With that storm abated, Nurin turned back to the information flowing in from Veron’s team in Geneva. He was relieved that Slaton had aborted the mission. Difficult as the evening was, Nurin realized that he should have done things this way from the beginning. Using Slaton had been a desperate measure.

No, he thought. It was a sign of weakness.

Zacharias spoke up. “Sir, I think there is something I should take care of?”

Nurin nodded. “Yes, Ezra. It’s time for you to wrap things up on your end.”

Without another word, Zacharias left the room.

*   *   *

After stepping aboard Entrepreneur, Hamedi endured a succession of handshakes that seemed to have no end. Strangers claimed they were glad to meet him, which he doubted given his present reputation, yet he smiled and said the same in return, thinking, Soon each of you will have a story to tell.

On clearing the arrival contingent, a man Hamedi recognized as Behrouz’s number two pulled him aside, and after a quiet word ushered him toward a remote corner of the ship’s quarterdeck. They passed heavy tables stocked with hors d’oeuvres, crab quiche, and Provençal tarts, and to one side was a well-stocked bar where a pair of young women in black uniforms were busy pulling corks. Hamedi felt a rumble in the deck that told him the boat was maneuvering. Empty teacups began chattering on the tables. He was guided round a makeshift stage where the members of a tuxedoed string quartet were making final delicate adjustments to their instruments. Hamedi’s escort came to a stop behind the stage backdrop, a thick velvet curtain that put them completely out of sight.

The guard said, “The minister of security has requested a private word with you, Dr. Hamedi.”

“A word about what?”

The man walked to the port rail and pointed across the water.

For the first time Hamedi noticed the sea of lights pulsing around the northern half of the first bridge. He said, “You mean … it has happened again? The Israelis?”

“Yes, only minutes before you arrived. But everything is under control. It appears to have been a lone assassin—he did not survive our counterattack. Colonel Behrouz,” the man continued, using his boss’s old Revolutionary Guards rank, “wishes to give you a full account.”

The guard disappeared, but Hamedi had a sense he was waiting just on the other side of the backdrop. He went to the rail and stared at the disquieting scene. On the previous two occasions he had been forewarned by Behrouz. A third attempt, of course, was always a possibility, but the idea had slipped from Hamedi’s head amid the blurring course of his work and the preparations for today’s speech. Now reality stared back at him, blue and red strobes reflecting from the lake like lasers.