Slaton heard the rattle of a bus behind him as he tracked his target into the park. He followed Baland around a long fountain, and then down a tiered garden that stepped toward the river. Baland made no apparent attempt at countersurveillance, and at the river he turned left, aiming, Slaton was sure, for the Pont de Levallois. DGSI headquarters was not yet in sight, but Slaton knew where it was, and the bridge became a necessary funnel. Another opportunity noted.
It all went as expected, and Baland disappeared ten minutes later into the concrete-and-glass fortress that was 84 Rue de Villiers. Slaton continued walking south. He pulled out his phone, and after a turn toward the river placed a call. Talia answered immediately.
“I found him right where we thought he would be.”
“That was fast,” she said. “What do you think? Could it actually be Samir?”
“It’s him.”
There was a pause on the Tel Aviv end, then she said, “All right. I should inform Anton before you act.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to act.”
“What do you mean?”
“None of this feels right to me, Talia. Who’s responsible for my being here? Who sent those men and the information on the drive?”
“If you’ve really found Samir, and he’s working at DGSI … what difference does it make?”
“Every difference in the world.” Slaton reached the Seine and turned along the Left Bank. “I think this is a setup against me. But it’s possible Samir is being targeted as well.”
“Who would want that?”
“In my case, there must be a hundred suspects. Samir’s list is probably longer. The problem is cross-referencing the two—I can’t imagine who would come after both of us.”
“So what will you do?”
Slaton told her.
“David … you can’t be serious.”
A moment of silence told her he was. He said, “You can inform Anton, but I don’t want any interference.”
“I’ll make sure he understands.”
“Have there been any changes to Baland’s personal calendar for the next two days? When we last spoke he was set for a one-on-one lunch with the DGSI director tomorrow at a place called Le Quinze.”
“Yes, his calendar still shows it.”
“Good. If there are any changes, let me know right away. But assuming things remain the same, I want you to tell Anton to send me the things we discussed.” For thirty seconds Slaton provided detailed instructions—the address of the hotel in which he was staying, and the precise schedule and means of a transfer. Then he asked her a technical question.
“Baland’s phone?” she said. “Yes, I think I can manage that.”
Slaton explained exactly what he wanted done, then said, “Thanks, Talia. Send me an update tomorrow morning. I’ll call when I’m finished and let you know how it went.”
“What if I don’t hear from you?”
“In that case … you’ll know how it went.”
* * *
Uday’s impure thought came while Sarah was washing the dishes after lunch. She was wearing a full robe—such pretenses were necessary for a man in his position—yet inside their home her head was uncovered, leaving her long raven hair flowing freely over her back. The robe left much to the imagination, yet even through the dense fabric he discerned the familiar lines of her slim figure, and saw her graceful movement as she set clean plates on the counter. Never had he taken such pleasure in simply watching a woman perform a chore.
Uday could take it no longer.
“Woman!” he bellowed. “Come here.… I have need of you!”
She froze for an instant, then turned and looked at him, her face the same blank mask he’d seen on the day she was delivered to him by a squad of Chadeh’s minions. Sarah obeyed. A shuffle of hesitant steps brought her across the room as if floating on air. Uday couldn’t take his eyes off her. She stopped short of where he stood, next to the mattress that lay on the floor. Her head fell bowed in supplication, the translucent olive eyes he knew so well pointed at the ground. She spoke in the girlish voice that so weakened him. “How can I please you?”
There was a long pause before she raised her eyes to meet his. Then Sarah lunged at him and tackled him onto the bed. She pushed Uday onto his back, straddled him, and began pounding her fists on his chest. “You are such a bastard!” she tried to say through her laughter.
He made a halfhearted attempt to deflect her blows. “You must show more respect to a man of my exalted position! I am the Bastard in Chief of Daesh Information.”
Her assault paused. “Well, here is some information, O high and mighty one … you will get nothing until you are nice!”
Uday bucked his hips and Sarah fell to the other side of the bed. He rolled on top of her in a reversal, and was about to start tickling her when he heard a gasp. He went still, and saw a twist of pain in her expression. He immediately rolled away. “I’m sorry, darling—did I hurt you?”
She forged her grimace into a smile, then touched her right forearm. “No, it wasn’t you. It’s only my arm—it still hurts a bit. I’m sure it will pass.”
The thugs who’d delivered her had been rough, injuring her right arm, and even months afterward it bothered her. The day after her arrival it had been severely bruised, but she’d refused to see a doctor—a luxury few could imagine these days.
“I wish you would let me track that man down. I could have him brought before a court and—”
“No, Aziz, you mustn’t! It would only bring suspicion. I want nothing to jeopardize what we have.”
He touched her arm gently, in the way a sculptor might touch his favorite work.
“There, you see?” she said. “You can be nice.” It was no longer her girlish voice, but that of the confident woman who’d burst into his life like a second sun.
“You have taken my heart,” he said.
“No, not taken. You gave it to me, Aziz. And for that I thank God every day.”
He smiled, not considering for a moment that she was referring to a God different from his own. Uday still prayed occasionally, as did she. But when they were together religion was irrelevant; they were like fish from different depths who wanted only to revel in the same sea.
It had begun two months ago, Chadeh’s goons delivering her on a cold and rain-swept night. She’d been taken as a spoil of war, a slave from a dwindling Christian neighborhood. They’d marched her into his house by the elbows and forced her onto her knees in front of him. They asked if she was acceptable, and he’d looked down and seen her beaten figure the first time. She was clad from head to toe that night, her burqa sodden and dirty as though she’d been dragged through the mud. In those first moments he had seen neither her face nor her body, only a hunched and filthy form that was curiously still. Not knowing what to do, Uday had thanked the men and told them he was glad to have her. They seemed disappointed, and only later did he realize why—they had hoped he would reject Chadeh’s gift, leaving Sarah to them.
Uday sent the men away, but even after they were gone Sarah remained motionless. When his hand touched her elbow to help her rise, she jerked away in fear. Uday had retrieved a blanket, knelt in front of her, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Only then did he lift her veil for the first time. When he did, he was stunned by her beauty. Even more so by the defiance in her eyes. Then Uday had done what seemed the only decent thing—he smiled at Sarah. Her defiance softened ever so slightly.
He gave her hot tea that night, and watched her eat ravenously. He provided her a clean gown to wear and surrendered his bed, sleeping on the couch in his workroom. It continued that way for some time, Uday caring for her. Then, on the seventh day, she had dinner prepared when he arrived home after a long day at work. On the tenth she smiled at one of his feeble jokes. That same week they went outside together for the first time. Sarah followed him to the market, and afterward they stopped for tea. They talked for hours about everything except the war, until an officer of the Hisbah, the caliphate’s religious police, ordered Sarah to cover her eyes. She did so immediately, but a furious Uday told the man who he was dealing with and sent him packing. Even so, it was the last time Sarah had gone out in public.
So they carried on in their tiny house, and each day Uday fell more endeared with Sarah. He also became more frustrated with their situation. They agreed to live in the present—for now she was safe, and that was all that mattered. It was in the fifth week, after a wonderful lamb kebab and a pilfered bottle of wine, that Sarah had come to him late one night. She’d given herself to him willfully, even enthusiastically, and if there was ever any doubt it ended there. The two had become lovers in an increasingly despondent world.
Now they lay together languidly on the old mattress, limbs intertwined, talking with what seemed like an old familiarity. She kissed him and put her head on his chest, and he drank in the scent of jasmine in her hair.
“You were gone for so long today,” she said.
“A project at work is keeping me very busy.”
“What does it involve?”
He pushed up until he could see her eyes. “There … I knew all along you were a spy.”
She giggled and buried her face in his shirt. Jasmine again.
“It’s actually something I will tell you about,” he said. “But only when the time is right.”
“I don’t want to know anything about the Daesh!”
Uday opened his mouth, but then stifled the words that were rising. He wanted desperately to confide in Sarah—tell her his wild idea that might set them free. But it seemed only a fantasy. After a thoughtful moment, he asked, “You have told no one of our relationship?”
“Not even my mother … pray that she is still alive.”
“I’m sure she is fine. She must have made it to Jordan. At times I wish you were with her, but if they hadn’t detained you as you tried to leave the city … I would never have known you.”
She maneuvered beside him and kissed him on the lips. Soon they were breathing heavily, her hands fumbling as she unbuttoned his shirt. It all came to an abrupt end when someone pounded on the front door.
Sarah went rigid, and they both looked at the door. More pounding.
“Uday!”
“It’s all right,” he told her. “Go to the kitchen.”
She did, and he fastened a few of his shirt buttons on the way to the door. He opened it to find Anisa. “Uday, you must come quickly!”
“Why?”
Anisa looked past him toward the kitchen, but only for a moment. “I don’t know, but Chadeh is furious.”