Chapter 4

I spent five years with the Northern Tribal Alliance.

In those five years, I learned to speak Pashto and Dari. I learned to read the sky for the tell-tale signs of an oncoming sandstorm and to brew drink from camel thorn to soothe an upset stomach.

My hair grew long enough to cover the scar on my forehead, my skin was tanned to a wheat-gold, and my fingers grew calloused from holding pens and, eventually, a gun. Adam insisted on it.

"Out here," he said, "the only way to trust yourself is to know you can kill the other man."

I never killed anyone, but I learned how to negotiate.

It started with translating documents for Adam and evolved into mediating trades between the tribes and visiting merchant caravans.

I discovered a strange calm that settled over me in high-pressure situations, an ability to find the precise balance of interests just before guns were drawn.

Adam said it was something my husband must have taught me. I told him it was something I learned after being abandoned. When you have nothing left to lose, you have all the leverage in the world.

In 1992, the Freedom Front took the capital. The president fled into exile.

In 1993, the United Nations intervened, and peace talks began.

In 1994, Adam's clan reached a truce with the new provisional government. He was sent to Geneva as a representative, and he took me with him.

"This is your chance," he told me the night before we left. "Your country is sending a delegation."

I was organizing files, and my fingers paused. "I know."

"Edward is on that delegation," he said. "Second Secretary. In charge of commercial negotiations."

I looked up at this man, who was three years my junior. In five years, he had never once asked me about Edward, but it was clear he had been keeping tabs.

"You've been investigating him?" I asked.

"I investigate all my opponents," he said without shame. "Including you, Evelyn Lane. Or as you are now, Sally Noor."

Sally Noor was my name now. "Sally" represented resilience, and "Noor" stood for light. Adam's grandmother had given it to me. She said I had kept my soul clean in the darkest of times.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

Adam came and knelt before me on one knee, the way the men of his tribe did when they proposed marriage. But instead of a ring, he held out a file.

"Our alliance needs investment from your country," he said. "Copper mines, highways, and railways. We need someone who understands your country, who understands Kavala, and who understands how to negotiate. Not as a translator. As a delegate."

"You want me to represent your alliance?" I said.

"I want you to represent yourself," he answered, his eyes shining in the candlelight. "I want you to let the man who abandoned you see exactly what he lost."

I took the file, my fingers brushing over the gold-embossed seal of the provisional government, a spread-winged eagle. "What if I refuse?"

"Then we part as friends," he said. "You go wherever you wish, and I will continue my fight."

I looked into his eyes. There was no manipulation there, only a raw, almost naive anticipation. For five years, he had watched me crawl out of the ruins of my old life, and he knew what I needed most. It wasn't revenge. It was validation.

"Alright," I said. "But I have one condition."

Adam replied, "Name it."

I declared, "At that negotiating table, I want to be seated directly across from him. I want him to see me the second he walks into the room."

Adam grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the dim light. "Done, Ms. Noor."