The soldiers smirked and slunk closer. Their guns clattered. Alpha Dog spat a blob of phlegm near Huda’s feet. Get back in the car! a voice inside her screamed. Go home and beg Abdul Amir’s forgiveness before it’s too late.

Huda took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and tried to reproduce Rania’s commanding presence.

“Our beloved president has been at the forefront of equality for the last twenty years.” She glared at the soldiers like they were Khalid and Bakr skipping school. “You should know your own country’s history better than that. The president has said that every woman has a role to play in the development of our glorious nation. This is the wish of the president himself, President Saddam Hussein.” The words hit them like a slap to the face. The three young men shied away. Huda pressed on, wielding the president’s name like a bludgeon.

“Our leader, Saddam Hussein, has granted women some of the highest positions in government. The minister of education is a woman. The chief scientific officer for National Security is too. So why should I, a loyal Iraqi woman just like them, not be fit to drive the car of a foreigner? Do you think an Iraqi woman is not good enough for that? Do you not believe the words of our great president, Saddam Hussein, when he says Iraqis are the equal of any nation?”

“Okay, okay,” muttered the alpha soldier. “Don’t get worked up.”

“I want the documents now.” Huda thrust out her palm. “They have been signed and stamped at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. If you have a problem, I am sure the officials there would be interested to know of it. What is your name and rank, young man?”

Traffic at the checkpoint backed up. Men hung out car windows and cursed. Horns honked.

“You’re lucky that I’m too busy to bother myself with the likes of you.” Huda snatched the documents back. “Now get back to work, before I change my mind and report you.”

She returned quickly to the car, knowing the presence of the shiny embassy Land Cruiser would be noted by the others in the queue. It would swiftly find the ears of the local mukhabarat, before traveling on to God knows where. Abu Ghraib was not far away. Perhaps whispers would surf the gritty wind, past the razor wire, and find their way to the darkest cell—the cell where they locked prisoners who once dreamed they could defy the regime. No, Huda told herself, as the sun bit the thin skin on her cheek. Traitors like them were already long dead.

* * *