“I met with Abu Issa today. I had information I figured was worth at least six cold Dutch beers and a box of sweets for you.” Abdul Amir wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Abu Issa said you’d already given them much better information about that stuck-up bitch Ally Wilson. He laughed and told me to ask my wife for an allowance.”

Abdul Amir hurled his can at the gathering dusk. It cartwheeled past Huda, spraying ribbons of beer, and clattered against the back fence.

“Abdul Amir, calm down.”

The phone rang inside the house.

“Where’s the money Abu Issa paid you?” said Abdul Amir. “What have you done with it?”

“I don’t have any money.” Huda prayed he hadn’t found the stash of bills in the tea canister at the back of the pantry.

“You’re saying Abu Issa is lying?”

“He is mukhabarat. He wants us to lose trust in each other. It makes his job easier. And if he can humiliate a decent man, more fun for him. I don’t—”

“Mom?”

Khalid materialized at the kitchen door.

“Mrs. Wilson is on the phone.”

Huda pressed her hand to her forehead. Amid the chaos, she’d almost forgotten about the journalist who called Ally a former colleague. Surely the mukhabarat would want to know more.

“Tell Mrs. Wilson I’ll call her back later.”

“Are you sure?” Khalid’s gaze flicked nervously between her and Abdul Amir, who’d stalked off and was glaring at the columns of burning gas. “She sounded sort of upset.”

Huda closed her eyes wearily.

“Go tell Mrs. Wilson I’ll be with her in a minute.”

Huda hovered for a moment at the edge of the lawn, hoping the old Abdul Amir might miraculously return, take her hand, and point out a new flower in the garden bed. As she turned to go inside, she noticed weeds had sprouted in the grass at her feet.

* * *

The Corolla jerked to a halt outside Ally’s gate. Huda scrambled onto the sidewalk. Cars raced around the traffic circle, honking furiously, their headlights carving tunnels in the swirling dust. Ghassan cracked open the gate.

“What’s going on, Ghassan? Ally said you have some sort of family emergency.” Huda glanced past his shoulder. Ghassan’s wife was in the doorway of his hut, wiping her eyes with her abaya. “You must have heard the news. They’ve opened all the jails.”

“I know, believe me. My wife has been at Abu Ghraib. Her younger brother was sent there two months ago for stealing a car. She had the sense to come home when she couldn’t find him, but my mother-in-law is still out there. She’s vowed to check every jail in Baghdad.”

“Doesn’t she realize it’s not safe?”

“The boy is her youngest. Her baby. I need to go find her.”

“But if you leave, who’s going to stand guard here?”