“Azadeh Pahlavi Jan,” Azadeh introduced herself.
“Yes, of course, I already know that,” Amina replied. She forced a tight smile, though it was clear she was still close to tears. “I’m with an organization called No More. Have you ever heard of that?”
Azadeh shook her head.
“We are a private group based in London,” the older woman continued. “We work throughout the Middle East, sometimes in Pakistan, sometimes in India and Malaysia. We work to free women, sometimes boys and girls, who are being bought and sold as slaves. We intercept them; we buy them and set them free. The slave trade is a nasty, nasty business.” Amina paused. “Do you understand?”
Azadeh pressed her lips, her eyes growing narrow, and her forehead furrowing tightly.
“Do you realize, Azadeh, what these men were going to do? They brought you here to sell you. To sell you as a slave.”
Azadeh nodded grimly. “I know that,” she answered. “But I would have died before I would have let them do that to me.”
Amina was silent a moment. “Azadeh, I don’t think you fully understand what they could have done.”
Azadeh shook her head. “No, Amina Jan, I do understand. I knew what would happen the first time I saw that man.” She nudged her shoulder toward the Iraqi who lay on the ground. He kept his head down and his eyes closed, though it was clear he was listening carefully. “He claimed he worked for my uncle.” She spit the words in his direction. “What a filthy, simple lie. I have no uncle, no family, no one who knows or cares. I knew what he had in mind. But I determined when I met him that he would not succeed. I would die first. He would die first. One of us was not going to live.”
Amina held her tight once again. “You are brave,” she said simply. “Brave, but also foolish. He would have had his way, my dear.”
“Maybe. But if that was what was in store for me, then I didn’t want to live.”
Sam looked away. He had caught enough of the conversation to understand. He passed a hand in front of his face, rubbing his eyes.
Bono stood behind him, clearing his throat. Sam looked quickly over his shoulder. Bono was standing guard over the Iraqi, a small pistol comfortably in his hand. He nodded anxiously, indicating that he wanted to go. Sam motioned to him, a barely noticeable head movement, and then turned back to Amina. “Tell her my name,” he said.
“No, you should not do that,” Amina said emphatically. “There is no good that can come if she knows. You endanger her. You endanger yourself. Some things are better left unsaid.”
Sam shook his head. “Tell her,” he repeated.
Amina hesitated, and then put her hands on Azadeh’s shoulders. “This is Captain Brighton.” She nodded to the man who stood at Sam’s back. “That man is an American soldier, too. They are friends. Close comrades. Do you understand?”
Azadeh nodded as she looked at Sam and Bono.
“Now you need to understand something,” Amina continued in Persian. “What he did here tonight, he did on his own. The U.S. government had nothing to do with any of this. Nothing at all. In fact, Captain Brighton would be in very, very big trouble if they ever found out. This isn’t his purpose. This isn’t his mission, to try to save the local citizens from the effects of this land. But he came to me, Azadeh, a few weeks ago. He asked me to help him. I told him if he could get you out of Khorramshahr, I could take you from here. I helped him when I could, but it is mostly him you should thank.” Amina paused, and then asked, “Do you understand, Azadeh?”
Azadeh lowered her eyes as if she didn’t dare look at Sam.
“Now listen, Azadeh,” Amina went on. “I’m going to take you from here. You are safe now. No More has the funds and organization. You are going to leave Iraq. We are going to send you to the United States.”
“America?” Azadeh repeated in a frightened tone.
Sam watched her carefully, reading the look on her face. “It’s going to be OK, Azadeh,” he said. “There are people there who are willing to take you into their homes.” Amina interpreted in a low voice and as quickly as she could. “You will be safe. You will have a new life there, a new start.”
Azadeh thought a long moment. Behind him, Sam heard Bono stomp his feet on the ground. Sam quickly glanced at his watch. “Sammy,” Bono said, “we’ve got to be going. We’ve got to get back to camp.”
Sam lifted his hand, gesturing to his friend for another minute.
Azadeh looked at him, her eyes wide. “Will you come with me?” she asked. The tone of her voice betrayed the fact that she knew it was a ridiculous question.
Sam laughed. “I wish I could,” he said. “Believe me, Azadeh, there are plenty of days when I want nothing more than to get out of here. But I have other obligations. Remember, Azadeh, I am not here on my own. I am a soldier. I have a duty. This is where I belong.”
“Who will go with me, then?”
“Amina has arranged it. She will go with you, introduce you to your new home, and help you get situated inside the United States. They will arrange the visas, all the documents.”
Amina touched Azadeh’s hand and the girl shot a quick look at her, but then turned back to Sam. “But who will I stay with?” she wondered. “What will I do?” She did not look happy. She looked terrified.
Amina interpreted. Sam shook his head, pushing his dirty hands through his long hair. “I don’t have all the answers, Azadeh, but this much I know. You’ll have a chance to be happy. That’s all that I can offer. But you’ll be free. You will be warm and fed. You will be in a home with someone who loves you and wants you to be there.”
“No,” Azadeh said. “They will not love me. I am not their kin. I’m not one of their people. I do not come from their tribe. They might show sympathy, even kindness, but they will not love me, I’m sure.”
Sam listened to Amina interpret, and then took a step toward her. He peered into her dark eyes and saw the loneliness, the fear, the resignation, the sadness of being so completely on her own. Betrayed. Taken. Saved by foreign strangers she didn’t know and couldn’t trust. She was a young woman, but in that moment she looked like nothing more than a lost and frightened child. He wanted to hold her, to pull her to him. He wanted to help her.
That was why he was here.
“Azadeh,” he started. “I know this has been hard—”
Azadeh shook her head abruptly. “No, no. I am grateful.”
“I know you are, Azadeh. But you still need to know. Your difficult path is over. You have walked through the dark. There are others now who will help you. You will not be alone.”
Azadeh kept her eyes down, staring at the black dirt under her sandals, not daring to look into his eyes. The vehicle’s headlights shone across the river, sparkling off the lapping waves. The night was quiet and, across the marsh, a loon cried, a long, mournful sound. She lifted her head and looked at the low moon, a dull yellow sliver against the Iraqi sky, then turned to Sam, her eyes scrunching now. “But I will . . . I will leave my people. I will leave my home. If I go to your country, will I ever come back again?”
Sam hunched his shoulders and thought a long moment, knowing all he could do was tell her the truth. He imagined himself in her situation at such a young age, barely escaping with her life, losing everything along the way, her family, her possessions. Everything she owned had been stuffed in the burlap bag she was clutching under her arm. And now she was losing her country, her people, everything she’d ever known.
But maybe we are not so different, he then thought. He considered his own father and mother, who had beaten and deserted him by the time he was ten. By age 13, he had fully expected to live his entire life all alone, maybe with short visits from his addicted mother or occasional brawls with his old man.
His mind flashed back to the evening when he had been taken to the Brighton’s house, the next stop on a long list of temporary homes. He had fully expected that visit to last not more than a few days—maybe a week, if things went unusually well. And even now
, he remembered what it felt like to be a terrified little boy, standing in the hallway of a stranger’s home, looking around him, a young animal in a new cage, always expecting to take another blow, another heartbreak, another push back down the road. Yes, he remembered the feeling. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget.
Looking at Azadeh, he saw himself in her eyes. He remembered, and it hurt him, feeling the loneliness again.
But somehow, in ways that even now he didn’t understand, life had led him to the family that had been waiting for him. A family who could love him and accept him and help him to succeed.
Could Azadeh be so lucky?
He really didn’t know.
Most weren’t. He knew that he was one of the few.
But he couldn’t help but think of how he had felt the first time he had seen her. He could picture it so clearly, Azadeh hiding in the brush and dirt, the smell of death and the smoke of destruction all around. Something about her was so familiar, as if their souls had known each other. Somehow. Somewhere.
She seemed to lean toward him, an almost imperceptible movement, her arms reaching from her body. “Will me . . . I,” she pointed at Sam and then back at herself, “you and I . . . together?” she mumbled desperately.
Sam cocked his head toward her, and then dropped his eyes. He didn’t believe that their meeting in the Iranian village had been left up to chance. He didn’t believe that, out of all of the places he could have been sent in the world, he had been sent to her tiny village in the mountains of Iran out of pure happenstance. And he didn’t believe, he couldn’t believe, that he’d be able to save her only to send her off on her own and never see her again.
A long moment passed. Azadeh watched him all the time. Then he finally looked up. “Azadeh,” he started. Amina interpreted quickly, whispering in Azadeh’s ear. “Sometime you will understand. Until then, you’re going to have to believe me when I say that I know what you are going through. I have been where you are. And I know, I understand, I remember how hard it is. But you live. You always live. And as long as you live, then you fight. You live and you fight, and it gets better. I can promise you that.”
Azadeh nodded slowly as Amina interpreted the words.
“You live and you fight,” she answered. “That’s something I can understand. And I will believe you. I will trust you. I will do what you say.”
Sam stepped toward her and pulled her close. “Go with Amina,” he whispered into her ear. “She will help you. She is your friend. Trust her. Keep your faith and it will turn out OK.”
He felt her head move against him, almost resting on his shoulder. Although he had spoken in English, it seemed she had understood.
Pulling back, she straightened herself. “Will I . . . ,” she stumbled for the words. “Eye . . .” she pointed to her eyes. “What is it . . . ?”
“See,” Amina helped her.
She nodded and pointed eagerly. “Yes! See! Will I see . . . .” She closed her eyes and concentrated. “See home twice . . . no, no . . . again?”
“Will you see your home again?” Sam clarified.
Azadeh nodded.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know, Azadeh. Maybe . . . but probably not. The world is changing quickly. The days are growing shorter, and there is evil all around. Events have been put in motion that will never come to a rest. Where it leads, we don’t know, sometimes all we can do is hang on. But this much I can tell you: It is not in our hands. So have faith, and be hopeful, and maybe you will come back here again.”
Sam nodded toward Amina. It was past time to go.
Bono walked to him. “What do we do with him?” he asked, pointing to the Iraqi on the ground
Sam considered the question, then moved forward and nudged the man with his boot. “Stand!” he commanded in Persian. The Iraqi pushed himself to his feet.
Sam glared in his face. “You were going to kill me here tonight, weren’t you, my friend?”
The Iraqi returned his cold stare, dead rage in his eyes. “I would kill you even now if I were given the chance.” He spoke in a guttural, almost animal sound. “Give me the chance, you harâmzâde, and I would reach down your throat and crush your heart in my fist.”
Sam stood back and smiled. “Yes, I suppose that you would. And maybe one day, if you’re lucky, you just might get the chance. But until then, let me give you some advice. I have friends. We have ears. We have eyes. We have feet. We get around. We listen and we watch. And I will be listening and watching for you. And know this, my merchant friend, if I ever hear your name, if I ever hear even a whiff of a rumor that you are back in business, I will send you to hell. I will hunt you and kill you. I promise I will.
“So remember me, because I will remember you. Your next day in business will be your last day on this earth. I will hunt you like the sewer rat that you are. I know you believe me; I can see it in your eyes. You know I’m not afraid of the sewer. It doesn’t matter where you hide, I will come after you.”
The Iraqi glared at Sam, and then slowly nodded.
“Go!” Sam commanded.
The Iraqi turned and ran.
Sam took a breath and turned to Azadeh again. “You be careful, Miss Azadeh. But be happy, too. You are off on another adventure, but this is a good one, I swear. Now go with Amina. She’s your friend.
“I’ll remember you, Azadeh, and one day I’ll check up on you. And when I do, I want a good report. I want to hear you speak in English. I want to hear that you’re doing well in school. I want to hear about your new friends and your family. But mostly I want to hear that you’re happy. That’s all I ask.”
Azadeh smiled and nodded, wiping a tear from her eye.
Sam stood and nodded to Bono, then turned for the riverbank. He climbed into the small boat, and his friend pushed it back before climbing in as well, his wet legs splashing water across the side of the boat. Reaching into his vest pocket, Sam pulled out a small pen flare, held it away from his body, and turned his head. Pulling and releasing the firing pin, he sent a flare into the dark sky, where it exploded with a burst of red light.
“Wait here,” he commanded as his boat drifted away. “A friend will come to get you in a blue Nissan pickup. You can trust him. You go with him. He will take you back to Baghdad and deliver you safe.”
Azadeh started to run toward him, but it was already too late. The dark hull drifted into the current, then disappeared silently, slipping into the dark.
TWO
The new king of the House of Saud sat alone in a small office in the presidential penthouse atop the Royal Saudi Oil company headquarters building in Riyadh. He slouched at his desk, his head low, his eyes tired. A small reading lamp was the only light that illuminated the dim office, and there were deep shadows in the corners and across the wood furniture. The king preferred the semi-dark. He didn’t know why—it was just more comfortable to him now. He liked how the dim light softened all the features, making everything a little less harsh, a little less intrusive. The darkness invited open conversation. People were less aware of themselves, more willing to say things. The king had learned a lot of secrets from conversations in the dark, and he had grown comfortable with the night.
King Abdullah al-Rahman was holding a highly classified document in his slender fingers. Although he had read it already, he read it again, this time more slowly, considering its contents carefully.
It was a handwritten report by General Sattam bin Mamdayh, head of the ultra-secret Iranian Interior Police. As director of the highly classified security force, the Iranian general was in a very powerful position, able to operate almost entirely on his own. But he was also three or four layers down in the food chain. Like everyone, he had many superiors whom he had to please. And though his commanders were all powerful men, they had one thing in common: fear of the Saudi king.
King al-Rahman was not Persian, but he controlled many things. Many people. Many organizations. His reach extended much farther than the borders of his land, and there w
as much he could influence beyond his own shores.
The king had to squint to read, for the general’s handwriting was thin and imprecise, his Arabic adequate but barely readable. It told of the general’s attack at Agha Jari Deh, the destruction of the village, the burning of the man, the search for the young one. It told of their frustration, briefly describing the failure of his men to find the last prince.
Although they had done everything possible, they had not succeeded in finding the child. Then the American soldiers had appeared, forcing his men to flee.
American soldiers! Al-Rahman thought, his mouth growing dry. U.S. soldiers had dared to move openly inside of Iran! There had been rumors, even sightings of Special Forces units working inside Iran, searching for hints of their nuclear program, listening, watching, looking for things, but this had been different—these were combat troops. And they had shown up at the village at the very worst time.
The king swore angrily, his gut burning inside.
The Americans were watching. No, they were doing more than that; they were actively working against him, all of it under the table, all of it in secret. And they had stopped the Iranian general before his work was complete.
The king finished the report, stared a moment into the darkness, and then glanced at his watch. At a predetermined time, the general was going to make contact, and the king was waiting up for him.
At ten past one in the morning, the secure telephone rang. Al-Rahman let it ring five times, and then picked up the receiver.
“Yes,” he said simply.
The Iranian General Sattam bin Mamdayh’s voice filled his ear. It was a deep voice, powerful and demanding. “This is General Sattam—” he began.
“I know who you are,” Al-Rahman cut him off in an impatient tone. After reading the general’s report, he was not in a good mood. “I’ve been waiting for your phone call. Now, what’s going on? It’s been almost three weeks; I want to hear some good news.”
The general cleared his throat. “My men have been through the village again. They have searched all the mountains—”
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