They motored onto the Jumhuriya Bridge. On the far bank, the palace of giant heads was hung with bunting, guard towers wrapped like Christmas gifts. Soldiers paraded about in shiny boots. Ally’s peripheral vision caught the dull gleam of a mounted machine gun.

“So this fellow I’m meeting was invited here by the government.” Ally tried not to stare at the machine gun. “The authorities are trying to find investors to renovate a resort at Lake Habbaniyah and they want some press coverage. Do you know the area?” Ally eyed the heat shimmering above the bitumen like a thin fog. “I think my mother picnicked there.”

“It must have been wonderful in her day.” Huda brightened a little. “The lake is so big it’s like being by the sea. Back in your mother’s time, there were swimming pools, tennis courts, restaurants, and a big beautiful hotel. But you don’t need to hear about it from this journalist. Abdul Amir and I will take you there in person. We can go tomorrow and see for ourselves.”

“I can’t,” said Ally. “I need government permission to leave Baghdad.”

“Oh, of course . . .” Huda glanced across the cabin. “I stopped by your house last evening to see if you wanted to go to the market. Ghassan said you’d gone out with Mr. Tom.”

“We went to look at some paintings.”

“Paintings? Where?”

“Rania Mansour’s gallery. She’s got some great pieces, like that sculpture in her garden.”

Ally longed to tell Huda that the sculpture had been created by Miriam Pachachi, the same person who took her mother’s portrait. She’d never thought it would be so hard to keep secrets, but they seemed to have a will of their own. Even now she could feel them clawing at the roof of her mouth.

“I hope you are careful in your dealings with Rania.” Huda frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t trust anyone.”

“Who?” Ally swiveled toward her. “Rania?”

“I’m just saying, you don’t know who you might meet at her gallery.”

“Like who?”

“Who can say?” Huda muttered in irritation, “You think they wear signs on their backs?”

Huda flicked on the radio, as if to say, Conversation over. She kept the music up high until they reached the boom gate at the entrance to the Rashid Hotel. A thickset guard with a Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder emerged from a guard post. He bent down and stared into the cabin. Huda opened her mouth to greet him. No sound emerged. Ally leaned past her.

“As-salaam alaikum,” she called.

The guard raised an eyebrow at Huda. She gave a tiny shrug and shrunk into her seat.

“I am here to visit a guest.” Ally enunciated her words carefully.

The guard frowned. “You are guest?”

“My friend is a guest. I’m meeting him here.”

“Guest?” he said.

“Yes.” Ally nodded animatedly. “I’m meeting him in the lobby.”