Prologue from Dad's POV

***This short story has been published in From the Depths, my school's literary magazine, and more importantly was part of my entry for the NCTE (National Council of Teachers of English) Achievements in Writing contest . . . I was one out of 6 people in my entire state that won!***

March 19, 2004

Today was the day. They had found out. He had been compromised.

Why did his wife have to pick today to go off to her friend's house?

Time was of the essence - they would be caught escaping if they didn't hurry.

Shakir al-Maarri had told no one about his involvement with the CIA. Not his brother, not his parents, not his daughter - not even his wife. They thought the only reason he and his family had come to Syria was for the business.

He had actually grown to like owning his own import/export business. Now the thought came to him that the business would end when he was compromised. But so could his life.

His seven-year-old daughter, Nada seemed oblivious to her father's increasing stress the past few days. Shakir had tried to shield her from what was happening around her, and he hoped it was working.

They were coming.

"Daddy, will you play with me?" she cried.

"Not right now, honey," he responded, nervously glancing towards the door. She would understand later.

"What's wrong, daddy?" she asked, seeing the fear that was written all over his face.

"Nothing, nothing," he replied quickly, dismissing the subject. He sat down uneasily on the couch, ready to jump if he needed to.

"Where's mommy?" she asked.

"She's still at her friend's house, honey. She'll be home soon," he reassured her, then whispered under his breath, "I hope."

"Can I go out and play, daddy?"

"No!" he yelled. He paused. Why am I yelling at her? "You need to stay inside today," he said in a calmer but still very nervous voice.

Nada began to cry softly.

"Honey, honey," her father said, coming to her side, "it's okay. Mommy will be home soon, okay?"

She nodded and stopped crying.

"Sana, where are you?" Shakir said, thinking aloud.

Nada began to cry again.

"Nada, quiet. Honey - you - you need to be quiet right now."

"Why?"

He said nothing. They were coming.

"Sana, come on. We can't leave without you -"

"Leave? Where are we going? Why isn't mommy coming?"

"We're not going anywhere without -" he began, but he immediately stopped when there was a knock at the back door. He stood up from the couch.

Whoever knocked at the door knocked again. Shakir quickly rushed to answer it this time. He waited for a moment inside the door, calming his nerves and gathering up the courage to open the door.

He grabbed the door knob and slowly turned it. He pulled the door open a crack.

Victor was there.

"Vic," he hissed under his breath.

The young-looking Hispanic man stepped inside and closed the door. They slowly walked to the living room.

"Shakir, we have to get out of here," he said, speaking perfect Arabic.

"What!" he exclaimed, "we can't-"

"We have to," he replied, switching to English, looking down at the girl.

"We cannot leave without my wife," Shakir said, also speaking English now.

"Shakir -"

"No! I will not leave without Sana!"

"Your life is in danger here, Your daughter's life - we can't wait any longer, you know that! Besides, your wife - Sana - she is relatively safe here, but if you don't leave now-"

"I do not care! I cannot leave her here, Victor. I will not. I will not leave Sana."

"Alright. We won't leave her. We'll pick her up on our way out. But we have to hurry."

"Nada," he said suddenly, in Arabic, "get your teddy bear."

Victor nodded. He knew that meant they were leaving and not coming back before bedtime.

Nada ran off to her room. Shakir went to his bedroom and started pulling things out of a locked drawer.

"What are you doing?" Victor exclaimed.

"I am leaving nothing for them to find," he replied. "Nothing." He would leave no evidence of his secret life as an American Jew - they would not know he was part of the religion and people they so despised. He gathered the stuff together and put it into a bag.

"What is this stuff?"

"There is no time to explain." He paused. "Don't you think they'll find it strange an American was here on the same day they come to get me?" he asked nervously.

"They won't know," Victor replied and stepped into the other room and carefully looked out the window through the blinds.

"Shakir, we have to go!" he called to Shakir, in Arabic. "They're here! Come on!"

"No!" he shouted, "I will not leave Sana behind!"

"Shakir, come on! I already said we will pick her up on the way - Shakir, we have to go now! There is no time left!"

He pulled him towards the back door, where he had come in. Shakir broke free from his grip and grabbed his daughter's hand. As they ran out the back door, pictures flashed through his mind as he imagined what would happen to his wife and daughter if they were caught escaping.

Victor got into the front passenger seat of the waiting car. Shakir quickly told his daughter to get in the back seat, then he sat down next to her. He put the bag on the floor by her feet.

"Close your door, Shakir," Victor told him. "We have to go."

"Wait-" he said. From the front of the house, he could hear his wife's voice . . .

He pulled his daughter close to his body. "We can't leave yet," he said quietly, his heart racing. "Go around front."

"Shakir, are you crazy?" the driver asked. "They'll see you."

"Just do it, AJ."

They drove around the block, stopping a few houses away. He looked down at his daughter. She was scared. Everything he had tried to protect her from was now starting to come out.

They were everywhere.

They were after him and his family. He was a spy. Now they knew it.

And they had his wife.

He had to decide. He could stay in the car with his daughter, the daughter he loved with all his heart, but leave his wife. Or he could rescue Sana, the love of his life, from certain death but leave his daughter forever without her father. He had to decide if he would live or die. He had to decide who would die a violent, bloody, painful death, and who would live.

He had a choice. Himself or his wife.

He rolled down his window slightly so he could hear what was going on. They were looking for him . . . but he knew his wife would be a good enough substitute if they couldn't find him . . . a good enough substitute to torture and kill . . .

He slowly took his arm off Nada's shoulder. She would be safe with Victor and AJ. He knew what he had to do.

One of the Syrians was threatening his wife, waving his gun at her. "Tell us where Shakir al-Maarri is, or you die, you are shot."

She doesn't know . . . please don't do anything to her . . . she doesn't know anything about this!

"I don't know where he is!" she pleaded. "I don't know!"

He was getting impatient . . . time was running out if Shakir was going to do anything.

"I don't know!"

He lifted his gun to her head . . .

Shakir opened his door.

"What are you doing? Get back in the car!" AJ told him.

He closed the door and ran towards the house.

"Sana!" he called.

The man now had his gun pointed at Shakir, but he kept running.

"Let her go! You don't want her - you have me now!"

He could see the fear in his wife's face. She was crying - she never cried . . .

"Let Sana go! She knows nothing about this - please! I'm the one you want, not her!"

He put his arm around Sana and held her tightly.

The impatient man called over one of his superiors. Shakir didn't catch the whispered question, but the answer was clearly, "Just him."

He pulled his wife closer to him. "I love you," he whispered. She would live.

The cold metal barrel pressed to his head was not cold for long.

The pain was intense as the bullet shattered part of his skull -

His wife started screaming as he hit the ground.

Don't scream, he thought. It will only make things worse for you.

She knelt down next to him. Tears were streaming down her face.

He looked into her eyes. I love you, he thought. I will always love you.

He closed his eyes, the pain too much for him to bear.

"You will live," he whispered very quietly into her ear.

"Get up!" the impatient man shouted. "Get up!"

She didn't. "You killed him!" she wailed. "You killed my husband!"

Shakir opened his eyes again.

"Get up!" he shouted again. "He's not dead yet!"

She was pulled up by her neck, screaming all the way.

"You want me to kill him?"

She broke down in sobs again. "No! Please don't! Please!"

Shakir whispered the words, "I love you," and passed out.

He never heard the shot that ended his life.