The Ambassador's Wife by Jennifer Steil Page B

whom she is responsible.
    These thoughts take less than a millisecond to fly through her mind while she searches all her pockets again for her phone. The other two women stand close, cracking nervous jokes. Neither is panicking, no one is in tears.
    Mukhtar is suddenly at her side. “They want you to walk toward that house,” he says, pointing to a stone structure across the valley.
    â€œNo,” Miranda says reflexively. “Not into a house.” For some reason she feels that would be the end of them, to enter an enclosed structure. As long as they stay outside, there are escape routes. Still, inspired by the approach of several rifle barrels, the three women begin to slowly shuffle in the direction indicated.
    Miranda’s hands continue to fruitlessly search her pockets.
    â€œHere,” whispers Doortje. “Use mine.” She slips Miranda her phone. Turning away from their captors, Miranda flips it open. Thank god she has memorized Finn’s number. With shaking fingers, she dials.
Please pick up
, she silently pleads.
Please pick up
. It isn’t easy to reach him during the workday. He is often in meetings, and his cell phone doesn’t work in the embassy.
    But Finn answers immediately. “Sweetheart?” she says, weak with relief. “We’re in trouble.”
    â€œWhat’s happened?” His voice is steady and alert.
    â€œThere are men with guns who have us, they are trying to corral us somewhere—” She struggles to string words together in a way that makes sense.
    â€œWhere are you?”
    She turns to Kaia. “Do you know where we are?”
    Kaia takes the phone and gives Finn directions to the beginning of their hike. But they have been walking into the mountains for more than two hours, and they don’t know exactly where they are. Finn asks to speak with Mukhtar. Miranda looks up. Mukhtar is still arguing with the men. She isn’t sure she should interrupt. “We’ll call you back,” she tells Finn.
    â€œI’m ringing the Minister of the Interior,” he says. “We’ll findyou. Tucker knows your route.” How could Miranda allow herself to become hysterical when he is so calm? It’s as if she has called to give him the weather report or ask what he would like for dinner. Just hearing his voice steadies her.
    The tallest man in white moves slowly down the ridge toward them, never lowering his weapon. Mukhtar leaves the group of men and joins them.
    â€œDo not worry, Miranda,” he says cheerfully. “You will be okay. You will be okay even if I have to give my life.”
    â€œThank you, Mukhtar, but I hope that is not necessary.” Miranda smiles at him. “Would you talk with Finn?” She hits redial and hands him the phone.
    A shot suddenly explodes the air by her head. Miranda didn’t see who fired it or from what direction it came. But she is facing Mukhtar, and she sees the expression of surprise on his face as a red bloom spreads across his cheek. His ear is gone, the phone gone. Slowly, with a helpless look at Miranda, he crumples to the ground. She stares at him in horror.
    â€œYalla!”
a man yells at them. The man in white is behind them now, indicating with his rifle the direction they are to walk.
“Yalla, ilal bait,”
he says. Miranda cannot move her legs. Her knees fold beneath her and she reaches for Mukhtar, touching his face. His cheek is damp and warm.
“Sadeeqee,”
she says. My friend.



JANUARY 2007
    Miranda
    Struggling with several bags of produce, she had turned a corner onto a nameless cobblestone street of the Old City as twilight approached and nearly knocked Finn over. He was just standing there, a still island in the river of humanity swirling past him, conversing with a Mazrooqi in fatigues. Small boys steered their wheelbarrows of mangoes around him with snorts of annoyance and shadowy women shrank toward the limestone walls of the