Page 116 of Countdown

Heba hadn’t been feeling well, and her mother took her to the hospital. The doctor did a sonogram and saw the deformity and suggested aborting the child. Heba was inconsolable. Seif promised her he would work harder to pay for the doctors. Whatever his child needed, he would provide ... except. Except Seif was already working hard to afford the lifestyle Heba was accustomed to. How could he add more work? Her family would look down on him, convinced they had been right about him the entire time.

The man’s eyes were cloudy, but the wrinkled skin around them seemed to sag in sadness as he reached into his robe and pulled out an envelope.

“It is good what you are doing for your child. Inshallah, all will be well.”

Taking the envelope, Seif nodded. He let the contents fall into his hand, and his knees went wobbly. An Egyptian passport. A mobile phone. And an airline ticket to Washington, DC.

I am going to America?

Seif glanced up, trying to make sense of what was happening—what was being asked of him.

“I don’t understand. Heba, my wife, will she not go with me?”

Another shake of the head. “You will travel to America. You will be contacted when you land”—a gnarled finger tapped the cell phone in Seif’s hand—“by a man who will give you further instructions.”

“La’a.” Seif nearly shouted, the act drawing concerned glares from a pair of men standing nearby whom Seif hadn’t noticed. Each carried an automatic rifle over his shoulder. “No.” In a previous phone call with Mahmoud Farag, he promised he would get Heba the right doctors to help her, to help our child. He looked down at the airline ticket. “She should go to America with me. They have the best doc—”

The man held up a hand, silencing Seif. “Your wife and childwill have the best doctors here in Egypt, but first you must do your part.”

A car pulled around from the back of the village, exhaust darkening the air behind it.

“You want to help your family, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then go. Inshallah, all will be well.”

The idling car’s engine rumbled behind Seif like a sinister growl. Dropping the passport and phone back into the envelope, he climbed into the passenger seat. As the village grew smaller with every mile, Seif studied the airline ticket he held in his hand.

Passports, like the education at Cairo American College, were a privilege. Obtaining one took money, connections, and luck. But the ticket to America ... that was a blessing. Was Allah blessing him? Finally?

Seif’s eyes caught the date on the ticket.Today!He swiveled in his seat to look over his shoulder at the specks in the distance. In the back seat was a black backpack.

“The bag?”

The driver slid an unfriendly glance his direction. “Yours.”

Seif pulled the backpack across the seat and opened it. Inside were a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a map of Washington, DC, and a roll of American dollars. He zipped the bag and pushed it to the floor between his feet.

Seif had no idea why he was going to America or what his part was, but if this was Allah’s blessing, he would accept it—and ignore the feeling he had made a deal with the devil.