Their last minutes together were awkward as Slaton gave a crash course on tradecraft. That he was schooling his newly pregnant wife, in the little time they had together, on methods to evade authorities was a sorry reflection on the capsized state of their marriage. Christine listened tensely, rarely asking questions.

“You’ll need a place to stay,” he said. “Is there someone in Stockholm you can trust?”

“Ulrika Torsten. She’s a doctor, a friend from residency. She lives in town and we had dinner together the first night I was in Stockholm.”

“Was it just the two of you?”

“Yes.”

“Who knew about that meeting?”

“Her husband, I suppose.”

“Anyone else?”

She glared impatiently. “The waiter.”

“Please—where does she live?”

“The east side I think, near…” she hesitated, “I don’t know. But David, she must know the police are looking for me. Aren’t I a ‘person of interest’ or something?”

“You were a witness to what took place that first day on the Strandvägen. But that investigation has probably become secondary. Bloch is in the hospital, and the other suspects are…” he paused.

“Dead?” she offered.

“The police will want to interview you, Christine, but there’s no manhunt under way. Not for you—I’m the one they’re after.”

“I don’t like bringing Ulrika into this, David. She’s married. She has a child.”

“So do you.”

He took a hard glare.

“Christine, you won’t be putting anyone at risk. All you need is a place to stay for a night or two. Would she do it?”

She crossed her arms sullenly, but relented. “If I can think of a good lie about why the police want to question me … yes, probably.”

Slaton checked the time. “All right, I have to go. Do you have any questions?”

She laughed nervously.

He gave her a serious look.

“No, no questions.”

He brought her close and held her, and she responded. He felt her contours, and felt her hands grip his shoulders. Slaton drew in Christine’s familiar scent with her head buried in his chest. He sensed a mutual desperation, a veil of uncertainty—neither knew when such a moment would come again. Or even if such a moment would come. She pushed away abruptly.

With edged words, Christine said, “I will do what you ask. I will lie and steal because I love you and there is no other choice. But know one thing, David Slaton. Everything you did for your country—I can leave that in the past and not pass judgment. But I will not allow you to do harm in my name, or worse in our child’s.”

He nodded.

“If you kill this man in Geneva … don’t ever come back to me.”

Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO