“Besides,” Faisal declared proudly, “I would sooner die than be taken for a Solubba sani.” Asani was a member of a vassal tribe, Youssef explained to Nick. The sunna tribes had to pay a khawwa to a noble tribe like the Mutayr. But sunna like the Hteym or the Solubba were inviolate from attack. Like women, they were considered creatures too inferior to fight.

“But what would the dhimmi’s status be?” Bandar declared, bewildered at the turn of events.

“You should learn mercy, my brother’s son,” Zaid said sadly. He tossed his cigarette into the glowing coals. “According to the hadith of Bukhari from Usama ibn Zaid: ‘God has no mercy on those who do not have mercy.’”

“What’s a hadith?” Nick whispered in Youssef’s ear.

“A hadith is a saying or action of the Prophet Mohammed, the Messenger of God. The sunna or practices of the Prophet guide us in all things. Since some hadith are more authentic than others, my father always cites his sources,” Youssef whispered back.

“So the boy stays,” Faraj said.

“His kismet has brought him to us. Allah does the writing, we are merely the readers. Perhaps we can bring him to the Truth,” Zaid said, patting Nick’s head. He gazed seriously into Nick’s eyes.

“Would you like to stay with us, little Scorpion?” Zaid asked.

Nick didn’t know what to say. He was very confused. He remembered how Zaid had knelt by his dad and saved him from the Saar. Grown-ups knew what to do. He was just a kid. But Zaid’s eyes were warm when he looked at Nick. It reminded him of the way Mom looked at him sometimes, and Dad on the plane. He nodded.

“So be it,” Zaid sighed. “Listen, little Scorpion, from now on you are a Bedu of the Mutayr, of the family of Zaid ibn Bushir of the al-Amash, son of Abdullah, the son of the great Sheikh Dushan. Do you understand?”

Nick shook his head and yawned again. It was very confusing.

“Well,” Zaid laughed, “Understanding will come when it comes.”

Later, Nick woke in the night. Everyone was asleep. He lay bundled in a camel robe, listening in the darkness. Outside the tent he could hear the wind singing on the sands. He wondered if it would blow the sand over his dad. Then he slept.

Moscow

Moscow

THE DOSSIER LAY on the desk in a pool of light cast by the lamp. The top page was stamped in bold letters. It read:

TOP STATE SECRET

FOR POLITBURO ONLY

SOURCE: KGB DIRECTORATE 5

NO COPIES TO BE MADE.

It was a remarkable document, Svetlov thought. He wearily massaged his closed eyes with his fingers, blue-white spots swimming across the darkness.