“Tether your camel, I’m coming.” Miriam squeezed Rania’s hands between hers. “Be careful. Americans promise the earth, but we Iraqis are always the ones who pay for it.”

Rania remained at the bar, too shocked to move. How could Ally have betrayed her like this? Didn’t she realize what the regime did to Iraqis who consorted with Americans? Couldn’t she feel the sword hanging over all of their heads?

She tried desperately to recall every conversation they’d ever had, all the confidences they’d shared. Rania had a horrible suspicion she’d let too much slip. Paranoia unfurled its dirty tentacles inside her. What was an American doing in Iraq when everyone knew they were forbidden?

Over the years, Rania had plenty of people pass through her gallery claiming to be interested in art but clearly seeking information—ambassadors, attachés, so-called businessmen from the Gulf. It wasn’t hard to imagine the CIA sending an operative undercover as a diplomat’s wife. She’d always thought Ally was a good listener, but thinking back, it was almost as if she’d been taking mental notes so she could go home afterward and write it all down.

Calm down, a voice inside her cautioned. Don’t overreact. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, especially not now that her and Huda’s plan was beginning to take shape. Rania took a deep breath and tried to loosen fear’s icy embrace. Maybe Ally wasn’t a spy. Perhaps there was another explanation.

Rania glanced through the window. The bartender was busy setting up the outdoor cinema on the wide lawn. Behind him, Hanan and her friends were batting a helium balloon back and forth, playing a game of volleyball in slow motion. But for Rania, time seemed to be speeding up. She felt each second tick away, and with it, the need to get Hanan to safety grew ever more urgent.

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 22

Huda hurried down the stairs of a decrepit apartment block with Rania two steps in front of her, both of them anxious to leave behind the people smuggler in his cramped fourth-floor flat. The close confines of the stairwell magnified the clatter of their heels. Rania cursed as she stumbled on the hem of her abaya.

“Careful, don’t break your neck.” Huda’s heart slapped against her ribs. She wondered, Had anyone noticed them? Was an informant phoning the mukhabarat, right now? Beside her ear, an inch-wide crack zigzagged through the concrete.

“Let’s keep moving.” Rania wrenched her abaya away from her ankles. “I need to get back to Hanan.”

The women skittered through the foyer and out to the unpaved street. After the gloom of the apartment building, the sunlight stung their eyes.

“I hate these damn robes.” Rania picked her way past a chain of potholes.