“He must be a fool. Blind too. There’s no other explanation.”

“As you know, our leader is a sensitive soul. So he wants something even more refined than usual this time. He wants an artist with a delicate touch.”

“We have plenty of talented artists who would be honored.”

Malik ran his eyes up and down her slender form.

“He wants you, Rania.”

Silence sucked all the air from the hall.

“I don’t do that anymore,” she stuttered.

“What do you mean?”

“I put my paints away long ago.”

Malik laughed curtly.

“In these hard times, few can afford to retire. Besides, the opportunity to paint our dear leader should renew your inspiration.”

He returned his gaze to the photos on the wall. Rania flinched as he ran his fingers over a picture of Hanan in her school uniform.

“Your daughter is the very image of you, Rania.” Malik stroked the thin wooden frame. “Our president enjoys meeting with Iraq’s new generation. You should bring her to the palace. His sons would like to meet her too.”

“I can’t.” Rania clutched the tray tight. “She stays with her grandmother now.”

“In Basra?” Malik perked up. “Did you know Uday is building a new palace there? It’s going to cover all of Sinbad Island. I’m sure he would love to have your daughter at his housewarming party.”

Rania stood very still, tea and sugar pot perfectly balanced, and calculated the paces needed to reach the gun in the hall closet. It was her husband’s old service revolver, hidden on the top shelf under a stack of scarves. Malik gave her an oily smile and slid a bulging envelope from his jacket pocket.

“This deposit should help to prevent any more water leaks.” He laid the envelope on her tray. “I’ll stop by soon with the next payment, and you can show me your progress.”

Malik let himself out the front door. Rania remained in the hall, eyes locked on the envelope as if it was a venomous snake or a severed head—even though it was well known the president preferred to send heads home in boxes, not on trays.

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14

Ally found Hatim at his usual location outside the Karadah souk, leaning against the hood of his timeworn Volkswagen Passat, chatting with the other drivers waiting for customers to emerge from the market.

“My Australian friend!” He straightened up and waved his lanky arm. “You need a ride?”

Ally skirted toward him, past stalls laden with bunches of fragrant parsley and peppery arugula. Hatim loped to the far side of his car and opened the passenger door for her.

“Did you remember to bring me that recipe for kangaroo stew?” He slid into the driver’s seat. “My wife promised to make a big vat this weekend.”

“Darn, I forgot.” Ally played along. “How about I give you the recipe for emu pie instead?”