She asked herself, why were Abu Issa and his partner here? It had been only two weeks since their last visit. Please, Khalid, she prayed, forget your curfew. Stay at Bakr’s and play computer games.

Huda quickly warmed the tea in the kettle and poured it into three thimble-size istikan glasses. The liquid leaped over the hourglass sides and pooled in the delicate saucers. She wiped them clean, balanced the tea, sugar bowl, and spoons on a tray, and carried it into the sitting room.

“Sit, sit.” Abu Issa waved her toward a corner chair—as if he were the host and she were the visitor. His bolt-cutting partner stared at her, eyes flat as night. Huda’s breath bunched in her throat.

“Let us chat,” said Abu Issa, “about your work at the Australian embassy.”

Huda nodded. This was not the first time the mukhabarat had come asking questions about events at the embassy: correspondence and meetings, comings and goings, the latest rumors. Everyone who worked with foreigners could expect such visits. Her lacquered nails carved half-moons into her palms. Think of your good salary, she reminded herself. Besides, if it wasn’t her job, the secret police would find some other pretense to sit on her couch, to drink her tea, to gauge her fealty.

“How can I help you, Abu Issa?” She figured a rotten tooth was best pulled fast. “Is there anything in particular that you would like to know?”

“How is your relationship with Deputy Ambassador Wilson progressing?” He sipped his tea daintily, little finger splayed in the air. “Does he trust you?”

“I do my best to be reliable and professional.”

“But does he trust you? Confide in you?”

Huda returned the istikan to her lap. Once again, liquid splashed into the saucer and stared at her like a baleful amber eye.

“He hasn’t told me anything unusual.” She forced a smile, even as her pulse throbbed at her neck. “I do routine typing and filing, as you know. I translate his letters when he has matters to convey to our beloved government.”

“And what of his wife?”

Huda blinked.

“His wife?”

“How well do you know her? Are you friends?”

“Ally seems nice enough.” Huda shrugged. “Once in a while, she comes to the office to break her boredom, that’s all.”

Abu Issa raised the tea glass to his lips. He wore a sharp-edged ring with the president’s eagle crest. If he slapped her cheek, it would draw blood.

“No doubt your boss tells his wife all manner of things,” said Abu Issa. “The foreigners call it pillow talk.”

Huda stiffened. Her istikan rattled in its saucer.

“These Western men are reliant on their wives’ advice. They call them partners.” Abu Issa shook his head. “Is it a business or a marriage?”