The voice was not old, not young. Experienced, like a string instrument that had been played-in enough to have achieved peak qualities. Miles of road behind that voice, but still at the top of its game.

I said, “I’m calling regarding Qadduri.”

“Karim. Is he with you?”

“He’s dead.”

A pause.

“Dead how?”

“Knife. A single stab wound to the heart. He didn’t suffer.”

“Karim suffered enough, make no mistake about that.”

“Are you his wife?”

Another long pause, then, “It’s a valid question, under the circumstances. No I am not his wife, I am his boss.”

“I see.”

Leila said, “I take it you don’t know anything really, is that right? I mean, you might as well say.”

“Not much, no. I’d be grateful if you could fill me in.”

“You’ve got me on speaker phone, so I assume that there are other people listening.”

“Correct. There is one other person listening.”

“What are you, police?”

“I’m just a guy, ma’am. Not police.”

“An American guy.”

“That’s right.”

The voice cut through the clear air above the tennis club. Leila said, “What’s your story?”

“Mixed up with yours. The people who killed your friend tried to kill me first.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Mistaken identity.”

There was a long pause on the line. Leila said slowly and softly, “After what Americans have done to my country, I’m having a hard time trusting you.”

“That’s neither here nor there, Leila, your friend Qadduri would have been responsible for his own share of suffering, as a Baath party guy. In fact you could say that what Saddam and the Baath party guys did to their own people puts at least half the responsibility on their own heads.”

“So you know about that. You’re an educated American.”

I didn’t say anything. Nazari was holding the phone. Something was bothering her. She flashed me a look, then glanced back to the phone. Which was silent now, just a light field of static, as if Leila were weighing up what to say. Nazari held up a finger to me, like ‘wait a second’, and launched into a long stream of Arabic that I didn’t understand.

When she was done, Leila responded in a quiet voice. An extended bunch of phrases, all in Arabic. I understood nothing. Then Leila switched out of Arabic. “Ok. I’ll play.”

I reached over and hit the mute button on the phone. I said to Nazari, “What did you tell her?”

“Told her the facts, Keeler, just some of the more pertinent facts. About you and me, about the situation here. I figured it’s better that she trusts us, we might get some cooperation.”

“Ok.” I hit the mute button. “Leila, we’re just trying to figure out what your friend was doing.”

“Do you know anything about Iraq?”

“More than a little, yes.”