“If only my mother . . .” Rania petered out. What sort of daughter secretly prays for death to claim her mother? she thought. Surely, I’ll burn in hell.

“I’d take them myself,” said Huda, “but the mukhabarat are watching me too closely. At least if I stay, I can tell Abdul Amir that Khalid is having a sleepover at Bakr’s house. It will buy some time, enough for the kids to get across the border, at least.”

“You’re sure Abdul Amir won’t help?”

Huda shook her head.

Rania wasn’t surprised. No one wanted to give up, flee, abandon their homeland. No matter how much they suffered, Iraqis couldn’t let go of the glorious past. They refused to admit that Mesopotamia was dust, that Babylon was desert. Was it inner strength that kept them hoping? Or was it shame that kept them from admitting the truth? Maybe both.

“How much do you think this will cost?” said Rania. “And how do we know the people smugglers won’t take our money, then dump the kids in the desert and leave them to die of thirst?”

“My mother may know someone who can help, but I can’t call her up and ask. The lines aren’t secure at the embassy, and I’m sure they’re monitoring my home phone. I’d have to go to Basra in person.”

“There’s no time for that.” Rania glanced toward Hanan’s bedroom window. “All Malik need do is whisper in Uday’s ear.”

“You’re right. We can’t delay.” Huda dug her fingers into her scalp. “I admit, I’m not surprised that Kareem and the cleric are trying to use me. I’m scared they’ll get their hooks into Khalid too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Khalid is the sort of impressionable boy that Kareem and the cleric would love to manipulate for their own ends. Not so long ago all he cared about was Harry Potter and Star Wars. But recently he’s started going to a new mosque, and then coming home full of talk about martyrs and holy wars and how he wants to avenge his family’s suffering.”

Huda stabbed the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray. When she looked up, a cold fire burned in her eyes.

“I remember when his uncle Mustafa said the same thing. Three days later they bulldozed his body into a ditch.”

Deep inside Rania, guilt flared like an old wound that should have been stitched.

“I warn you,” Huda hissed, “if this goes wrong, you better not leave Khalid to twist in the wind. On my grandmother’s grave, if you betray my family again I’ll—”

“I’m sorry.” Rania’s voice cracked like a tea glass dropped on a marble floor. “Truly I am. I tried to save Mustafa and Ali. I went to my father and begged him for help. I cried at his feet.”