"Make it fly!"

Raslan took the toy plane from Mehdi and made it swoop and zoom in the air, smiling at the boy, making him laugh. Mehdi sent another plane into battle against Raslan's and the toys fought a tiny dogfight.

"Mehdi, stop bothering Captain Raslan," Faraj scolded him.

"It's fine," Raslan said. He made his plane 'crash' onto the cushioned bench where he sat with Faraj, in a shaded corner of the courtyard. Mehdi took both planes and ran back to the rug spread on the ground, in the sun. It was scattered with toy vehicles of various kinds, from tanks to motorbikes.

A wooden crib sat beside the bench, Faraj's second son sleeping in it, only a foot away from him. A servant hovered nearby in case the baby got fussy, but so far the week-old boy slept peacefully.

"Thank you for coming over early, and keeping me company, Sayeed," Faraj said. He wanted to keep well away from the party preparations. Janan was in charge of that. So he was in charge of watching over Mehdi and the baby until then.

"I'm happy to. Is it going to be a large party?"

"Quite large. My wife insists."

So did he, if he were honest. Naming his second son, welcoming him to the world, showing him off, Faraj wanted very much to do those things. It would be a bigger party than the 'Aqeeqah for Mehdi, the first born, which might seem the wrong way around. And perhaps some guilt drove him to make this such an ostentatious party. Or he had a point to prove, to Janan, to the world. That he was a good father.

Janan appeared then, even as he thought of her. She looked tired and he wished she would take some more rest and let the servants finish the preparations. She bowed her head to Raslan and he bowed back, rising from his seat as Faraj did.

"Madame."

"Captain." She turned to Faraj, "I have the final seating arrangement. You said you wanted to see it."

Raslan walked over to kneel on the rug beside Mehdi and play with him, while husband and wife spoke. Faraj approved of such well mannered, discreet behaviour. He took the list from her and read it over.

"You've moved the American."

"I've put him beside your friend from the British Embassy. At least they'll be able to speak English together."

"He is Major Madari's house guest, and the Major speaks excellent English."

He saw her grimace at the mention of Madari.

"Why must that man come at all?"

He frowned at her to keep her voice down. "He is my commanding officer."

"Not for much longer."

"No. But for now. Put Colonel Smith back beside the Major, please."

"As you wish," she said, stiffly, took the list back and left.

Faraj sighed and sat on the bench again. "I thought parties were supposed to be fun."

"Yes, Idris. Then you got married." Raslan came back from the rug and sat beside him.

Faraj laughed. "Yes, quite." A sound made him glance down at the baby to see he had started to stir. He bent over and rocked the cradle, hoping to settle him again.

Raslan sat in silence, but Faraj knew he was curious about what he must have overheard. Again, too well mannered to ask. But Faraj felt like talking.

"Janan blames Major Madari for my imprisonment."

"Ah. Well she must have missed you of course, for what was it, two years?"

"About that." Two years. Too long. Too long to be away from her and Mehdi, and no way to ever get that time back. Sometimes he looked through the photograph albums she gave him, of her and their son, during that time. His boy, in expensive French clothes, playing in Parisian parks and in their handsome West Bank apartment. Yet it made him feel as choked as another man might to hear of his child living in a hovel, wearing rags. Sometimes he still had to remind the boy to speak in Arabic, not French.

"It's not really fair of her to blame him," Faraj said. "I made my own choices." And he gave them my name. The whisper, in Janan's voice came over and over in his ear now.

Raslan spoke again, after a moment. "Is that why you've chosen not to be part of the Major's new Special Forces unit?"

"I've chosen to pursue other career options. Colonel Rahama has offered me a staff position. I think that's the best move for me at this time." He'd said almost exactly the same rehearsed words to everyone who asked him. He'd said them to Madari and saw the look in his eyes, a look Faraj could only call relief. Relief that Faraj had cleared the way for Kahil to be his second. A bitter thought.

"Everyone is talking about this unit," Raslan said, "Apparently the king himself his taking quite an interest. And this American who's been brought over as a consultant is making quite a stir. You've met him, haven't you? What's he like?"

"A typical American," Faraj said.

The baby wasn't letting himself be lulled back to sleep by the rocking and he opened his eyes now and made some soft cries. Faraj crouched down to pick him up, and cradled the child in his arms instead. The servant approached.

"Do you want me to take him, sir?"

"No, thank you, he's fine." Leaving Raslan playing with Mehdi again, Faraj strolled out from under the awning shading their bench. A soft breeze blew, the air cooling as the sun began to set. The sound of the fountain in the centre of the courtyard soothed Faraj at night. Perhaps it would soothe his new son too. Perhaps he'd learn to associate this sound with home, security, love.

Sitting on the stone edge of the fountain, misty drops of water landing on his arm, he bent his head and spoke to the baby.

"I am your father, little one. And I will always be here for you."

Never again would he lose the time he'd lost with Mehdi. For several hours, four nights ago, he'd stood watching the baby sleep. And he'd had mad notions of resigning his commission and spending all his time with his sons. The dawn had brought a cooler head and made him remember his duty. But it remained as a sweet fantasy he could always return to. He spoke again, looking into the eyes of his son.

"Tonight we will show you to the world, and we will name you. You'll carry the name of the finest man I've ever known."

~~~~

"Is this the first 'Aqeeqah you've ever attended?" Madari asked Hannibal Smith, as they stood in a group with Jahni and Colonel Rahama, drinking coffee.

"Definitely." Hannibal nodded. "So why do they shave the babies head?"

"It's supposed to guarantee abundant hair growth throughout life," Rahama said. He ran a hand through his thinning white hair and smiled. "Lately I have started to wonder if my parents forgot that part for me."

"Also, the parents weigh the hair and give that amount in gold to the poor," Madari said.

"Right. You have a lot of religious obligations for making charitable donations."

"Yes." Madari appreciated the interest Hannibal took. Inviting him here had made Madari nervous initially. Not a rude man as such, but one more blunt and to the point than was the way in this part of the world. A man whose personality filled a room could appear boorish in polite circles like this one.

But he must have studied correct behaviour, and if in doubt, he asked Madari. Just making an effort to be correct made people more forgiving than they were of those who showed no thought for others. Hannibal had even started to learn Arabic and took the opportunity to practice it when he could. An admirable attitude.

"Little Javid gone to bed now?" Hannibal said and Madari looked up to see their host approaching.

"Yes, my wife has put the baby to bed, he's tired now," Faraj said. "I hope you are not finding the party dull, Colonel. Since there are few people here you can talk to."

Hannibal shrugged. "Spoken to quite a few, plenty of them speak English. Some of them speak it better than me."

He could mean Faraj himself. Faraj's English was better than most of the English Madari heard people speaking when he lived in London. He and Jahni and Faraj been speaking English around the office a lot lately, to brush up, as Madari and Jahni would soon need that skill again. That couple of weeks they'd spent in America over the summer had helped of course. Jahni had picked up all kinds of strange expressions.

"I was surprised you aren't coming into the unit," Hannibal said to Faraj. "Thought you'd follow the Major anywhere."

"You're thinking of Kahil," Faraj said.

It might have been a joke, but Madari saw Jahni's eyes narrow. He'd been quiet all night, staying close, but talking little. Madari wondered if that had anything to do with Raslan being in the room. Both of them watched him, perhaps for different reasons.

"I've chosen to pursue other career options. I'll be taking up a position on Colonel Rahama's staff," he bowed his head to the colonel, and went on. "Though, to be truthful I don't feel that style of combat would suit me. It even seems... dishonourable."

Madari glared at him now. That was not polite and he was surprised at Faraj. Madari knew already that Faraj felt this way, and that this was why he hadn't come into the unit. But it shocked him to hear Faraj telling Hannibal that the way he'd fought, the way he'd served his country was 'dishonourable'. And he'd feared Hannibal being inadvertently impolite!

"Dishonourable?" Hannibal didn't rise at once to the insult. He sipped his coffee, then spoke again, still in a mild tone. "And being a guerrilla is different in what way?"

"I didn't have a choice then," Faraj said.

"Really? I thought you could have left the country then, come across the border with us?"

"I... I had a duty to the king."

Madari spoke quickly, before anyone else could, feared this becoming personal.

"I don't think we have a choice either, if we want a modern army. Small, highly adaptable Special Forces units are becoming increasingly important in modern warfare." He saw both Hannibal and Jahni nodding as he spoke. "We face growing terrorist threats in this country and the region. The Islamist groups are becoming more radical."

"Strange that strict devotion to Islam should be considered so threatening," Faraj said. "Why should fellow Muslims fear these people?"

"Because they are fanatics," Jahni said. "Not just strict. They'd take us from the twentieth century back to the tenth."

"It sounds as if you're very much looking forward to fighting them," Faraj said.

"Yes," Jahni said, his voice hard. "I think I am."

"Ah, well, Mr Jahni always enjoys a challenge," Rahama said, "one of our finest young officers, Colonel Smith."

"I've seen him in action."

"Then you know what an asset he is to me, and to the Major."

Madari smiled at that. It didn't even begin to cover it. But he wasn't in the mood to laugh. Faraj had angered him. Madari felt certain Faraj had no sympathy for terrorists, he just seemed to want to pick a fight with Jahni. It worried him too, his mind going back to Faraj's little "test" about making the Pilgrimage. What did he suspect about Jahni's religious doubts?

"So, you are going home in a few days, Colonel Smith?" Rahama asked, taking up the burden of the conversation, since Faraj and Jahni were still giving each other the evil eye as they sipped their coffee and making no effort to talk.

Hannibal nodded. "Yeah. Home in time for Christmas."

~~~~

"Have a good Christmas, Hannibal." Madari embraced him, then stood aside as Jahni did the same.

"Thanks. You guys will have to come over for Christmas sometime, just to see the whole thing. Or Thanksgiving I know you don't celebrate those, but..."

"Kahil will celebrate anything that includes a large meal as part of the festivities."

Jahni grinned. "That's true."

"I'll order two turkeys that year." Hannibal glanced at the clock over the check-in desks. He had a few minutes yet.

Madari looked around too. It always felt strange to come to Az-Ma'ir airport. Hard to forget the men he had lost here, hard to forget those check-in desks had once been riddled with bullets. But because of that day's work, because of the men who fought and died there, now he could come here to travel, to greet and see off friends. Airports could be places of boredom and frustration, but he would always have a special fondness for this one.

"You two have a good time in England," Hannibal said. "Those SAS guys, they'll teach you a lot." He grinned. "Then of course, I'll be back later and teach you the really advanced stuff."

"Oh, let's not start that argument now, you'll miss the plane."

A few moments more of chatting and then the time really was slipping by and Hannibal had to go. He left them with another grin and a casual salute and marched up to a check-in desk. They waited while he checked in his bags then waved as he headed for the security checkpoint and departures.

"Shall we stop in for a coffee?" Madari said, as they turned to leave, after Hannibal was out of sight. He nodded at the small coffee house. Rather bland and international, the coffee it served wasn't as strong as he liked. But it was the coffee house in his airport. He wondered if the staff there ever found spent bullets still embedded in the walls. Bullets that had been fired at him. And at Jahni, who smiled at the offer.

"Coffee and cake."

~~~~

"Will you listen to a friendly warning, Major?"

Madari looked up startled from washing his hands in the airport bathrooms. He stared at the man standing beside him, who had spoken softly.

"Raslan?"

What was he doing here? Was military intelligence spying on Madari? Or on Colonel Smith? Perhaps they just watched the airport as a matter of routine? Raslan washed his hands too, glanced at Madari.

"There is gossip. About you and him. You know what I'm referring to."

Madari's heart sank. He did know. He'd feared it.

"Lies of course," Raslan said, turning off the tap and taking a paper towel from the dispenser between the sinks. "Spread by fools, who don't understand the bonds men forge under fire."

"What are you doing here, Raslan?"

Raslan didn't answer at once, took a comb from a pocket and combed his hair that, like Jahni's, tested the limits of regulations.

"Offering advice. You should be careful. Your name won't always protect you. And fame is fleeting." At last he turned to Madari and smiled. When he spoke again his voice was louder and brighter. "What a nice party that was for little Javid, wasn't it? I hope Colonel Smith enjoyed it."

"Yes, he..." Wrong footed by the change in both subject and tone Madari floundered for what to say next. The sound of a toilet flush and a cubicle door opening behind him startled him into glancing around. An old man left the cubicle and walked to the wash basins. "Raslan, what are you..." He began, as he turned back. But Raslan was gone. The exit door swung closed.

As Madari dried his hands with a paper towel he had to wonder if he'd dreamt this encounter. When he went back out to rejoin Jahni in the coffee shop he didn't mention Raslan. Whatever mind games Raslan was playing, whatever spirit his "warning" and "advice" was given in, Madari wanted to decide for himself.