PROLOGUE I Iraq Five Years Ago “Little American whore.” The kick was harder this time, aimed at the tender flesh of Chaya’s stomach, driving the breath out of her and causing her to send a tortured cry through the small cell she had been tossed into. Her cry. She knew it was her scream, strangled and agonized, but it no longer sounded familiar to her. Reality had receded the day before, and it hadn’t yet returned. She had been dragged from her car just outside Baghdad, blindfolded, and shoved into a van. And that had been a walk in the park compared to the hours since. “How much easier would it be, whore, to simply give us what we need?” The muzzle of a handgun caressed her cheek. “You could die then. Quickly. There would be no more pain. Wouldn’t that be nice? No more clamps attached to tender parts of your body. No more electricity. No more kicks. All you need to do is tell us who contacted you. Tell us the information they have.” The voice was an insidious whisper inside her head as she felt herself crying. Curled in on herself, shuddering with sobs. Oh God, please don’t let them hurt her anymore. She could feel the bruises along her body now, the swollen tenderness of her nipples, the fragility of