I searched for the echo of her voice, of that one word, inside the fractured darkness of my mind, but it, like she, was gone. Tears wanted to burn their way out of my eyes. I wanted so badly to find a place of shadows, a doorway or the back of an abandoned car, somewhere I could hide. Ever since Rasouli dropped the first two bombs on me—Hugo Vox and Grace Courtland—I felt like things were starting to unravel inside my head. It made me feel as if everyone was looking at me, as if everyone knew who and what I was.

I used every ounce of strength and will I possessed to compose my face and show absolutely nothing. It cost me, though.

The Israelis operated a news and cigarette shop a block from my hotel and I stopped by there and browsed the papers until the shop was empty. Then I drifted over to the counter. The man who ran the place looked and sounded Iranian but I knew for a fact that he was Mossad.

“Carton of cigarettes,” I said. “Do you still carry Bistoon?”

He smiled. “We get no call for it, I’m sorry.”

It was the proper call sign and response that identified me as an American agent. We both glanced around the shop to verify that we were alone.

“What do you need?”

“Cell phone battery.” I showed the phone I had, which was a DMS design built on a local model. Even though my unit had some extra goodies built in, it was designed to work on a standard cell battery that could be found anywhere in Iran.

“I can have it for you in half an hour. Will you wait or do you want it delivered?”

“Delivered.” I told him my hotel and room.

He studied my face and frowned. “I will not ask what is troubling you, my friend, but it appears that you are having a bad day.”

“You have no idea.”

Before I left I bought a pack of goat jerky. I had a hungry dog waiting for me in my hotel and if I didn’t come back with food he’d sulk all day.

I paid for the goat.

“May your day improve,” said the shopkeeper.

“Yeah,” I said from the doorway. “Here’s hoping.”

As cops and soldiers cruised by and peered at every civilian with suspicious eyes, I forced myself to walk normally. I willed myself not to be noticeable. I needed to punch and pound the fear and grief and paranoia down into its little box. Walking a few blocks seemed to take absolutely forever. By the time I reached my hotel my hands were shaking so badly I had to jam them into my pockets.