The woman narrowed her eyes and stared at Mona.  “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here asking questions.  Why do you think the children he helps are so far away—in barren regions or cities?”

“That’s what we asked Darwish.”

“And what did she say?”

“Basically, that he targets remote areas where children are neglected.”

The woman sneered.  “Neglected.  All of that wealth focused on the smallest, poorest areas.  Areas where it costs nothing to help them.  Where food and water can be attained with only a few qirshes and a building erected with little more, all on the backs of the destitute.”

“Then what is he doing?” asked Omar.  “Where does the money go?”

“Some goes to the children, but not as much as people think.  More goes to the people.”

“What people?”

“His agents.  For their allegiance,” she said, leaning forward.  “And their silence.”

“Silence?”

“To look away.  So no one looks too closely at his charities.  At what his houses are doing.  While he harvests.”

Mona felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.  “Did you say harvests?”

“Yes.”

“The children?”

“Yes.”

Mona felt a churn in her stomach.  “What is he using them for?”

“I don’t know.  No one does.”

Omar stared at the woman through his mirror.  “Is he… selling them?”

“No.”  The woman shook her head of dark hair.  “He is rotating them.”

Mona finally turned and looked at the woman.  “What?”

“Rotating them,” she repeated.  “And giving them back to us.”

Mona stared at the woman, blinking as though not hearing correctly.  “Giving them back to who?”

“UNICEF.  And our partners.”

“He’s giving them back?”

She nodded.

Mona looked at Omar, who had the same perplexed expression.  “We don’t understand.”

“And neither do we,” responded the woman sarcastically.

“But–”

“In poor countries, it is not uncommon for children to be returned after adoption, if they are not strong enough or intelligent enough.  Or worse,  if there is something wrong with them.  If they are mentally or physically broken.”

“You mean disabled?”

“Yes.  Some families do not want that.  They do not want the burden of dealing with a broken child.”

“So they bring them back?”

The woman nodded.  “It does not happen often.  But yes.”

“How often?”

“Perhaps one out of twenty.”

“And this is what Mido Saad is doing?”

She nodded again.  “He gives his broken children to UNICEF and pays us to take them.  Not our charity.  Our administrators.”

“He pays the people who run UNICEF to take these broken children in and look the other way?”

“That’s right.  And he pays them a lot, as well as families to take them.”

“So that’s where the money goes,” murmured Omar.

“How often does he give a child– put a child back in the system?”

“All the time.”

Mona looked back again.  “What does that mean—all the time?”