“I’m fine, just a little tired, that’s all.” Ally’s lie slipped out smooth as silk, even as guilt nipped at her heels. She turned toward the flashing traffic lights and told herself every marriage, and every family, had its secrets, its little white lies. Anyway, it was probably best to keep Tom out of it. That way, if she stirred up any fuss, the ambassador couldn’t blame him. Or at least, he’d blame Tom only for reckless taste in wives.

* * *

Ghassan nodded to Ally and pushed open her front gate. She trudged to the curb and slid into the Corolla’s passenger seat. Huda was behind the wheel.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” said Ally, surprised. “Where’s Abdul Amir?”

“He’s at the mosque,” said Huda. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Ally laughed awkwardly. For a change, she would’ve preferred to have Abdul Amir sulking in the driver’s seat. “I don’t want to interrupt your weekend, that’s all.”

“I was happy to get out of the house,” said Huda. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to . . .” Ally tried to look nonchalant. “I’m going to the Rashid Hotel.”

“The Rashid Hotel?” Huda’s cheeks were striped with pink blush, but underneath, her skin turned the color of curdled milk. It was an open secret that minders, informants, and spies populated the lobby of the Rashid. It was also where the regime corralled visiting dignitaries and the few foreign journalists allowed in on brief, tightly controlled press junkets. The guest rooms were famously equipped with hidden cameras, microphones, and all manner of surveillance devices.

“I’m meeting a friend of a friend,” said Ally. “He works for a business magazine in Dubai.”

“He’s staying at the Rashid?” Huda’s eyes were wide as an owl’s.

Once again, Ally wished that Abdul Amir was behind the wheel. He’d know how to handle this. He kept a Saddam watch in the glove box, and he put it on his wrist whenever he knew they’d have to pass through checkpoints. He made sure to nod and smile at the men who loitered on street corners, men who wore leather jackets despite the heat, men who Ally suspected were secret police, or at the very least, informants.

“You know what?” Ally put her hand on Huda’s arm. She was stiff as a wax dummy. “I’ll go another time.”

Huda eyed her suspiciously.

“What do you mean, another time?”

“I’ll go some other day,” Ally replied vaguely.