her that it was early enough that anyone with a choice would still be asleep. But she didn’t have a choice—not if she wanted to keep her job.
In spite of that, she rolled over, crushing the soft pillow, relishing the warm August morning and the comfort of the bed for a few extra moments. Then she studied the white mesh of the playpen that sat on the floor six feet away.
You must have known Mommy needed sleep
, Cait thought. So strange, to think of herself as a mother, even seven months after she had given birth.
It had all started with Nizam. In so many ways, it seemed to Cait that her entire adult life had begun in the moment shehad first seen Nizam. Her unit had been providing security for a group of outreach specialists who had been trained to interact with the civilian Iraqi community, trying to create good will amongst those who weren’t already their enemies. Sometimes the outreach specialists would bring bicycles to kids in certain Baghdad neighborhoods, and that day they’d given out nearly a dozen bikes, all brand new and gleaming with metallic colors.
They’d been in a public square not far from the Kufa wall, with houses and apartments on one side, but mostly shops on the other. The thermometer had read 117 degrees and not even Ronnie—the wiseass in their unit—had made any jokes about it being a dry heat. That kind of thing had stopped being funny at the end of June. Now it was mid-July and Cait had sweat dripping into the crevices of her body—places she couldn’t reach in uniform, draped as she was with equipment and weapons. They tried to smile, to be friendly to the civilians, but all they wanted was to go home.
When the last bicycle had been ridden away and the P.R. soldiers had gotten the last thank-you from a widow whose face was covered with burn scars, they all returned to their vehicles, smiling but wary. Cait could still remember the way the breeze seemed to still when they spotted the green bike lying on its side in the mouth of a small alley between a curry restaurant and an abandoned smoke shop. One of the outreach people, a handsome Arizonan named Griggs, started toward the bike, curious and not cautious enough by half.
Several voices from the unit called out for Griggs to halt, but the outreach team were the officers there. Cait’s unit was only along for security. Griggs insisted, wanting to do his job properly, and a moment later Cait and Jordan were flanking the guy as he made his way toward the bike. Most of the people who had been in the square a few minutes earlier had departed, the children and their bicycles vanishing as though by magic.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cait caught movement. She could barely breathe the super-heated air and now her heart was pounding as if it might burst through her chest. She swung the barrel of her weapon toward the movement andsaw a man standing in front of a faded apartment building. Tall and thin, he wore his dishdasha knotted up at the hips, with light cotton trousers underneath. His head was bare, without the traditional thagiyah most of the men adopted at a young age, and he stood with his arms crossed in front of him, idly smoking a cigarette.
But what struck Cait immediately were the man’s eyes. They were wide and brown and gleamed with an intelligence that entranced her, even from twenty yards away. His gaze had locked on her and she had hesitated, wondering if she might be imagining that she was the sole focus of his attention. Then, as she watched him, he had given a single shake of his head, slow but emphatic, after which he had turned and vanished into the apartment building.
Jordan and Griggs had almost reached the green bike. Cait glanced back at the short convoy of vehicles, where other members of the unit stood guard, scoping the rooftops and balconies and alleys for any sign of danger. But she knew that the danger wasn’t going to come from there.
Cait had shouted at Griggs, running toward him. The idiot had ignored
In spite of that, she rolled over, crushing the soft pillow, relishing the warm August morning and the comfort of the bed for a few extra moments. Then she studied the white mesh of the playpen that sat on the floor six feet away.
You must have known Mommy needed sleep
, Cait thought. So strange, to think of herself as a mother, even seven months after she had given birth.
It had all started with Nizam. In so many ways, it seemed to Cait that her entire adult life had begun in the moment shehad first seen Nizam. Her unit had been providing security for a group of outreach specialists who had been trained to interact with the civilian Iraqi community, trying to create good will amongst those who weren’t already their enemies. Sometimes the outreach specialists would bring bicycles to kids in certain Baghdad neighborhoods, and that day they’d given out nearly a dozen bikes, all brand new and gleaming with metallic colors.
They’d been in a public square not far from the Kufa wall, with houses and apartments on one side, but mostly shops on the other. The thermometer had read 117 degrees and not even Ronnie—the wiseass in their unit—had made any jokes about it being a dry heat. That kind of thing had stopped being funny at the end of June. Now it was mid-July and Cait had sweat dripping into the crevices of her body—places she couldn’t reach in uniform, draped as she was with equipment and weapons. They tried to smile, to be friendly to the civilians, but all they wanted was to go home.
When the last bicycle had been ridden away and the P.R. soldiers had gotten the last thank-you from a widow whose face was covered with burn scars, they all returned to their vehicles, smiling but wary. Cait could still remember the way the breeze seemed to still when they spotted the green bike lying on its side in the mouth of a small alley between a curry restaurant and an abandoned smoke shop. One of the outreach people, a handsome Arizonan named Griggs, started toward the bike, curious and not cautious enough by half.
Several voices from the unit called out for Griggs to halt, but the outreach team were the officers there. Cait’s unit was only along for security. Griggs insisted, wanting to do his job properly, and a moment later Cait and Jordan were flanking the guy as he made his way toward the bike. Most of the people who had been in the square a few minutes earlier had departed, the children and their bicycles vanishing as though by magic.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cait caught movement. She could barely breathe the super-heated air and now her heart was pounding as if it might burst through her chest. She swung the barrel of her weapon toward the movement andsaw a man standing in front of a faded apartment building. Tall and thin, he wore his dishdasha knotted up at the hips, with light cotton trousers underneath. His head was bare, without the traditional thagiyah most of the men adopted at a young age, and he stood with his arms crossed in front of him, idly smoking a cigarette.
But what struck Cait immediately were the man’s eyes. They were wide and brown and gleamed with an intelligence that entranced her, even from twenty yards away. His gaze had locked on her and she had hesitated, wondering if she might be imagining that she was the sole focus of his attention. Then, as she watched him, he had given a single shake of his head, slow but emphatic, after which he had turned and vanished into the apartment building.
Jordan and Griggs had almost reached the green bike. Cait glanced back at the short convoy of vehicles, where other members of the unit stood guard, scoping the rooftops and balconies and alleys for any sign of danger. But she knew that the danger wasn’t going to come from there.
Cait had shouted at Griggs, running toward him. The idiot had ignored
Similar Books
