CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

BEFORE AN ARGUMENT COULD ensue, Hassan closed the door and slashed his hand across his throat. A distant thump enforced the gesture. In utter silence we listened to the muffled sounds of people searching Hassan’s home for our presence. Gradually each of us exhaled, permitting a modicum of relief.

It appeared Hassan’s extended family had bought the storm shelter ruse.

Petrosian was the first to speak. “You might not like it, but this is the only way. You asked for my help. I’m giving it to you. Pull the burr out of your butt, and get some sleep. Your precious unit will be fine. I’m sure they can handle a night on the floor.”

Hassan added, “In the morning we will join an adkhala abadan ceremony. It will cloak our progress into the Rub’ al Khali. From there we will be free to track Rodchenko.” He opened the door. “As-salamu alaykum.” Without further words, he disappeared.

“I’ll be behind the first door on the right, so stay the hell away from it. I’ll knock when dinner arrives.” Petrosian exited, closing the door after him. At least they had left the lantern.

“Well then.” I patted the mattress beside me.

Adel sat.

“Don’t say I never take my family anywhere fun.”

Over the next several minutes, we gradually reclined until nearly asleep on top of each other.

“So what exactly happens at an adkhala abadan ceremony anyway? Or do I not want to know?” Evie spoke in a hushed voice.

Adel drew a sudden breath, as though she’d been on the verge of sleep. “The turning, or never to return.” She sat up slightly, lacing her fingers through mine. “When a young boy or man still in his prime contracts the twitch, he is marched into the desert and ritually buried.”

“Buried? Alive?”

“Not physically,” I interrupted.

“Symbolically,” Adel resumed. “The family mourns his transition from this world to the world of the jinn. The twitch is the sign that a young man has been chosen to fight on behalf of the believing jinn against the jinn infidels.”

“The Rub’ al Khali is where the veil between the two worlds is thinnest,” I added.

“And since the followers of the desert god believe they owe their nation to the heroics of Jinn Hariq—”

“Otherwise known as Oleg.” Evie was tracking.

Adel nodded. “It is considered a sad, yet noble, honor to dedicate their young men to the battle. During the adkhala abadan, the young men’s rebreathers will be removed. A fire will be lit, upon which all the young men’s possessions will be burned. Stripped to their undergarments, the young men will be left to wander the desert.”

“That’s horrible.” Evie trembled.

“If they are found acceptable, the desert god will save them, recruiting them into his army.”

“Except they won’t be fighting jinn.”

“No, they won’t.” I held her close. Evie bore her empathy with more conviction than I had mustered for anything other than being her father. Taking her empathy away would reduce who she was. And yet, watching her grieve pained me.

“We have to save them.”

I nodded, sleepier by the minute. “Let’s kill Oleg, and go from there.”

“Okay, Daddy.” She nestled against me, talking in her sleep. “Sounds like a plan.”

We awoke at four in the morning local time. None of us had heard the knock announcing dinner. Petrosian had left the plate of pita, falafel, and fruit on the desk at the head of the beds. The lamp, having burned down, preserved a reservoir of fuel.

Rested, fed, and happy to be together, we spent the next hour talking in spurts about where we would travel after we’d put the current ugliness behind us. Slightly past five, a knock came at the door. This time we were up and ready in seconds. I opened it, extending Petrosian the traditional greeting. “As-salamu alaykum.”

“Jiminy Cricket’s crutches, As-salamu yourself. And come on, if you wanna get to the prison before the lynch mob does.”

Adel flashed me a concerned look.

I shook it off. “I told you Grish was a morning person.”