The guys in this crew were going insane. To Luke, that much was clear. They no longer tried to present themselves as soldiers, or even military contractors. As their position became more tenuous, and the violence necessary to maintain that position became more extreme, their mode of dress became more bizarre. They were beginning to look like a gang from a Mad Max movie.

Weaponless now, Luke and Ed followed Cole through wide marble hallways, open to the air. Luke glanced through the tall, minaret-shaped window openings—the dark Tigris River flowed by. The palace was built right on the river.

“Step lively past those windows, gentlemen,” Cole said. He had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder and a handgun strapped at his waist—his friends had let him keep his weapons. “Snipers on the outside sometimes take pot shots at heads they see walking by. I’d hate to see either of you get hurt, for obvious reasons.”

His voice echoed off the stonework.

“Cole,” Luke said.

Cole glanced back at him.

Luke spoke very low because of the echoes. His voice was barely louder than a hiss. “When I tell you to look at your shoelaces, I want your sidearm in my hand. Do you understand?”

Cole turned around again.

“Cole,” Luke said again.

Cole raised a hand. “I got you.”

“Fast,” Luke said. “Your life depends on it. So do ours.”

“Do me a favor,” Ed Newsam said.

“Yeah?”

“Give me a little heads-up before you do that. I don’t want to get caught in the middle of your crossfire.”

Luke nodded. “Okay.”

“I mean it. Don’t do the white man thing and hang me out to dry. I’ve been down that road before. I don’t like it.”

“I got you, Ed. I heard you the first time.”

They passed through a rotunda with a giant hanging chandelier. The lights were out, but Luke could see a colorful tile mosaic on the ceiling. It looked like moons and stars, but he wasn’t quite sure. The pillars in the rotunda were black marble. A wrecked white grand piano sat half on the floor in a corner.

They moved into another room. The ceiling was three stories above their heads. To their right was a large swimming pool filled with shimmering turquoise water. To their left was an older Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, just parked there. It looked like it was still in good shape—at least cosmetically, the war hadn’t touched it.

At the far end of the pool was a sort of throne—a wide sofa at the top of three steps, shaped like Aladdin’s lamp. Each armrest had a lion’s head protruding from its face. The throne could comfortably seat four.