Mrs. al-Deeb looked through the photos, humming a tune from one of Daphne’s favorite operas. She paused at the photo of the nurse with eyes like Cher. When she looked up, her eyes had gone eerily blank, like the armed guards at the door.

“I can’t help you.” She pushed the photos back across the counter. “I have work to do.”

“Should I come back later,” said Ally, “when you’ve got more time?”

Mrs. al-Deeb shot a nervous glance at the guards.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “What do you really want?”

“I, um . . .” Ally trailed off nervously.

“No good will come of your questions.” Mrs. al-Deeb threw another furtive glance at the guards. “Now, please, go.”

Ally’s fingers trembled as she shoved the photos into her handbag. She hurried away, past the mother and daughter, hands still entwined. The old woman groaned again. Her pain vibrated through the waiting room. Ally felt it like a stitch in her side long after she slipped past the guards and left the hospital behind.

* * *

Ally’s doorbell buzzed. She glanced at her watch. Eight p.m. Abdul Amir was right on time. She quickly pressed the phone to her ear and dialed the number for Tom’s hotel in the northern city of Mosul. Static hissed like a broken radiator.

“Damn it.” Ally put the phone down. She didn’t want Tom to call later and get no answer. But she couldn’t bear another night watching Saddam tributes on TV, with nothing but a bag of counterfeit “Keet Katts” for company. She grabbed her handbag and set to work on the locks and bolts of the front door.

It was dark outside, but the concrete slabs in the courtyard still radiated the heat of high noon. The perfume of the rosebushes mixed with exhaust fumes from the traffic circle, confusing Ally’s senses with their benzene sweetness.

“Hello?” She eyed the quiet guard hut. “Ghassan?”

Ally tiptoed to the front gate and pushed it open. Cars trundled by, headlights skewering the ocher-tinted gloom. Ghassan was chatting through the window of the idling Corolla. Ally hurried across the sidewalk and ducked into the passenger seat.

“Hello, my dear.” Huda smiled from behind the wheel. “Abdul Amir is not feeling well, so I’ve come in his place. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, this is perfect.” Ally beamed. “We can make this a girls’ night out.”

“Oh, my dear, I’m here as your driver, nothing more.”

A concrete mixer rumbled past. Its lights swept across Huda’s face, revealing eyes lined with thick black kohl and lids painted pink and purple. Diamantés sparkled at her ears.

“But you look so lovely.” Ally motioned at Huda’s long silky blouse and black pants. She paused and inspected her own linen maxidress and roman sandals. “I hope I’m not underdressed.”

“Don’t worry.” Huda patted her arm.

Ally thought she saw pity in her eyes.