In Love and War (15 page)

Jim chewed off his fingernails one at a time, spitting them out as he rounded their
improvised cell. “Do we call Paul yet and get a patrol out here to pick us up?”

Dylan scowled at him. “Get serious. Paul would shoot us personally for putting his men at risk.
Just calm down. If we’d been compromised, we’d be dead by now. I say we give Ali whatever time he needs to work things out. Obviously he’s run into a snag. We have to trust him.”

“Doesn’t look like you’ll be out of here as early as Friday.”

“You might be right.”

Jim snorted and dropped down in a slump against the wall. “I’m going to rest my eyes for a while.”

“Fine,” he said, adding a soft, “And I’ll just picture my relationship with Ariela imploding when I don’t come back as soon as I’d hoped.”

**
*

An hour later, Jim hurried into the back where Dylan had gone to brood.
The photographer roused him with his foot. “Ali’s coming.”

Jim
had spent their time apart spying on the neighborhood through his camera lens, his position at the bottom corner of the broken window obscured by overgrown shrubs outside.

Dylan
climbed to his feet and stretched his stiff muscles. They’d spent a long, hard stretch in this desolate house, worrying about gunmen breaking in on them, yet unable to leave. Another night on this cold hard floor would have been intolerable. With their ration of water gone, they were facing dehydration and sanitation issues no one should have to face, and yet, millions of Iraqi citizens were in the exact same situation. He didn’t envy them.

A car horn blew at the end of the street, and a moment later, Ali slipped in through the
front door, pulling it closed behind him.

“
Where the hell have you been?” Jim hissed before Dylan could stop him.

Ali
didn’t look offended. He looked sorrowful. Dylan knew it was bad.

“
Hanna Gouda is dead. She disappeared late yesterday. I finally found her in the morgue. She’d been stabbed, many times, and her left hand was gone. I’m so sorry.”

Dylan felt sick, nauseous. He grabbed hold of the wall just to remain standing. Ironic, he
’d seen death, hundreds of times, and been able to handle it because it was part of the job. He’d learned how to insulate himself from the trauma, but this, this was personal. It hit him hard. His loyalty to Khalid and Hanna was the reason he’d put his relationship with Ariela in jeopardy to begin with.

“
What about their son?”

“
I heard he’s with Hanna’s uncle, but her brother and cousin are missing.”

Most likely hidden by other family members
to avoid punishment
, Dylan presumed. They’d be celebrated inside the family and protected. She’ll be forgotten. He wanted to weep, for his dead friends and for the little boy who would never know his wonderful, loving parents. It left him shaken and sick with misery.

Jim grabbed his arm.
“Hey, are you all right?”

“
No. No, I’m not. I’m pissed. I’m fucking pissed!” he shot back under his breath, still conscious of the need to remain undetected. “How can people do that? Just murder a member of their own family over an unfounded suspicion?” He laughed at himself, bitterly, remembering his reply to Ariela when she asked the same question. “You don’t understand the culture,” he murmured to himself and felt another wave of grief swell inside his chest. Oh god, it hurt.

“
Dylan.” Jim gave his arm another squeeze, finally breaking through the pain. Deep blue eyes locked with cool gray and brought a semblance of calm to the raging storm inside of him.

Dylan shook himself. They had decisions to make. “What happened
with the police car?”

Ali
’s pain was as palpable as Dylan’s. “My friend, Mo, never brought the truck, and I can’t reach him. It would be much too dangerous for him and his family, if I try. I fear his time has run out. He walked the sharpened edge of the knife for three years. It was risky. I can’t get a police vehicle without him.”

Dylan understood what Ali wasn’t saying. The radio would have helped them avoid checkpoints. Without it, they were subject to stops and searches. They could blunder into anything.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Jim told him.

“Are
you
safe?” Dylan didn’t want anyone else at risk for his sake.

“Thank you, yes. I had to be sure I wasn’t leading danger to you.” Ali nodded sadly. “A police vehicle would have been better. People see them and
are afraid. They don’t want trouble, so they try to avoid being noticed and move away if possible, look away when it isn’t. It’s dangerous to meet the eyes of the men inside. It would have made it much easier to get you through the city. But I’m afraid there’s more,” said Ali gravely.

“How bad?”
Dylan asked.

“The other women you were planning to interview, Noora and her sister, they
’ve fled the city with their children. I went to their home. A different family is living there now.”

Jim
’s head jerked back at the news. “What?”

“That fast?” Dylan asked,
equally shocked.

Ali rubbed his temples, an apologetic look on his face. “It
’s not a good time to be Sunni in a Shia neighborhood, or Shia in a Sunni area. They are separating by sect, often violently. I just hope Noora and her family are safe. I have no way to find out.”

“
This is why we’re in this bombed out, bullet-riddled house,” said Jim. “The family who lived here were driven out.”

Dylan groaned, seeing his Pulitzer disappear in a puff of smoke. He
’d failed. He’d failed everyone; Khalid, Hanna, their little boy, Noora, and her sister, Amira, Jim, Ali, but most especially, Ariela. He’d sacrificed so much, and for what, to run up against a dead end? Hell no!

Hanna wanted this story told. So did Noora and
Amira. They might have been silenced, but damn it, they still mattered. With the rights and status of women in this transforming country under discussion, they needed to be heard, silenced or not. He would speak for them. He would be their voice.

How? All three of his interviews just evaporated. They were going to be the safe conduits to other women. He couldn’t arrange any others, not without endangering more sources. That was something he wouldn’t consider.

Jim looked at Dylan. “Why don’t you call your friends at the Baghdad bureau? They just might have to help. Otherwise, I don’t see this happening.”

“
There’s nothing they can do.”

Ali broke in. “
It would be very dangerous for me to go there now. If Mo talked, I’m already under suspicion. I can’t be seen anywhere near the Americans or the Europeans. I wouldn’t like to try.”

Jim spun toward
their interpreter in frustration. “Well, what do you suggest?” he asked.

Ali gave it some thought. “It might not be the interview you wanted, but my grandmother and aunts are willing to speak with you. I could take you
safely there. My car wouldn’t raise suspicions in front of our family home. You would have to keep out of sight and enter through the back and under cover, but it’s an option.”

Dylan considered the alternative carefully. “I have a deadline, but I don’t want to do anything if it endangers your family.”

Ali nodded gravely. “They are very strong women, very wise. You’ll get an interview. I think we should leave now. Just let me signal my friend, Ram.”

He brought a small radio out of his pocket
. Before he pressed the button on the side, he said, “Collect your things before I call him. When he creates a distraction, we need to hurry.”

Dylan and Jim left to get their bags from the back room. They would not be coming back here tonight. There was no reason now, and it would be too dangerous.

Jim stood up, slipping the strap of his pack over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Dylan zipped his tablet and pen away and gave a quick nod.

Ali’s face was set when he met their eyes and raised the radio. He spoke a curt word into it, and within seconds, they heard a loud boom at the end of the street. Then Ali was moving, running at a crouch to the car, with Jim and Dylan on his heels.

Jim reached the back door first and yanked it open, crawling inside,
Dylan right behind him. He pulled the back door closed against his feet. Ali leaped into the front seat, and a second later, the engine roared to life. The kid threw the car into gear, spun the wheel, and made a tight U-turn. They headed off, away from the blast at a normal speed to avoid attention.

As they bounced along the rough roads without encountering trouble, Dylan’s tension slowly eased a little
. He was finally able to grin at Jim’s bony butt.

“Think you can
turn that out of my face now?”

Chapter 14

Keeping Max under control when he was determined to run free was a struggle. He strained against the leash so hard Ariela’s shoulder hurt and the hard knot in her right calf threatened to drop her to the ground
at any minute. She tugged the dog over to an empty bench and tied him there so she could take a break and stretch her leg before the cramp hit.

It amaz
ed her to see how many people needed reassurance Max wasn’t going to hurt them when they walked by. How could they be so blind to his ecstatic tail wagging and his happy-go-lucky grin, and with that lolling tongue hanging out? What were they afraid of, that he might lick them to death? Yes, he frisked and yipped, but it was in an eager-greeting kind of way, not a roll-up-your-pant-leg-because-that-leg-is-mine style. Max simply loved people,
and
other dogs—even the obnoxious little nippers. Honestly, she’d never met a dog with more obvious intentions. Still, the poor thing wasn’t making many friends.

Feeling for him, she leaned down to untie his leash and pat his head.
“Your dad should take you to obedience school.” He turned and kissed her, a big, wet, sloppy kiss. She laughed and shoved him away. “Save those for your master. You know I’m immune.”

Max
looked at her as if he didn’t buy it. Ariela wondered if maybe the dog had a point. She was collapsing under the weight of his charm.

They returned to the car, and
she opened the back door so he could leap inside. His entire body wriggled with eagerness to get going. She shook her head, perplexed at how excited he was around the car—let me in, let me out, let me in, let me out! Bizarre.

Back at Dylan’s place, Ariela let Max run loose in the yard while she went in to phone Jean. A little human interaction
was exactly what she needed. Well, barring what she actually had in mind, her best friend would have to do in a pinch. Heck, she’d even extend the invite to Ron.

“Not tonight,” was Jean’s response. “Ron’s coming over for dinner. You know,
the
dinner.”

“No kidding?”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“Of course you are. Don’t chicken out.”

“What would you say to a woman who told you she wanted to marry you?”

“I’d say, I don’t think
it’s legal in this state yet.”

“Ha. This time pretend you’re Ron.”

“Sorry, not the time for levity, I guess. Jean, this is the next, natural step. One of you has to make it. Why can’t it be you?”

“You’re right. Why can’t it be me?”

“There you go.”

“Wish me luck.”

“I wish you love.”

Ariela hung up the phone and filled Max’s dish, then went to call him in.

“It’s just you and me tonight, kiddo. There’s a good movie on cable. What do you say?”

Max snorted into his bowl, but at least his tail wagged a few times. Ariela decided to take that as a yes.

She made a bowl of popcorn then settled on the couch with the dog. They snacked together while the television flashed light and color into the otherwise dark room. She might even have stroked the dog’s fur from time to time, though it was unconsciously done.

*
**

Dylan’s cheek rested against the edge of the backseat
, his body curled awkwardly on the floor. For safety’s sake, there was no conversation in the car. When the vehicle came to a stop, he looked at Jim. They both visibly tensed, unsure if they’d run into a checkpoint or some other hazard. Ali cut the engine.

“We’re here,” he whispered. “Stay where you are until I come back for you.”

He climbed out of the car, leaving the two men to shift uncomfortably in the small, unforgiving depressions of the floor. In a matter of minutes, he was back, this time with a woman. Ali went and opened the trunk to further block them as she beckoned with a gesture to Jim and Dylan. They hustled after her at a crouching run as she led them down a narrow corridor between the house and a tall, concrete wall.

Leaving their shoes in the kitchen, they were shown into a curtained sitting room. Ali came in through the front door, locking it behind him. Two women were already waiting. Dylan was surprised they
’d left their heads uncovered in front of him. Perhaps they were Christian or, more risky still, nothing at all. Their escort from the car removed her black hijab and, with a graceful wave, invited them to sit.

Jim walked over to one of the chairs
, straightening his tall frame as he went. They all heard the audible cracking of his bones. Dylan was delighted to see he wasn’t the only one fighting back a smile at the unexpected concert.

Ali’s grandmother was a tiny woman, but she had presence, an undeniable strength. She didn’t appear uncomfortable until Jim took out his camera. She and Ali exchanged a rapid flow
of words while the other two women gravely watched Jim. He froze, silent, waiting for a verdict from their hostess.

Ali
nodded, agreeing with something his grandmother said and held up his hand in appeasement. Then he turned to Jim. “I apologize, but we must insist you not take their pictures. It would be extremely dangerous if their images were published, even in an American article. The world is small since the Web. They continue here at the sufferance of others, as it is.”

Dylan and Jim
looked at each other.

Taken aback, Dylan asked,
“What do you mean?”

Ali explained.
“My grandfather was an educated man, like my father. He studied in England when he was young, then went on to travel the west before eventually coming home to settle and teach. Because of that, he was both accepted and distrusted by many. In order to keep his position at the university, he had to refrain from introducing radical ideas to his students. Still, he circulated articles challenging many of our customs and assumptions—under a pseudonym, of course. He was careful, but suspected nonetheless. World politics and history were his fields of study, so it was difficult, if not impossible, for him to remain completely silent.” Ali smiled at his grandmother, sitting serenely at his side. “My family is less trusted by association.”

Dylan raised his eyebrows at Jim and saw his resignation. Jim capped his lens.

The woman seated on the other side of the old woman spoke to her mother. Ali looked over at her and they exchanged a few words too. He nodded and turned back to Jim.

“If you’d care to follow my aunt, she would like to show you something. You’ll be permitted to bring your camera, but you cannot include her in any pictures you take.”

Jim revived before their eyes. Standing up, he towered over the woman as she led him from the room. Dylan retrieved his notebook and recorder and flipped the pad open to check his questions, scanning down the list for something relevant to ask during this impromptu interview. The questions he’d prepared for Hanna no longer applied. He didn’t know what they were going to discuss or where this would go.

Ali spoke with
the old woman, nodding to her. “My grandmother would like me to offer you refreshments.”

Dylan
smiled at her. “I’d be grateful.”

Ali conferred with his other aunt and she departed. While they waited for her return, Dylan looked around. One wall was full of shelves, oddly empty shelves. He wondered what the story was there.

Ali’s aunt came back with a tray of finger foods and cups of tea. Once everyone was comfortable, she returned to her chair and spoke to Ali. He seemed to reassure her.

“My aunt apologizes for the modest offering, but that’s my fault. I didn’t give them time to prepare.”

“This is very nice. Please thank them for their hospitality.” Dylan appreciated their kindness, especially when everything was expensive and scarce. He took a sip of tea and smiled again, sincerely, at the two women, hoping they understood. Their smiles in response reassured him. Helping himself to a few marinated olives, he tried again. “Very good.” His cheeks felt tight already from all the smiling.

However, t
hey seemed gratified. Ali and his relatives patiently watched Dylan while he scanned his notes and chose a question. He reached forward and turned on the recorder.

Looking back and forth between his translator and the old woman, he said, “I was going to begin asking about the difficulties of being a woman at this time and place, but I think I’ll start by asking your grandmother if she feels optimistic about a democratic Iraq.”

Ali looked at her and spoke rapidly. Her eyebrows pinched together as she listened. She asked her grandson a question afterwards while Dylan looked on, curious.

Looking intrigued and proud, Ali
turned to Dylan. “She asks, why do you think democracy is coming?”

Her question
, and his translator’s reaction to it, confused and concerned him. Was her knowledge too limited to make this a worthwhile interview? He couldn’t say.

Shifting in his seat, Dylan said,
“Controversial political arguments aside, it’s the reason our government gives for keeping our military here. We’re supposed to be helping you get a new government in place, giving you time to form a democratic order for yourselves.”

Ali relayed
his response to the old woman and she spoke directly to Dylan, even though he couldn’t understand. Her grandson translated. “She says democracy is a force of the people, for the people, and by the people. It can’t be implanted from the outside. Holding elections before safety and order are restored is useless. How long do you think people will be satisfied with a government that can’t protect them, or provide uninterrupted services?”

Dylan blinked. “Establishing a government to address those concerns takes time, but you’re moving in the right direction.”

“Elections only give us the appearance of democracy,” Ali continued, translating his grandmother’s words back to Dylan. “I worry the West will be satisfied with that. It doesn’t change the reality of our damaged institutions, our economy, or the bands of armed men terrorizing our population.”

Dylan tried a new thought. “Without Saddam Hussein, you have a chance to reorganize.”

When the old lady heard that name, she actually chuckled, as though she knew what Dylan said before Ali could repeat it. The kid had to shift gears when she began speaking over him. He held up his hand, trying to slow her as he relayed her response while she spoke it.

“Removing Saddam Hussein doesn’t ensure democracy
, nor does it address all of our problems, because it doesn’t change the underlying structure of our culture. The conditions necessary for democracy to flourish are not present at this time. For this reason, she says we are not yet ready for democracy.”

Dylan was blown away. This was proving to be a more interesting interview than he’d
expected. “Could she explain what she means?”

Ali asked her to continue and she resumed.
“Sunni and Shia fight each other, and the international presence. We are not one people, with one purpose. Our country is fractured by violence.”

Dylan watched the old woman while she spoke to Ali directly. The young man nodded and faced Dylan again, his voice stilted as he translated what she was saying bit by bit.

“She says democracy grows from something else, a system that no longer satisfies or serves the people. It doesn’t form out of chaos but, rather, from order.”

She took a breath before going on. “Many would choose to have a stronger Islamic influence in government, but the emphasis on submission in Islam is at odds with your ideals of liberty. Without granting so many of the rights you’d consider essential in a democracy, would it be a true democracy? You forget, we are comfortable on our knees, facing east. Now you want us to stand up and face west instead.”

Holy shit
. Dylan reached for his tea. He needed it.

The old woman spoke to her grandson for a moment before looking at Dylan again. “If
democracy is given to us prematurely, it will flow through our fingers like sand, and we will eventually find ourselves controlled by another dictator or bowed under Islamic rule. Anything resembling a young democracy will be fleeting.”

Dylan kept his face impassive but he wanted to whoop out loud. “Please ask her how she came to these conclusions.” He waited while Ali did just that.

With a smile Ali said, “She says she wasn’t born yesterday.”

Both
men chuckled as she smiled serenely back at them. Ali explained, “My grandfather shared his work—his enthusiasm and rants alike—with all of us. Naturally, my grandmother absorbed the most.”

“What does she recommend to improve the chances of democracy?”
Dylan wanted to know.

Ali relayed the question.
Jim and Ali’s other aunt rejoined them as the old woman shared her thoughts, her hopes, and her love for her country with Dylan.

Jim set down his teacup and caught Dylan’s eye from across the room. He nodded slowly. It seemed Dylan wasn’t the only one surprised and impressed by this little woman.

“Ask your grandmother,” he spoke to Ali again, “how soon she hopes to reach Canada?”