His breath was foul with stale tobacco and garlic. Resisting the natural impulse to gag, Carina stood to her full five-foot-five-inch height. “Tell Ali that Mechadi wants to see him.”

Female assertiveness had its limits with Arab males. An arm snaked around her neck from behind and squeezed tight. The man standing in front produced a knife and held it so close to her left eye that its sharp point was a blur.

She croaked out a feeble call for help.

The door opened with a crash. The arm relaxed around her neck. Corporal O’Leary stood in the doorway, the muzzle of his carbine pressed against the base of the door guard’s skull. The marine had heard Carina over a walkie-talkie tuned to the same channel as the one clipped to her vest.

A Humvee was parked across the street. The vehicle’s top lights were on, and those inside the teahouse had a clear view of the long barrel of the M2 machine gun mounted on the vehicle’s roof. The gun was aimed at the door. A squad of marines stood in the street with rifles in attack position.

The marine kept his eyes on the man with the knife. “You okay, ma’am?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, rubbing her neck. “I’m fine.”

“Crash course I took in Arabic didn’t teach me how to tell this guy I will splatter his brains around the room if his friend doesn’t drop the knife.”

Carina did a rough but effective translation. The knife clattered to the floor, and the marine kicked it out of reach. The thugs almost tripped over themselves as they retreated back into the murk that had spawned them.

A voice called out in English from behind a curtain at the back of the teahouse.

“Peace be upon you.”

Carina responded to the traditional Arabic greeting. “Peace be upon you, Ali.”

A man emerged from between the dingy sheets of cotton that served as curtains and wove his way around the close-packed tables. The light from the Humvee fell on his pudgy face and fleshy nose. A circular knit cap covered his shaven head. His NEW YORK YANKEES T-shirt was too short for his ample body, exposing his hairy belly button.

“Welcome, Signorina Mechadi,” he said. He clasped his palms together. “And to your friends, the same.”

“Your man was about to stick a knife in my eye,” Carina responded. “Is that how you welcome guests?”

Ali’s small, cunning eyes surveyed Carina’s body and lingered on her face. “You’re wearing a military uniform,” he said with an unctuous smile. “Perhaps he thought you were an enemy soldier.”

Carina ignored Ali’s comment. “I want to talk to you.”

The Iraqi scratched a scraggly black beard that had bits of food caught in it. “Of course. Let us step out back and have some tea.”

The marine spoke up. “Do you want me to go with you?”