“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She sighed as she took a seat at the table opposite him. “I’m not like him.”
“I’m aware. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.” Muhammad set down his glass. “You needn’t worry,hayati. Qabbani no longer has the luxury of breathing. Would you care for some wine?”
“Did you kill him? And yes please.” He could see Viviana glancing around their apartments. She probably wondered why the ones they’d just left behind in Damascus had been built and decorated so similarly. “This is nice. You never have to feel away from home when you’re in Syria.”
His eyebrows rose. She was the first person to ever arrive at the correct conclusion without any help. Even his sister, who Muhammad was so close to, had questioned him. “Astute observation,” he murmured, handing her a glass of red wine. “And no, I didn’t have anything to do with Qabbani’s death. His own soldiers saw to that.”
She muttered something under her breath. At his quizzical expression, she said louder, “They are as sadistic as he is.”
“Many, but fortunately not most. Hence his death.”
Viviana nodded. Silence ensued as they sipped from their wine glasses. Her expression was contemplative. Muhammad wanted to know what she was thinking, but decided it would be prudent to give her time to process everything.
“It doesn’t help,” she finally said, her voice quivering a bit. “I thought knowing would help, but it really doesn’t.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Because it doesn’t bring them back.”
A single tear tracked down her cheek as her gaze found his. “Yet you acquired the information anyway because you realized from firsthand experience I couldn’t know having the answer wouldn’t help until I had it.”
“Something like that,” he murmured.
Viviana stared at him in silence. Muhammad couldn’t be sure what direction her thoughts were going in.
“Why?” she asked softly. At his confused look, she clarified, “Why did you do this for me? And why did you negotiate for me? Who did you negotiate for me with and what did they get out of it?”
“Be certain you genuinely want the answers before you ask the questions.”
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She mulled that over for a suspended pause.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
Muhammad took a deep breath and slowly expelled it. “I acquired the information for you because I know how it feels to lose your family in such a brutal, unnecessary way.” He reached up to his head and absently pulled off the red and white checkeredkufiyascarf he wore. “I obtained the information for you because I realized you could never find a sense of closure without it.”
“And the rest?”
This was going to be difficult. Both to tell and to hear.
“Your people,” he quietly admitted. “I negotiated with your own people.”
Viviana sat stoically, her expression indecipherable. Muhammad said nothing, just continued to stare at her.
“My government planned the deaths of four of its own soldiers and three of its CIA agents?” Her laugh was humorless. “So the world would blame al-Baghdadi for it, I presume?”
He inclined his head. “Naam.”
“Why did they let me live?” she ground out. “Why me?”
“Because I gave them my word you would never be heard from again if they let me keep you.”
“I see.” Viviana’s crimson fingernails began tapping on the table. “Why did they beat you? For effect?”
Muhammad waved that away. “Those ones knew nothing. They were vicious for the sake of being vicious.”
“Apparently a trait they gleaned from their master.”
“Touché.”
“How high up did this go?” Her face blanched. “The president I voted for?”
