“It was the Bolt Cutter’s doing. Abu Issa wasn’t happy about it. Extra paperwork, he said. He ordered me not to say anything, said it’d be bad for public morale.” Abdul Amir tried to laugh, but it morphed into a sob. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. And you’re right, Khalid should go too. Take him with you to Basra, or back to your village, before the mukhabarat poison him too.”

“So you didn’t turn me in?”

Abdul Amir raised his red-veined eyes.

“Why would I do that?”

Huda battled to stay calm, while inside her everything whirled and spun.

“Why would I turn you in, Huda?”

“I thought the mukhabarat might be angry with me, about Ally traveling around unmonitored with Hatim. Abu Issa already said he was disappointed in me.” The rolls of cash in her hand turned damp with sweat. “Where is Abu Issa, anyway? He left to find you and the Bolt Cutter. Did you see him?”

“They’re waiting outside. I told them I needed to get my keys.” Abdul Amir buried his face in his hands again. “They want me to go to the coffee shop and find out if people are talking about Hatim’s death. They want to know if anyone is complaining.”

“You better go,” said Huda. “Don’t let them get suspicious. Keep them away from here so I have time to pack . . . for Basra.”

Another lie. Huda could hardly remember what honesty felt like.

* * *

Huda laid the phone back in its cradle. She wondered, had the mukhabarat been listening in? Rania was no fool. She used the code they’d agreed on to set their departure time. She sounded cool and collected—at least she would have to a stranger monitoring the line. But Huda had recognized the treble of sorrow in her voice.

“Who were you talking to?” Khalid dumped his school bag by the kitchen counter. “You sounded sort of upset.”

“Upset? Not at all. I was organizing a trip to Lake Habbaniyah.” Huda knew that some lies were best hidden in plain view. And if anything went wrong, if they had to abandon their plan, they could swim in the lake’s warm waters, wash the falsehood away, and turn it into truth. “If I sounded stressed on the phone, it’s because this trip is last-minute. We need to plan a few things.”

“Who’s we?”

“Mrs. Wilson, my old friend Rania Mansour, and her daughter, Hanan. And you too, my dear. Would you like a day off school?”

“A day off school?” Khalid punched the air. “Lake Habbaniyah, here I come.”

He dug his lunch box from his bag.

“I thought Lake Habbaniyah had shut down? Bakr’s cousin went there a couple of years ago. He said it was like a ghost town.”