“You know what the fedayeen do. Not even women and children are spared. Do you want our son committing sins like that?”

“Of course not. But this passport idea is plain stupid. Where would Khalid go? What would he do? You want him alone in a foreign land, with no one to care for him?”

“We could send him to Damascus. My cousin is there. I’m not saying we send him tomorrow. Why don’t we first try for a passport? Then we have options, in case we need them.”

“What would Abu Issa do if he discovered your plan? He’d question our loyalty. Then we’d feel his stick—you, me, and Khalid.” He stabbed his finger at the patio table, where he’d dumped the shopping bag full of cash, his six-pack, and the box of rosewater pastries. “Our life is not so bad. You can enjoy the finest baklava in Baghdad. I can buy a nice beer—and I did not need to pay with money from my wife’s pocket.”

“Beer and sweets? I should be satisfied with that? Forget about Khalid’s future?”

“I warn you, do not do anything rash.” He yanked a weed from the earth with unnecessary force. “Your brothers did that, and look what happened to them.”

Huda flinched, as if she’d been slapped.

“If they’d succeeded, we wouldn’t be worried about our son’s future,” she hissed. “We wouldn’t have to fear he’d be drafted into the fedayeen, to kill innocent people and hang their heads from their gates.”

“Your brothers were foolish and impulsive. It must run in your blood.”

“Mustafa and Ali were not foolish. And they were not the only ones who wanted freedom. Tens of thousands of men like my brothers joined the uprising. Maybe more.”

Abdul Amir cast a cautious glance over the neighbor’s fence.

“Don’t forget,” he whispered. “The people who came up with that whole misguided rebellion had the power to protect themselves when it went wrong. Your brothers were just ordinary people, like us. Expendable.”

“They saw a chance to be free.” Blood pounded at Huda’s temples. “And they would have succeeded if the Americans had lived up to their promises.”

“Bah!” Abdul Amir flung his hands wide. “Your brothers should have known two things: you can’t trust the Americans, and you can’t beat the system. You can only adapt and work out how to use the situation to your advantage.” He eyed her fiercely. “Did their deaths teach you nothing?”

* * *

As if on autopilot, Huda steered the Corolla toward the swooping expanse of concrete and steel that made up the Jumhuriya Bridge. At its feet, bulrushes stretched taller than a grown man. A checkpoint had been erected by the on-ramp. A soldier swung the muzzle of his Kalashnikov and gestured for Huda to pull over.