There was still one possibility she could think of. It was a risk, but less extreme than the option at the bottom of her pocket.
When she got up to leave again, Tariq reached after her like a child who couldn’t bear to be left alone. “Where are you going?” he moaned.
“Not far,” she said. “Just wait here. I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
HALA LEFT TARIQ at the back of the alley and crossed the street to the bus station.
There was every reason to feel terrified right now, but she wasn’t. The more Tariq seemed to be giving up, the more determined she became. Their backs were against the wall, and so what? They’d been there before. They had trained hard for just this eventuality.
And, if the worst did happen — if the capsules proved necessary in the end — there were still nine rounds left in her gun. That meant nine more Americans who would die before she did.
Inside the mostly deserted bus terminal, she crossed the waiting area to a small bank of battered and heavily graffitied pay phones at the back. Surprisingly enough, the first one she picked up gave a dial tone, and she pressed zero.
It took an irritating amount of time to place the call — overseas, collect, to Saudi Arabia. The American operator was virtually useless.
But then all at once a familiar voice was there on the other end of the line, accepting the charges.
“Hala, darling, is it you?” her mother said in Arabic. “Where are you?”
“Still in America, Mama,” Hala said. It was strange, using her native language after so many weeks of English. “Our business isn’t done here yet. Tariq and I are staying on First Street. Between K and L.”
“I don’t know what that means, Hala. K and L?”
“It’s where we’re staying right now,” she said.
“But when are you coming home?” her mother wanted to know. “Fahd and Aamina ask about you every day. They miss you so much.”
Hala squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that wanted to come. She mustn’t do anything to draw attention here, she knew. Not even the smallest thing. She would not let herself cry, or show any other weaknesses.
“Give them my love, Mama,” she said. “Please.”
“But they’re right here,” her mother said.
“No! I can’t stay on the phone,” she tried, but too late. A moment later, Fahd’s sweet voice was in her ear.
“Mama! I miss you!”
“I miss you, too. Are you being a good little man?” she asked. Her own voice was thick. She hoped the boy wouldn’t notice. It was nearly overwhelming.
“Yes, Mama. We’re learning about geology in school. Do you know what sedimentary rock is?”
“I do,” she said. “But, Fahd, I can’t talk right now. Mama has to go.” She could hear poor little Aamina clamoring for a turn in the background. “Back to First Street, between K and L. Across from the bus station.”
“What, Mama?”
“I have to go,” she said quickly. “Tell your sister that Papa and I love her very much. We love you, too. You are the best children in the world.”
“Will we see you soon?” he asked.
Hala gave the only answer she could bring herself to give. “Yes,” she said. “Soon. Very soon.”
Hanging up the phone on Fahd was as difficult as anything Hala had been called upon to do in America. But also just as necessary. Every second she spent in public here was a large risk. As soon as she’d gathered herself, she turned and walked quickly back the way she’d come.
Now all she could do was pray that the right people — and none of the wrong ones — were listening in on her parents’ telephone calls. The Family was very thorough that way, but so much had changed in the past few days.
Whether or not they’d heard what she said, and whether they’d come for her and Tariq, only time would tell.
Inshallah.