May 1988

I knew Colonel Smith's address without looking it up now. As I wrote the address on the blue airmail envelope, I tried to recall if this was the fifth or sixth letter I'd written to him. He wrote first; I came into my office a week after taking up my new position and found an airmail envelope bearing American stamps waiting here on my desk. Of course, he knew my regiment, so could write to me care of that. When I wrote back, I enclosed my own address and a week later a letter arrived at my home.

We've written regularly since then. Of course as soldiers and officers, we have many common interests, and yet there is more to it than discussions of military history. I would have liked to know him in person for longer than I did. There's so much he can teach me. About command of course, but more than that. I could learn from him how to be strong again.

In his letters, he mentioned a book about the A-Team written by a journalist, Amy Allen, who worked with them for a time. She must be a remarkable woman if they allowed her to join them on their jobs. America is, as Kahil says, a very different world. So I ordered Miss Allen's book shipped over from the United States. That cost a ridiculous amount, but I'm glad I did. There are only hints in there about the time Colonel Smith and his men spent in prison camps in Vietnam, but I can read between the lines, and from meeting them, from things Smith said to me...

I know he went through what I did, worse even. Over a longer period anyway. Yet he's so strong now, far stronger than I was even before my interrogation. I have so much I'd like to ask him. How did he fight back afterwards? How long did it take him, all of them, to fully recover?

I've touched on this in my letters, indicated I still suffer some effects. Some effects. I have always understated matters. He told me one thing I already know. Trust my friends.

I do that. One of course in particular.

And I heard his voice then, in the outer office. Kahil laughing and calling out the name of another friend. At once, I jumped up and hurried out, to find Kahil and Idris greeting Javid Noor, with handshakes and embraces.

"Javid." I walked up to him, smiling in delight, and embraced him too.

He laughed as we embraced and then smiled at me. "Reporting as ordered for the classified lunch mission."

Kahil punched him playfully on the arm. "You've been on too many lunch missions lately. You need to have your uniform let out."

"Perhaps I'll treat myself to a new one, when I get my major's insignia," Javid said. "Six months time, my CO says."

"That's good," I said, shaking his hand. "It should be sooner."

"Not available until then. Anyway, I like being a captain; it's quite a dashing title I think."

This made us all smile. Though Kahil was right about his uniform being tight. Javid did not look as if he'd been doing much dashing anywhere, except to the dinner table. I think his wife has been feeding him a little too well. I glanced at the clock on the wall, over Faraj's desk.

"Almost one, we should leave now. We're taking you to one of Idris's favourite restaurants, Javid, so the food will be delicious and ruinously expensive."

"That's me living off bread and dates for a month," Kahil said, laughing and fetching his jacket and cap from the coat stand.

"I am quite happy to pay for the meal," Idris said, looking mildly insulted.

"I'm joking." Kahil shook his head, and glanced at me. Sometimes Idris exasperated him. Those two got on much better when they were side by side in a ditch, under heavy fire, than they did sharing an office.

"Let me get my things." I turned back into my office to fetch my jacket and cap and as I walked in there the telephone rang.

I really should not have answered it.

I checked the clock. One fifteen.

"We'll lose our reservations," Idris said. Javid nodded, sitting on the edge of my desk, twirling his cap around in his hands. I glanced into the office. Faris still stood by his desk, still talking on the phone. Well, what do you do when some general at the defence ministry calls? Tell him to ring back, you're going to lunch?

Faris caught me looking and grimaced as he went on talking, annoyed and impatient looking. I turned to Idris, who sat at his own desk.

"You two could go on ahead, get the table. Order for us if you want, you know what we like."

Javid looked at Idris and shrugged. "Suits me."

Idris frowned. He's always frowning. Very moody lately. But he stood up and put on his jacket, which he'd taken off before he sat down again. Creases are not regulation.

"Very well. We'll take my car." He nodded to me. "See you soon." Javid raised his hand in a wave to Faris, who waved back, guessing where they were going.

Once they left, I stood by the window, only half-listening to Faris still talking, while I looked out over the parade ground, and then beyond, to the desert. Summer was coming, the days growing hotter. This office looked out into the desert and not the other direction into the city, and that pleased me, because I knew Faris found it easier to think while gazing out at that endless view.

Sometimes it felt not quite right though. The view was to the south, not north where the camp stood. Strange, that felt like my country now and his country, even though we're both from here in the south, near the city. Our hearts are north, in the high desert. We have sand in our veins.

"Kahil."

I turned, startled to find he'd come out of his office, putting on his jacket. I hadn't heard him end his phone call.

"Sorry, I was... Uh, Idris and Javid went on ahead."

"Good idea. Let's go."

I picked up my cap from my desk by the window. Faris often asked me how I, the junior officer, had ended up with the best desk, the one beside the window. But I have some secrets even from him. As we left the offices, I saw him put a blue envelope into his pocket.

"Writing to Colonel Smith again?"

"Yes."

Even if he wrote the letter here, I never saw him drop it into our outgoing mail tray. He always bought his own stamps. I know for a fact that many other officers around here aren't that principled. Small principles and large ones go hand in hand for him. Hand in hand. I wanted to hold his hand then as we walked. I didn't.

"Perhaps you can visit the Colonel in Los Angeles one day?"

"Me? Or we?" Faris smiled at me, teasing me a bit, seeing right through me.

"Well, I've always wanted to visit America."

"I'm sure you will one day."

I drove us the short distance to the restaurant in his car, but had to park almost a block away.

"We might as well have walked," I complained as I got out of the car.

"Never mind," he said as he adjusted his cap. "It's a fine day. We'll build an appetite with a walk."

I hoped so. Not for me, I always had an appetite. But he was too thin. I was sure he'd lost weight since we - he had returned home. He's told me that he gets no real enjoyment from food any more and perhaps living alone, eating alone, has made him even less likely to eat properly. I would have to invite him to my flat for dinner more often. We don't spend as much time together as I'd like. For appearances sake.

As we walked, silent most of the time, I glanced at him. We could walk like this, not needing to talk, to chat or make small talk. Just being together felt like enough. It had to be enough. I had vowed to myself that I wouldn't try to change this into something else. Not now.

This had to be enough. Whatever else I wanted.

I saw it then. A car, moving fast at first and then slowing as it came closer. I saw a man lean out of the window on the passenger side. I saw the gun barrel.

Everything slowed down then. Not just that car, but the whole world. Time stretched and started to crawl, when I saw the gun was aimed at Faris.

Assassin.

And I'm his guardian. My job title may not include 'bodyguard' now, but I'll always be his guardian. Always. Though in that moment I feared it might not be for much longer.

The gun fired. I saw the muzzle flash, the puff of smoke, but I had already started to move.

I stepped in front of Faris.

He's fretting, I can see it. He's still fretting, I should say, as he's been this way for months now.

"How's Kahil doing?" I picked up my water glass. "Settling in?"

"He's... fine."

A significant enough pause to give me pause.

"Problem?"

"Not really. He's just not what we're used to, that's all. He's good with the men, but I don't think he's good in the right way."

Well at least it seems to be military matters he's fretting about. Not The Relationship.

"What do you mean exactly?"

"He's too friendly with them. Too close to them. When he's training men he's too inclined to demonstrate rather than simply tell them what to do."

"Do the men like him?"

"They seem to, but I think that kind of thing encourages insubordination. They make... jokes. He lets them get away with saying things he shouldn't."

"Nothing wrong with a bit of banter, it encourages comradeship."

"Of course, but not between officers and the men. He needs to realise more formality is expected now we're back in the structure of the Army." Idris scowled now. "Sometimes he acts more like a sergeant than an officer. Sometimes I..." he paused significantly again, and poured himself some water. "Sometimes I think that's what he is, at heart. Just because his father happened to have money, he went to university and that meant he joined as an officer. But at heart, he's not."

He looked totally serious as he said it. Didn't look as if he'd just been possessed by the spirit of someone from a hundred years ago or anything.

"You mean he's not the right class?"

"Exactly."

Sometimes I wonder why I like Idris so much.

"Idris, Kahil's an officer. And not just by luck. He's one of the best officers I've seen. He's still young, he's still learning, but he's a natural leader. And if he sticks with Faris and learns from him, then by the time he's Faris's age, he'll have been marked out as a future general. If he's not become one already."

I loved the way Idris's jaw dropped then. Maybe I was exaggerating a bit, though I'm certain Kahil has a great future ahead of him. But exaggeration could be fun, when it shook Idris up like that. I smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

"It's not a laughing matter. He is... I think he is a bad influence on the Major."

I stopped smiling then. Did he still worry about The Relationship then?

"Is there still a problem there? Are they...?"

"I think they are still too preoccupied with each other, but I don't really mean that. Anyway, the Major had given me his word there is nothing to worry about there."

"His word?" And then it was time for my jaw to drop. And time for me to almost knock over my water glass. I wanted to shout, but had to keep my voice low, a hiss. "You asked him?"

"Yes."

Okay, he just said that as cool as ice. Now I remember why I like him. Balls of steel.

"You actually asked him if they are... Or were... What did he say?"

"I don't want to discuss the details. But he gave me his word."

I shook my head, still feeling stunned. "You just asked him? Incredible. Didn't he punch you in the face?"

"Certainly not."

"Kahil would have."

"I'm sure he would. And if you imagine for one moment that I would have asked him, then you don't know me at all, Javid."

I was worried then. He had an edge in his voice that I'd not heard before, when he spoke about Kahil. Almost contempt. I know there's tension between those two, but I always believed there was genuine affection and admiration too.

"So what do you mean by a bad influence?"

"I've noticed his religious practice leaves much to be desired. He misses prayers. He often misses going to the mosque on Fridays. I've seen him drink alcohol and gamble."

"None of us are perfect, Idris. We can only work towards it."

"I don't think he does work towards it. I think he shows no... no sincerity in his faith at all."

"Well, that's as maybe, but really that's his own business isn't it?"

"Not when he is such a strong influence on the Major."

"And the Major's faith is his own business." I'd gone back to wondering why I liked him again. People should spend less time poking their noses into other men's prayers and concentrate on their own. I didn't like this subject, Idris could get very self-righteous and it could only lead to bad feeling between us. I didn't see my dear friend as much as I'd like, I wanted to enjoy the time with him.

"How are things going with Mehdi?" I asked and his face softened from the scowl he'd worn.

"He's getting used to me again, is starting to believe I really am his father. We keep showing him photographs of the two of us from before and he's just about starting to understand that he's the boy in the pictures. Perhaps he'll eventually actually remember me."

"I'm sure he will."

"Actually, I have..." He glanced around and bent closer to me across the table. "I have some news." Whatever this news was, it made him smile, which I was glad to see. "Don't tell anyone, we have only just found out and it is still very early, but Janan is going to have another baby."

This time I did knock my water glass over as I reached across with both hands to grasp one of his, laughing.

"Congratulations! My friend, I am delighted!" I laughed. "Ah, once Kiana finds out I know she'll decide it's time for us to do the same."

"It is."

Idris called over a waiter to replace the wet tablecloth, just as another waiter arrived with our meals. I looked at my watch and frowned.

"Where are those two? Faris can't still be on the phone."

The door slammed back then and I turned to see a woman rush in, frantic looking. Her headscarf streamed out behind her, like a sea green banner, edged with gold thread that glinted in the sun.

A man, the restaurant owner Idris had introduced me to when we arrived, ran to take her arms. She must be his wife I realised, as a basket she carried fell to the floor, spilling packets of spices.

"What is it?" He asked the question for everyone in the restaurant, who were all staring at the frantic woman now.

"A man! A man in uniform! They shot him!"

I didn't see it, not the car, not the gun, just heard the shot. Kahil fell against me, as if the noise shoved him back. His weight and my instincts made me fall too, with him in my arms. My body slammed into the pavement, and I tried to keep his from doing the same, put a hand on the back of his head to stop it hitting the ground.

More shots, and screams from around us. I threw myself across him, shielding him. He moaned under me and I knew he was alive at least. Tyres screeched, the assassin's car hurtled away, I saw it now, as I rolled off Kahil, still lay beside him, an arm across his chest, looking around, searching for more threats. Other cars braked to avoid the speeding car, blared horns, people ran around panicking, scared and I couldn't see anyone pointing a weapon at us.

I turned to him, as the world faded into mist around me, sounds muffled and all I could see was his face, eyes wide, fixed on mine.

"It doesn't hurt." His voice only a whisper, a breath. How could I even hear it with all the chaos around us? "I thought it would hurt more."

I felt something warm and damp on my arm and looked down to see blood soaking into my sleeve where my arm lay across his chest. The wound. Afraid of it, I lifted my arm, fearing a spurt of blood. No spurt, but blood, plenty of it, soaking into his jacket. When he whimpered, I turned back to him.

"Please..." he lifted his own arm, and pulled mine back across him. He wanted me to hold him. He thinks he's going to die, wants to die in my arms. I won't let it happen. I won't let him die. Not here, like this. Insane. Surviving months of combat, only to die in peacetime on a city street? How can that happen?

And to die for me! To die from a bullet that had my name on it. It had to be me they wanted to kill. I've had threats, anyone prominent on our side has. If he dies because of me...

"An ambulance is coming."

A stranger's voice broke through the grey mist the world had become and as I looked up at a man's face it all rushed back, shouting, rushing, a world of frantic civilian panic. In the distance, I heard sirens.

"Kahil," I turned back to him. "Help is coming, can you hear me?" But his eyes had closed. "Kahil!"

I bent close, and felt his breath against my face. Still breathing. Words came from me, without conscious thought, words I whispered softly in his ear. In case...

"Find me in Paradise."

As we rushed outside, several police cars, then an ambulance hurtled past the restaurant, sirens wailing, horns blaring. And I knew. Javid said it might not be them. But I knew.

An excited, frightened crowd of people had gathered, at the end of the street, and we ran to it, heard the voices when we got close, gabbling about a shooting. Policemen yelled, ordering everyone back from the scene. The scene somewhere on the street around the corner. I couldn't see. But I knew. Even as we tried to push through the crowd, the ambulance emerged from the corner, starting up its siren as it came, an ear-splitting scream that I silently echoed in my head.

"A soldier," I heard someone say. "They shot him, I saw…"

"They shot him!" I grabbed at Javid, shook him. "They shot the commander! They shot him!"

"Shut up!" Javid pushed my hands off and grabbed my arms, shook me in return, tried to shake the hysteria out of me. "Calm down. Come on!" Javid dragged me to the car and we set off after the ambulance and the howling police cars that followed it.

I'd been so sure, that when we ran into the hospital waiting room, to find Faris sitting there, my knees shook, first with relief and then with horror. Blood, not his own, soaked Faris's clothes.

"My god. Kahil."

My god. Kahil.

Faris looked up, but barely seemed to know us. Face white, grey even. Eyes raw with shock. Blood smeared across his cheeks, in his hair, blood everywhere.

"Is he... is he dead?" Idris's voice cracked as he said it.

"He's in surgery." His voice hasn't sounded that weak, that hoarse since the day I met him. That's how he looked now, like that shattered creature I had known back then.

Faraj sank down into a seat, graceless, sprawled, his usual elegance gone.

"He stepped in front of me." I turned back to Faris as he spoke again, still looking up at me. "He saw the gun and stepped in front of me." He sounded awestruck, like a man who'd witnessed a miracle. I felt awe too, but no surprise.

"I have said it before." And now I said it again. "That man has the heart of a lion."

A cracked laugh broke from Madari. "I hope so, because he has a bullet too close to that heart now!" The laugh turned to a sob and he dropped his face into his hands, fingers clenched in his hair, his body shook violently, convulsive and choking sounds told me he was trying to swallow more sobs. But he couldn't manage it. They escaped him and for a moment, I stared, frozen.

He's falling apart. I hadn't seen him like this for over a year. No one but Kahil had, when he comforted Faris in his nightmares. Once Faris had regained enough control to do so, he'd hidden most of his distress from the rest of us. But he had no control now. The worst thing he could imagine had happened. No, not quite. Kahil was still alive. Second worst.

A sound behind me made me turn to see Idris rising from his seat, and for a moment I thought he was about to go and comfort Faris. But I saw the look on his face. Embarrassment. He'd never been able to cope with Faris breaking down all those months ago and he couldn't now. He walked out of the room. Not far, just outside the open door.

Unable to stand Faris's distress myself, I sat beside him and put my arms around him. His body shook against mine as he embraced me, clung to me.

"He'll be all right," I said, and actually felt sure of it. Tried to pass some of that certainty to him. "He's the strongest man I know. He'll make it."

"I can't go on without him!" Voice high, and too loud, audible to Idris for sure. "I'll die without him!" No control there and saying too much.

"Shh," I whispered.

Please, please, be quiet. Don't say anything I won't be able to ignore, forget, and put down to shock. Just hush. Weep, but don't speak. Or...

"Pray with me." I stroked his back. Prayers, yes, ritual words, soothing in their familiarity. I started to recite and he fell silent in my arms. A moment later, his voice joined mine in a whisper. His tears soaked into the shoulder of my shirt, which was when I realised I'd left my jacket back at the restaurant.

All the way to the hospital, I kept worrying about what I would tell my wife if that boy died. She'd taken a shine to Mr Jahni, and when she'd learnt that he had no family of his own had become quite maternal. Has even taken it upon herself to find him a suitable wife. I've told her that the young people now prefer to make their own arrangements, but she doesn't approve too much of that.

She is genuinely fond of the lieutenant though. She would mourn him. As would I.

I found Faris in the waiting room outside the surgical suite. Some uniformed police officers roamed the hall outside and Idris Faraj stood guard outside the small, windowless room. Their friend, Captain Noor sat by Faris, holding his hand. I'd met Noor now, at a reception at the palace. A fine young man, and Faris speaks very highly of him. Still, I felt surprised to see him, rather than Faraj offering comfort to Faris.

Faris, my poor friend, I had not seen him look so awful since a day long ago. He walked out of the bedroom where he'd kept a vigil for days, and told those of us gathered there the news we feared. That Ahmed was dead. A moment later, I'd had to rush him away from the other men and leave him with his grandmother and his wife as he began to break down. He has good self-control, but when it crumbles, it is like the breaking of a dam. Young Captain Noor there looks as if he has been downstream of that today.

Faris rose when he saw me, and I moved to embrace him, but hesitated, instinctive disgust stopping me, as I saw the dark red-brown stain on his clothes.

"Faris," I said weakly, "your jacket..." It's been a long time since I last saw combat and the only blood I routinely encounter now is cutting into a rare steak. The sight of so much of it brought back memories of horrors I'd prefer not to relive.

He looked down at himself, frowning, not understanding for a moment, then his eyes widened and his face grew even more pale, a little green, nauseated.

"Oh god!"

He'd been too shocked to notice that he was covered in his friend's blood. Tears started then, over cheeks stained with the same blood and he pulled at the buttons of the jacket, tearing some of them off in his impatience. They bounced on the floor. The belt, he tossed away, then dragged the jacket off, threw it away from himself. His shirt under it was stained almost as badly, the blood had soaked right through and his hands tore at those buttons in their turn. I knew his skin may be bloodstained too, and feared how he'd react to that. He was already making choking noises as he attempted to keep that dam from bursting again.

Captain Noor came to the rescue, taking Faris's wrists, preventing him ripping off his shirt. I followed the Captain's example and pulled myself together, took charge, turning to my driver.

"Go back to barracks; fetch clean clothing for the major. The Quartermaster has his measurements on file." As the driver left, I beckoned Faraj. "Find a blanket please, he's in shock, he needs to be kept warm. And some sweet tea will help him."

Faraj hesitated a moment, perhaps reluctant to leave, even if he did seem to be keeping his distance from Faris.

"Captain, quickly please."

He nodded and left. I turned to see Noor had coaxed Faris to sit again, Faris's shirt was half open, buttons scattered on the floor now, but he made no further effort to tear it off, seemed to be calming. Still I knew his control teetered on the edge.

Faraj came back a moment later with a blanket and now I let Faris take off the dirty shirt and I wrapped him in the blanket. There was blood on his skin as I'd feared, but he'd retreated into shock again, didn't notice it yet. I'd have to help him, get him cleaned up, and help him regain his control.

And all the time I marvelled as I wondered just how deep his friendship with young Jahni must go to bring him to this state. He'd been an aloof man for a long time, even my friendship with him, even Faraj's, having a distance to it. What did Jahni mean to him that Faris could show so much of his heart?

"You two," I said, to Faraj and Noor. "I would like to know what the police are doing to find the men who shot one of my officers."

"I'm sure they are doing all they can," Noor said.

"And I'm sure they'll do even more with you two standing over them. Go and..." I smiled faintly. "Help them. If there is any news I will find you."

I don't know how many hours passed in that waiting room, while Rahama and I kept the vigil. Rahama's driver returned with a clean uniform for me and I washed up, and then put it on.

A horrible calm had come upon me, and with it, shame about the way I had acted, in front of my friends, in front of my commanding officer. Such a display of weakness and emotion, in front of others, I cringed to think of it. I could only barely remember the things I had said, were there some I had forgotten, some that revealed far too much about my feelings for Kahil? I would have to apologise later, try to blame shock. Faraj would not forget it though, I know that.

And it might not even matter. If Kahil died, why would I care anything for my reputation then, for my career or social position? What would any of that mean?

I had to swallow a lump in my throat again as I saw Rahama looking at me with concern again. We still sat in that waiting room, the blanket still around my shoulders. I found it hard to resist the temptation to throw it right over my head, shut out the world.

A doctor in surgical scrubs walked into the room and I jumped up, almost stumbling for a moment, as my head spun.

"Dr Al-Hijazi!"

My friend, my doctor for long time, gave me a weak smile. "Major."

"You, work at this hospital?"

"No, but I heard about the shooting, I came to see what I could find out." He gave a wider smile now. "I haven't yet readjusted to the formalities of hospital medicine."

"What have you found out, Doctor?" Rahama asked, offering his hand. "Colonel Rahama," he said, introducing himself and making me wince, as I knew I should have done that. Formality. Protocol. What the hell did it matter?

"Colonel." Al-Hijazi bowed his head to the colonel, and then turned to me. "They allowed me to step into the operating room for a few moments and speak to the surgeon. Kahil is in the care of the best thoracic surgeon in the country. The surgery is almost over --"

"No, not almost. It is over." Another doctor came in, a white coat donned over scrubs that had blood spatters on them. And I stared, ashamed perhaps of my surprise as she offered me her hand and introduced herself. "Doctor Akhtar. Doctor Al-Hijazi here is too flattering about me."

"Your reputation..." Al-Hijazi began, but she turned away from him, looked at Colonel Rahama then at me, and spoke, to all of us, perhaps, but looking into my eyes.

"Lieutenant Jahni's surgery was successful. The bullet shattered two of his ribs and most of the surgery has been to remove bone fragments from the surrounding tissue. But striking his ribs slowed the bullet enough that it did not penetrate as deep into the plural cavity as it might have. There is no serious damage to his lungs and none to his heart. He is breathing on his own, we were able to take him off the ventilator as soon as the surgery finished."

"His prognosis is good?" Al-Hijazi asked.

She nodded and pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, looked very tired I thought.

"He is young, in excellent physical condition, he doesn't smoke." Nodding again, but smiling with it now, she went on. "I see no reason he shouldn't make a full recovery."

And I wished, how I wished, that propriety allowed me to embrace her, my gratitude and relief intense. She was around forty, not perhaps an especially attractive woman, but in that moment, I had never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.

"Thank you, Doctor," Rahama said, when I didn't speak at once. "That is excellent news."

"Can I see him?"

She turned back to me when I asked it.

"He is in the recovery ward, visitors aren't usually allowed." I put my head down and started to turn away. God, I needed to see him, I needed to see him breathing. But I turned back when I felt her hand on my arm, briefly. "But nobody is going to argue with me. Follow me, sir."

I did, into the surgical suite, attracting curious glances from the staff. Doctor Akhtar pushed open a door marked Recovery and we stepped into a small ward, the beds surrounded by forests of machines. At least one staff member stood at every occupied bed.

"Here," Doctor Akhtar said. "This is as far as you can go." She made me stop by a large window looking into the ward, and pointed at one of the beds. A nurse stepped aside as I looked and I saw him, flat on his back, bandages covering his chest, an oxygen mask over his mouth, and tubes and wires binding him to the machines that surrounded him. His eyes were closed, he wasn't moving.

"He'll stay here for another couple of hours, until he is conscious, then we'll move him to a ward. You'll be able to visit him properly then."

Not trusting my voice, I nodded. This was enough, and not enough. Enough to make me believe he was still alive, I saw the heart monitor with its peaks, could hear it faintly even from here. Not enough though to satisfy me. I wanted to touch him, feel the warmth of his skin, stroke the hair he now wore short enough for regulations, long enough to test the limits of those regulations. But the hospital had its rules and I had no place in that ward, an environment only experts could step into.

"I have heard," she said, "that he was shot protecting you."

I nodded, still unable to speak.

"I think, well, that makes you brothers." She smiled when I looked at her. "It's something my father used to say. That if someone saves your life they became part of your family."

"If that is true, Doctor, then you must have many, many brothers and sisters."

She laughed then. "I don't think it counts when you get paid for doing it."

I looked through the window again at Kahil, a nurse bending over him now, checking one of the wires leading to one of the monitors.

"Perhaps it doesn't, but nevertheless, thank you, Doctor, for saving my... brother."

She led me away then, back to the waiting room, where she talked to Rahama and Al-Hijazi for a while and I sat in a chair, feeling fog swirl about me.

"Faris?" I looked up at Rahama. Doctor Akhtar had gone, but Al-Hijazi was still there. "Faris, the doctor says you can visit Kahil in the morning. Now let me take you home."

"What... what time is it?"

Rahama handed me my watch, the Timex I still wore from the camp, despite sneers from other officers with their Rolexes. Almost ten thirty at night. It must be dark outside. I needed to contact Idris and Javid, to see if the police had any progress to report. I should go to Kahil's flat and bring him things he might need, I should... I should... I looked up at Rahama.

"I want to go to a mosque. I want to pray."

It seems like a miracle. Three weeks ago, they took a bullet from his chest and now Kahil is ready to leave the hospital. While Faris and I packed his suitcase for him that woman doctor spoke to him as he sat on the bed. After a while, she tore a sheet from a prescription pad and handed it to him.

"Get this filled on your way out. And do not miss your follow up appointments." She looked at him in a stern way I'd have thought he'd find impudent, but he just smiled at her.

"I won't, Doctor, I promise."

"You do not go back to work until your Medical officer signs you fit for duty."

"Of course not."

She smiled then. "Good, now stop malingering and get out of the hospital, there are ill people needing that bed."

Faris and Kahil both laughed as Kahil swung his legs off the bed and started putting on his shoes.

"He's discharged?" I said. "Don't you have to check with a more senior doctor?"

She gave me a scowl. "No, I do not." Then she turned to the other two, smiling. "Goodbye, Kahil. Faris."

I raised my eyebrows at this familiarity, but Faris only bowed his head and thanked her. Clearly, he has been here so much the last three weeks he has become friends with this woman doctor.

I think that for the first week he was here at least twelve hours a day. And even after that, even once it was clear Kahil would recover, I often had to send a driver over with papers for him to sign. I suppose Faris is lucky his commanding officer is such a good friend, to let him take so much emergency leave.

"Do I need that?"

I looked up to see Faris helping Kahil into a coat, sliding it up his arms, which I knew Kahil still found painful to raise.

"It looks nice outside." Kahil went on protesting.

"There's a strong wind today," Faris said.

"Okay, okay," Kahil said with a sigh, fending off Faris's hand and fastening the coat buttons himself.

I carried Kahil's case as we left the room and the ward, Kahil calling out goodbyes to other patients and staff as we passed them. He laughed and joked with them and for a moment, I felt a lump in my throat, a prickling in my eyes, as I thought about how close we came to losing him. For all the things he does to annoy me, I would never wish any harm to him. I owe him too much for that.

In the elevator, Kahil checked his hair in the mirror. He will need a haircut before he comes back to work, that's for sure, then turned to me.

"So how's the investigation going? Are you still harassing the police?"

"They could use some harassing. Frankly, they are useless. I have military intelligence working on it now." I glanced at Faris. "I'm sure they will try again."

"Can I requisition a bullet proof vest?" Kahil asked, making Faris roll his eyes.

"You don't need a bullet proof vest, Lieutenant, you just need to learn how to shout the word 'duck' and give me a firm push."

Kahil laughed and then held his chest. "Ow, no comedy please. Doctor's orders."

"I'm sorry, Kahil," Faris said and I saw a smile flick across his face. "I will endeavour to restrain my usual stream of hilarious witticisms."

"Please!"

The elevator reached the lobby and after stopping off at the pharmacy, we headed towards the parking lot. The wind outside did make Kahil shiver I saw. After a moment, we stopped by my car. Faris's was further on and he went to take Kahil's suitcase from me. I held onto it.

"You know, it has occurred to me that it might be more sensible for Kahil to come and stay at my home, instead of yours, until he's ready to go home."

"I..." Faris hesitated and looked at Kahil, who gave a small shake of his head. "We've already made the arrangements." He reached for the suitcase again. I didn't let it go.

"My home is closer to the hospital, to his own doctor, quicker to bring him for his appointments. There are more people to take care of him there. It's more central in case there's an emergency."

It is more sensible, they should both be able to see that. Faris's home is so far outside the city, so isolated, an ambulance would take a long time to get there, even from a nearby town and over an hour to bring Kahil back to this hospital, if he had a problem, a relapse, anything.

Even if there's no emergency, he has doctor's appointments in the city. That's a long journey to make while he's still recovering. I have a household staff to take care of his needs; Faris only has Youssef, who is ready to retire. It is the best choice. If they cannot see that, then Kahil's health is not at the top of their agenda and that is wrong.

Faris looked torn, but turned to look at Kahil. "It does sound sensible. Perhaps you should stay with Idris."

"No." Kahil shook his head. "Your house is so much more peaceful, I can get more rest there. That's what the doctor says I need."

And Faris didn't argue with him. He smiled and reached for the case again. This time I let him take it.

The days at the barracks feel so long. And yet I leave as early as possible. I must make up for that one day, stay and put in extra time. The Colonel has been a good friend, and turned a blind eye to some paperwork coming late. Idris has covered for me. And all so I can rush home, to walk into my house to find him waiting for me.

This time I didn't find him in the living room.

"He is in the diwaniya, sir," Youssef said, coming into the room, seeing me looking around. "He found it too warm in this room this afternoon."

It did feel warm in here. Glancing up at the ceiling I thought about having some electric fans installed before summer arrived, then I went into the diwaniya.

Kahil lay on a kind of nest of rugs and cushions, asleep, a book discarded at his side, an empty cup near him, tipped over. A blanket covered him; I expect Youssef had put that there.

For a moment I wanted to leave him like that, he still needed rest, though his strength was returning, thanks in part, I'm sure, to two weeks of Youssef's home cooking. But he must have heard me come in and as I watched, he started to stir and his eyes opened. He smiled up at me.

"Faris. You're home. What time is it?"

"Almost six. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry." He sat up, and rubbed his eyes with both hands.

"Imagine my surprise," I said, laughing. "I'll have Youssef prepare something. Just a snack though. Save your appetite for dinner, Idris will be joining us remember?"

"Oh, yes."

I crouched down beside him and picked up the cup, touching the carpet to see if anything had spilled from it. No, it must have been empty. When Kahil started to rise, I shook my head and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay here, I'll join you. It is pleasant in here."

I left him and found Youssef in the kitchen, brewing coffee. Various ingredients for dinner lay around on the table.

"Kahil and I will have some cakes with our coffee, in the diwaniya."

"Yes, sir."

"Youssef, I want to thank you for how you've taken care of Lieutenant Jahni while he's been here."

"It's no trouble, sir."

"Nevertheless, I intend to pay you a bonus for the extra work. And I know Kahil is very grateful too."

"I appreciate that."

Did he? I'm not sure how much he really approves of Kahil. Like Idris, he thinks Royal Guard officers should be the right sort, the officer class. More than that, the elite of the officer class. It is impossible to say though, since of course he would not express his opinion about that to me. Well, his approval does not matter. I know he'll do his duty. And on a personal level, well perhaps Kahil has charmed him during his stay.

I rejoined Kahil and we relaxed in the diwaniya until I heard the sound of a car pulling into the compound.

"Idris." I said, when I went to offer him my hand to help him rise. "I don't think you've seen him since you came home have you? Left the hospital I mean?"

"No, he hasn't been out here and I haven't had time to see him when I've been in the city."

"Ah, then it's a reunion."

We had dinner quite early, not long after Idris arrived, since Jahni still went to bed early for now. I made most of the conversation at dinner, unusual for me, but Idris was quiet, almost sulky, making me worry about him. Did he have problems at home? He wouldn't call to cancel the dinner for anything less than an emergency, but if he'd rather be elsewhere, I wouldn't insist on his saying long afterwards.

When he did talk, he spoke mostly about work, or asked after Kahil's health and about when he'd likely be fit to return to duty. Then he paused for a moment and looked between the two of us, an almost calculating expression on his face.

"I've been thinking about something. I wondered if perhaps once Kahil is well enough that we might all make the Pilgrimage together."

"The Pilgrimage?" This took me by surprise. Kahil didn't answer, turned away to pour himself some water.

"I thought it would be a good time to do it," Idris went on. "As a way to thank God for Kahil's life, and for the restoration of the king, our victory. It feels like the right time to me." He looked at me. "You haven't made the Pilgrimage before."

No, I haven't. Of course, I know I must get around to it one day. But it has always been "next year". Like Ahmed. It was always going to be "next year" for him. And then it was too late.

"No," I said, "I haven't. Of course, you are right, I should make the time. I will think about it. Kahil?"

He looked up. "I've seen TV pictures, of the crowds. I don't like crowds much."

"It is an obligation," Idris said, his voice stiff and Kahil flashed him a glare.

"I meant, while I'm not at my full strength."

"That is a good point," I said. "It can be arduous. Depending on the time of year too, the heat. I wouldn't want Kahil to push himself too soon."

"I did say, when he is well enough," Faraj's voice was low, soft.

"Of course. And there is no hurry. Perhaps..."

"Next year."

Idris's voice still had that low tone, and something else now, a hint of sarcasm. He must have heard me say that before about the Pilgrimage. Next year. I scowled. And who did Faraj think he was to decide when I, or Kahil, should make the Pilgrimage? That is our business, not his.

"When he feels ready," I said, my tone colder than his now.

"Of course," Idris said. "It's all about Kahil. The decision I mean."

A rattle of cutlery on a plate and the scrape of a chair made us both turn, startled, to Kahil. He looked flushed, glaring, as he stood up.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

I stared and we both stood, concerned.

"No," he raised a hand, as I reached for his arm. "Nothing's wrong. I'm sorry to be rude. I just have to go."

He walked out of the room, leaving us staring after him. When I turned back to Idris the look he directed after Kahil shocked me. A grimace, near disgust. The expression vanished when he caught my gaze.

"I think I upset him."

He had, I'm not sure exactly how, but still I wanted to slap him for it. But I restrained myself.

"He's just tired. Out of sorts."

"Well, perhaps I am too." Idris didn't sit down at the table again, although we had not even finished our main courses. "I think I will go home."

"Oh. Well, of course, if you want to."

I accompanied him to the door, opened it, letting in the cool night air.

"Idris, is something wrong at home? Anything you want to talk about?"

"At home? No. What could be wrong?" He laughed then, a bitterness in it that I could almost taste. "My son is almost convinced that I'm his father, my wife has almost stopped treating me like a guest in my own house."

"Idris, I am sorry, you are having some trouble readjusting. Please, if there is anything I can do, tell me." I raised a hand to put it on his shoulder, but he stepped back, out of my reach. "I... I know the shooting has all of us shaken up too."

Now the disgust appeared on his face again and he snorted. He stepped closer to me again, but I certainly didn't want to put my hand on his shoulder this time. Not with the fury in his face. Not with the way his voice intensified into a hiss as he spoke.

"Major, you fail to understand something. Not everything is about Kahil. At least, not for everyone. For you perhaps, but not for the rest of us. For your sake and his, you should try to refrain from speaking of him every time you open your mouth!"

The last words he almost spat into my face and I gasped and stepped back. An amazed look crossed his face, and he stepped back and spoke more quietly, voice shaky. "My apologies, sir, I am... upset. I did not mean to speak out of turn. Goodnight."

And he was gone before I could recover my composure, his car door slamming. In a moment the engine roared, the lights came on and the vehicle swept out of the compound, making sand fountain up from the tyres.

I walked slowly to close and bar the gates. For a moment, I looked at the rusted padlock that had once secured the gates. I should invest in a new lock. Then, still feeling stunned, I walked back into the house.

I heard Idris's car leaving and wasn't surprised when a few moments later I heard a soft knock at my bedroom door. I'd been lying on the bed fully clothed, but I sat up, called out.

"One second." I took my shirt off and went to the door. What made me do that I don't know for sure. Perhaps I wanted to make him think I had started to get ready for bed. So he'd think I was actually tired and not just sulking.

"Ah." He looked taken aback for a second when I opened the door. "I'm sorry. You're going to bed, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"No." I stepped back, opening the door wider. "Please come in."

He did, after only a tiny hesitation and a glance over his shoulder. Where might Youssef be right at this moment? Clearing up the dinner things, probably.

"Idris left?" I sat down on the bed, leaving enough room for him to sit beside me. He didn't, just hovered near the closed door.

"Yes. I think he's..." He bit his lip, frowning. "He's just not in a good mood."

"Because we failed his little test."

"What?" Faris stared at me.

"That stuff about the Pilgrimage."

"I don't understand."

I just shrugged. Faris would work it out eventually, as Idris already had, would understand. Perhaps tonight was the time to tell him. I could have died and he wouldn't have known this.

"What do you think about the idea of making the Pilgrimage, Kahil? Together. I don't mean soon, not even next year. But when you are ready."

"I would go anywhere with you. But I would only go there for you. Not for myself."

Now he seemed baffled and finally came over to sit beside me and gave me a puzzled smile.

"Kahil, you're talking in riddles tonight."

That made me laugh.

"I don't need to make the Pilgrimage. Can't you see why?"

"Don't need? All Muslims --"

Apparently, he couldn't see why.

"Faris." I turned, looked right in his eyes. "Faris, I'm not a Muslim. I haven't believed for a long time now. Months. Perhaps I never really did."

He stared at me, eyes wide in the dim light thrown by the bedside lamp, stared as if I'd spoken in an alien language.

"I don't understand, are you saying you have converted? To what? Christianity?"

"No." It would take him a moment to understand it I could see. "I haven't converted. I don't just mean that I don't believe in the teachings of Islam any more, I mean I don't believe in God."

He jumped up so fast that he stumbled, and had to grab at a cabinet to keep from falling.

"Kahil!" He gasped. "Kahil." Speechless but for my name.

"Faris." I resisted the urge to get up and take his arms, or his hands, to try to calm him. "I'm sorry if this shocks you. But it's the truth, it's me. You are... You are part of me and you need to know about it." Now I stood up and moved to him. "How could I go on believing, after what happened to my family? If God existed how could things like that happen?" My voice had started to rise. I didn't want to shout, not at him. I choked down the words.

"Kahil." Faris looked at me, an agonised expression on his face. "It is normal to feel angry, even with God, when terrible things happen, but your family is waiting for you in Paradise."

"No! I'm not angry with God. That's not it. At first, I thought it was. But it's not. I have no faith. I don't think I ever had, just... habit. I was trained to pray, to observe, to mouth the words, but it never felt real. Never."

"I... Kahil, I don't know what to say."

What I said then I knew amounted to a challenge. I knew it could insult him. And I wondered if it was only wishful thinking. But I had to say it.

"Say that you feel the same."

"What?" Outrage in his voice now. But I pressed on.

"You're an educated, sophisticated man. How can you believe in these superstitions?"

"I have faith."

"You have a position in society you have to maintain, you can't admit to anyone else that you don't believe. But you can tell me. Please, trust me with the truth."

I had moved quite close to him now, and he'd backed away, against the cabinet.

"No. I believe!" He insisted. "I may not be strict in my observance, and I know I am... weak. A sinner. But I believe in God."

"But --"

"Kahil!" The voice was stern now, the command voice, and angry, yet had a tinge of desperation in it. "I have given you my answer. Do not challenge my faith again."

Feeling dazed, I stepped back. Had I made a mistake in telling him? What if he turns me out of his house right now and never speaks to me again?

"Faris," I said, whispered. "I am sorry. I thought perhaps you... I'm sorry, I won't challenge you again. But I can't take back what I told you. I have no faith. I can't lie about it any longer, not to you."

My knees felt weak then, and I let them give out, sat on the bed again. A moment later Faris came and sat beside me. I didn't look at him.

"Kahil. I'm sorry you have lost your faith. I'm sorry that you don't believe you'll see your family again, that you don't believe that we could be companions for eternity in Paradise. I believe it, and I want you there with me."

"Don't," I said, feeling the anger rise. "Don't put off what you want to say until we are both dead! I will never hear it."

He didn't answer that and I turned to see him looking at me with a pity that made me sad and angry. I wanted him to see the truth as I did. I didn't want him to pity me for my lack of faith. I wanted him to respect me for my honesty.

"Kahil, you understand you need to keep quiet about this to others. I see your heart is set, for now anyway. I hope that will change. But you understand how others would view this, as apostasy."

"They'd be right."

"Yes, well. You know it would cause problems."

"Don't worry, Faris, I intend to keep up my façade of hypocrisy in public. I'm quite practiced at that now. Quite the expert."

He sighed. "You can talk to me about it, whenever you want."

While you try to persuade me back onto the straight and narrow road? While you deny your own doubts? I know why you cling to your faith, because it's a line of defence against what you really want. Because it stops you giving in to that sin and weakness you fear in yourself. I didn't say any of that.

"Thank you," I said.

He moved as if to stand up, but then stopped.

"Kahil, if you don't believe, then why do you put off things you might want to say?" I turned to him. "What you might want to say to me."

He looked poised, ready to run if I stepped up to this challenge. And it was a challenge, as mine had been, as Idris's had been.

"You think I have something to say to you?"

I took his hand, raised it to press against my chest. He tried to pull it away, until he realised it rested on the fresh scar from my surgery.

"I already said it. Didn't you hear me?"

He didn't speak, as I let his hand go, and he rose from the bed. At the door, he turned back to me.

"Yes, I heard you. Goodnight, Kahil. I know you don't think it will do any good, but I am going to pray for you."

Is he right?

Is my so-called faith nothing more than habit and appearance? Am I a hypocrite? And too much of a coward to admit that even to him? Even to myself.

It's true that religion has never been especially important to me. It never was to Ahmed. Father was more spiritual perhaps, even interested in mysticism, in Sufism. But he never talked much to me about religion. It has always just been something... there. Just part of the background of life.

Yet I saw things, the real faces of the things that lived inside the men that tortured me. The demons.

Hallucinations. They had to be. In that place, drugged, dehydrated, deprived of sleep, probably concussed, certainly suffering from blood loss, and half-insane from terror. They had to be hallucinations. Like the visions I had of Ahmed, or my father killing my tormentors and carrying me out of there. They weren't real, the demons can't have been real either.

They felt real. Their hands that dragged me to the next torment had claws. They smelt of hell and death.

I had turned off the light in my bedroom, kept only the bedside lamp on, but now I switched the overhead light on again. My fear of the dark had almost gone, thanks to my work with my psychiatrist. But tonight the darkness felt too crowded. I feared a nightmare and that my screams would bring Kahil to me.

I feared that because I knew now that I had one less reason to trust his restraint. If he had no faith, then he didn't believe that making love to me was a sin. He had other reasons not to do it, but I had assumed religion to be one of the strongest. Now I felt the same as I might if were to rise in the morning and find I hadn't locked the doors of my house overnight. A feeling of realisation that I had been vulnerable and never known it.

No, I am being unfair. I have to keep on trusting him. A man can still have a morality even if he has no religion. There is an unspoken promise between us now, I'm sure of it, that we will not... will not change the nature of our relationship. And Kahil has kept to that. Despite having no faith, he has kept that promise.

I can trust him.

But I am going to lose him.

He doesn't expect us to be together after death. He believes we have only the years in life and that only oblivion awaits after that. And what do I believe? The thought sickens me. I believe that this means he will go to hell. Perhaps eventual forgiveness, but before that, hell.

I groaned and sat on the bed, my head in my hands. Worse than losing him in this life, worse than that, the thought of our brief years of life being the only time we'd have together. And he'd suffer and I can't stand that, I can't.

I can't let this happen. It's my fault. If I'd been stronger in my own faith, given a better example, not let temptation ravage me so much, then I could have helped him. Is that why he never told me about his doubts? Because he didn't believe I could help him?

Tomorrow I will insist he speaks with an Imam, takes some instruction. Is he even a member of a mosque near his home? I never asked him. Why didn't I think to ask? Weak, so weak in my own faith I never saw his slipping away.

All I can hope now is that there is something left. Even if it is anger, anger with God. He claims that isn't the case, but I see a lot of anger in him. That has to be the one chance, the last shred of faith he still carries in his heart.

I will help him turn that anger back into love. I almost lost Kahil here in life because of that bullet. I will not lose him for eternity because of his own grief and pain.