“You can’t do that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the Bolt Cutter growled. “If I want to take the girl, I will. And then, Huda, I’ll come over to your house tomorrow night and show you a video tape of what I did to her. Maybe when I leave, I’ll take Khalid with me. Give him a little tour of Abu Ghraib.” He snickered. “I’m not Abu Issa, remember. I’m not interested in drinking tea and making nice.”

Huda searched for a way out. On her left, patchy scrub led to a tiny beach and a stretch of reed-clogged lake. On the right, head-high grass rippled in the breeze, so thick that four bodies could lie out there for days and no one would be the wiser. Only the birds would see them. Eventually, a circle of vultures in the sky would give their corpses away.

“Tell me what you want,” said Huda.

The Bolt Cutter tilted his head, eyed her up and down.

“I’m going to search your vehicle and everything in it, especially that girl in the back seat. Abu Issa likes to complain that I’m not thorough. Well, I’m gonna be real thorough with her.”

He laughed and slapped his hand against his tree-trunk thigh. A memory flashed through Huda’s mind: her mother had taken her to see a gypsy caravan with a dancing bear. As the animal loomed over her, swaying clumsily, she realized it could kill her with one swipe of its hairy paw. The Bolt Cutter came toward her, and Huda felt that same bone-deep chill.

“Back to the Land Cruiser.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and spun her about. “Get going. Now.”

Huda knew if he looked hard enough, he’d find her passport hidden in the lining of her handbag. He’d probably find Khalid’s birth certificate and Hanan’s as well. How would she explain that? Even an oaf like the Bolt Cutter would realize they planned to flee. On the far side of the windshield, Khalid leaned forward and whispered urgently into Ally’s ear. Huda prayed the girl wouldn’t hesitate, and that she’d slide into the driver’s seat, stomp her foot on the accelerator, and mow the Bolt Cutter down.

The Bolt Cutter shoved Huda between the shoulder blades. Khalid was right. She should have said no to the mukhabarat from the very beginning. Perhaps they would have sent her to Abu Ghraib, but at least it would have been her alone—not Khalid, not Hanan, and not Ally. Her diplomatic ID wouldn’t save her now. Not with a man like this.

Huda whirled about and shoved the Bolt Cutter in the chest.

“Leave them alone!” she shouted. “They haven’t done anything wrong.”

The Bolt Cutter blinked in surprise.