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dangled and dropped from his lip. “I—­I not know who you are talking about.”
    â€œWhat I have is a very sharp knife and a sense of urgency. What you do not have is time.”
    â€œI not know—­”
    Kitra reached out and squeezed the stump between her thumb and forefinger. Again Isaac shoved the flashlight in Haddad’s mouth, this time before he could scream. He forced it so deep, the man gagged and coughed.
    â€œWhere is he, or should I sever your dick next? Stuff it in your mouth like that flashlight?”
    Isaac shined the light back on Haddad’s face. Tears poured from the man’s eyes. Snot dripped from his nose and more drool dangled from his lower lip. His chin quivered.
    Haddad coughed some more. “A few miles away.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œA dilapidated school.”
    â€œShow us.”

 
    Chapter Five
    K harija bin Al-­Aswad stood outside the school, smoking a cigarette and staring at the mirror shine on the toes of his shoes. A habit carried over from his army days. The bright sun reflected in the black leather, twin miniature balls of fire in a bright blue sky.
    Behind him the door to the cafeteria hung halfway open. He glanced over his shoulder and watched Gazzar prepping his tools for surgery inside. The American lay there, trying to talk Gazzar out of his task. Futile. Gazzar loved this kind of work and nothing could dissuade him except a direct order from Kharija.
    Exhaling smoke, Kharija turned away and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and began to dial a number. His thumb hesitated over the Talk button, though. Then it moved away and he slid the phone back in his pocket. No, he was not ready to talk to Nassir. Not yet. He could not avoid it much longer, but not yet .
    Instead, his thoughts drifted to his wife and daughter. Malika and little Rasha. Their slender frames and dark fine hair. The almost identical smiles. Like mother like daughter. Lovely and kindhearted and out of his reach.
    Were they safe? Were they taken care of? He could only pray they were. Nassir had assured, him but still . . .
    Block them from your mind, Kharija told himself. Do what is required of you and they will be yours again.
    â€œY ou don’t have to do this,” Mike said as Gazzar spread clear plastic sheeting on the floor around the table.
    Gazzar answered with a grunt.
    Mike moved his head as much as he could from side to side, hoping to find a miracle. Nothing stood out as even remotely achievable. He tried to kick out with his legs and slide his arms up, but the straps locked him in place like a python wrapped around its latest meal.
    â€œI don’t have a lot of money but my agency will reward you handsomely for my safe return.” Mike forced a smile as Gazzar stopped with the plastic and eyed him. “More than these ­people could ever pay you. And I can also promise a safe trip out of Iraq. Anywhere you want. How’s a nice beach in Bermuda sound?”
    Gazzar stepped closer to him, unfastened the top button of his shirt and pulled it apart with his fingers. The same tattoo as the other guardians curled over his sternum toward his neck. Only the ink was stretched and faded due to his girth.
    â€œOf course.” Mike’s smile disappeared. “Shit.”
    Gazzar returned to his plastic. Mike almost wished the man with the nice beard and perfect teeth were here instead. At least he talked. Gazzar only grunted and sighed. But the boss man, or whatever he was, had left him alone with the hulking surgeon.
    Or butcher, Mike thought, and shivered. Well, this might be the end of the line. At least, the end of the line for my legs.
    Gazzar finished with the plastic and walked to the small table with the instruments. His fingers skimmed over the saw and mouth bit and then wiggled over the needle of local anesthetic. He lifted it and moved to Mike’s left leg.
    â€œSeriously, you