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her.
    Dozens more waitstaff filled the room, distributing the first dinner course: beef kabobs with peppers and mushrooms; a vegetable salad with tomato, cucumber and chickpeas sprinkled with feta cheese; and couscous with dried fruit.
    The conversation at the table returned to Laila and Harris.
    “Laila tells me you are converting to Islam,” Khalid said. “I was encouraged to hear this.”
    “Yes, that’s my plan. I know to start a life with her, I need us to have a strong foundation, and that means a belief system that guides us both,” Harris said.
    Iba and Khalid nodded their heads in approval. “What do you do for a living?” Khalid asked.
    Of course, that would be important. His job would need to be the right status for someone like Laila. “I’m taking a leave of absence from the family business to focus on my studies. After I complete my education in America, I’ll return to Germany and take over running the financial side of my family’s company. My father felt it was important for me to have a strong education to best help the business.”
    “And what business is that?” Khalid asked.
    Did he not know? Harris would have assumed when his name appeared on the guest list, the emir’s staff would have checked him out. Or perhaps Mikhail had and had not shared information he’d found with the rest of the family.
    “Uncle, please,” Laila said. “You have days to get to know Harris. You don’t need to ask him so many questions.”
    “I don’t mind talking business,” Harris said. “My family runs an international shipping company. Kuhn Freight will transport anything, anywhere, anytime, by land, sea or air.”
    “Anything?” Khalid said with a smile. “Sounds like a big company.”
    “It started as a small company,” Harris said. “Just my great-grandfather and his brother. It’s grown in leaps and bounds. We primarily help with international moves and work with businesses that transfer their employees to another country for work. But no job is too large or too small.” Let that get back to Mikhail. He’d have to see the value in ties to a shipping company with great resources and connections.
    “Why don’t you tell us about your studies?” Iba asked her daughter.
    “I’m working on my thesis with my advisor. It’s taking longer than I had planned, since I had some additional classes to complete before I started the program, but I’ll present it next semester,” Laila said.
    It was the first Harris had heard her speak of her education.
    “A man may not like for his wife to be more educated than he is,” Iba said quietly. “Perhaps you should enjoy the learning, but not pursue the degree.”
    Hurt shadowed Laila’s eyes. She’d wanted her mother’s support.
    Though he felt strange saying anything, he interjected, “It’s wonderful for Laila to have a master’s degree in communication. So much she can do with that. My parents are pleased to know she’ll be helpful in the family business,” Harris said.
    Laila beamed at him.
    What were her plans with her degree? Before he’d offered a new life in America, had Laila planned to forget her education after she entered into an arranged marriage?
    Laila took control of the conversation, telling her mother and uncle about her classes, and her options for the future. She walked just shy of stating she would not return to Qamsar, though her relationship with Harris implied it.
    Making a note to ask her more about it when they were alone, Harris half listened, half scanned the room around him, trying to place names and faces. He’d been given a list of invited guests that were of interest to the CIA. That list ran over four hundred people long. The total invitee list was well over a thousand.
    Harris had an encrypted, protected program on his phone that would allow him to check faces later, but for the present, it was safest to observe.
    He felt eyes on him and noticed someone in his peripheral vision looking in his direction.