lost touch, just a little, with Remali ways. Also, it seems to me that, in this matter, you may be letting your heart rule your head. You suggested two plans.” Farid raised two fingers, a glimpse of his professor father in the gesture. “First was the idea of pretending that the girl had been sold for adoption to a French man and wife. I think even you can see the flaws in this approach. Children are sometimes sold, true, but Mahir Najjar isn’t of the class who would do such a thing, but even if he were, he would never do it outside the faith. Even knowing the truth, he would also know what people were saying, and the shame would make him resentful, and no matter what you paid him, sooner or later, he would turn against you.”

Malik sighed. “You’re right, of course. The more I thought about it, the more I came to the same conclusion. That’s why I said that the other plan might be better.”