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Harris forced his gaze to his dinner and then back to the person watching him. Harris didn’t recognize the man, his dark hair and beard giving him a generic, unremarkable look. He wasn’t tall or short, broad or slim, no outstanding features. The type of person the CIA loved to have on their team.
    The last Harris had heard, he was the only CIA or FBI resource assigned inside the compound. Then again, he hadn’t known another American spy was being placed inside the compound. Were more agents here to deliver a message to Harris or to support his mission? Or did other operatives have their own agendas?
    The CIA operated differently than the FBI. The FBI shared information, and when he was working a case, Harris had access to everyone and everything about that case. The CIA liked to keep information compartmentalized. Perhaps they thought it would limit exposure. If one agent was captured and knew nothing about another, not even torture could drag the information from them, and a multipart mission could find some success.
    Harris returned his attention to the conversation. Laila was speaking about her classes the next semester and the research project she was working on with one of her professors. When she was given a new identity, her life would change dramatically. Leaving her school and abandoning the ties she’d made would be difficult for her.
    Harris took another look around the dining room and disappointment surged through him. No sign of Ahmad Al-Adel, and therefore nothing to report. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. But he had hoped.
    * * *
    Their first wedding event in the compound had gone well. At least Laila believed so. She could tell her mother wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Harris being German and interested in her daughter, but she wasn’t opposed to it enough to forbid it from happening. Harris mentioning his plans to convert to Islam had taken the edge off her disapproval. Laila had spoken to Saafir briefly, and he had expressed his happiness that she had met someone in America and appeared content with her life.
    Harris had asked Laila to meet him somewhere private after dinner. With the number of people moving around the compound, and the eating and socializing going on well past midnight, she and Harris had agreed the courtyard gardens would suffice for a meeting. It was cold enough at night that not many people would venture outside, and the fountains, gazebos and palm trees gave them enough hiding places that she and Harris could speak without being seen.
    Laila stepped into the gardens, the cold of the night sending a shiver up her spine, and she pulled her wool wrap tighter around her shoulders. Her excuse for being outside was to get fresh air. It sounded ridiculous even to her, but if she wanted to talk to Harris alone, this was the best option.
    She had a thousand questions about the events of the night. Harris wasn’t obligated to tell her anything about what he’d learned, but Laila needed some salve for her nerves. She was worried about the American spy who Mikhail had captured and concerned what it would mean for her and Harris. Had other CIA spies gotten access to the compound? Was Harris aware of them and keeping her in the dark? If so, what did that mean for her role in bringing Harris to the compound? She hoped she hadn’t made a big mistake.
    Harris appeared so suddenly, Laila bit back a scream. “You scared me,” she said.
    “Sorry about that,” Harris said. “Are you cold?” He didn’t wait for her answer and took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. It smelled of him, the light scent of sandalwood and spices.
    She couldn’t wait to ask her questions. “What did Mikhail mean by an American getting into the compound?”
    As her eyes adjusted to the dim lights of the gardens, she read worry on his face.
    “I don’t know. I found that odd, as well. Any Americans on the list were invited guests, at least to my knowledge. I’ll need to find out what