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“Keep it,” Amirkhan squeezed her fingers. “Put it in the pocket where you keep your biggest secrets. The world has gone mad, Zahra-jan. Today Africa, tomorrow Antarctica. But good falafel… good falafel is always hard currency. And, as Alavi used to say… it’s better to have a backup airfield than to be a hero posthumously.” Zahra looked at him. Then at the card. And she smiled—that same smile that, thirty years ago in Isfahan, had made him lose his head →