| count had begun. Thirty and rising. I picked up the phone to call Omar’s house. Hanan was frantic. She said he had gone to Bakaa hours ago, after speaking with Dr. Hassan. He had been angry and upset. Something to do with Nabil. She hadn’t heard from him since. “Nabil?” “Yes. Nabil was in some sort of trouble. Omar had to find him before it was too late. Then I heard about the bombs and now I can’t reach him. Either his phone is off or—oh, my God, I don’t know what to think. He could be anywhere. He could even be—” “It’s all right, Hanan. If Omar said he was going to Bakaa, then that’s where he is, okay? Cell phones don’t always work out there.” “It’s just that, well, you’ve been around him. You must have noticed.” “Noticed what?” “Omar. The way he’s been acting. Not that he would ever tell me what’s going on. Has he told you?” “No.” “But you’ve noticed it, too, haven’t you?” “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s Nabil who has me worried right now, considering what’s happened.” “You don’t think that—” She didn’t dare finish the sentence. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I’m going out there.” “To Bakaa?” “I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything about Omar.” “This can’t be a good time to be moving around the city.” “Probably not. Call if you get any news.” “Be careful.” The first thing I did was |
The owls resumed their conversation just as I was climbing into bed, and their calls were as comforting as an all-clear signal. My precautions suddenly seemed foolish. Mila breathed softly at my side, her body cooling beneath the sheets. I had shut the window, but the shutters were thrown open to a starlit deep blue. It cast a pale light that made my skin look almost as young as hers. The smell of candle wax mingled with the sour aftertaste of retsina. I listened from the pillow until the owls stopped. Probably the night’s final update from the realm of the hunter and the hunted. Soon afterward I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I remember was a flashlight shining brightly in my face, jarring me awake. I blinked and squinted and bolted upright, thinking for a moment that I must be in a tent on yet another scene of ruination. A hand shoved against my sternum to make sure I went no farther. Then a smooth male voice spoke from out of the glare. In English, with an American accent. “Time to get up, Freeman Lockhart.” Mila was already sitting, rigid beside me with the sheet pulled to her neck. She said nothing, just stared with wide eyes. Someone flipped on the ceiling light. In addition to the man at my right, another stood by Mila, and a third was at the foot of the bed. They wore identical gray tracksuits, and smelled like cigarettes |
