Around one in the afternoon, I crossed the road under an umbrella and took a table in the coffee shop at the President. The buffet would be fine. I only picked at it anyway. What I really wanted wasn’t on the menu, à la carte or otherwise. I wanted Sushmita. And if I couldn’t have her, then I wanted distraction. Diversion. What the Indians called “time-pass.” Let the day get itself over with and give me Monday morning so I could go back to work and do something to forget about her.

What I got instead was Russell Harlan parking himself in front of me at my table.

“I thought you were in Poona,” I said.

He signaled to the waiter. Once the black-vested young man had come and gone with his order, Harlan folded his hands on the table and leaned forward.

“You’re going to help us, I know,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re a good kid.”

I digested that for a long moment, then had a question of my own before I answered. “You’re not really the bigot you pretended to be, are you, Russ?”

“I can’t give myself a character reference.”

“But it’s true, right? You’re actually a decent guy.”

“My wife and kids think I’m okay,” he said, eyes on his uninteresting hands, not on me.

“What should I think?” I asked. “Are you a guy looking out for his own interests and willing to have some poor sap stick his neck out and pay the price?”

He regarded me and, face like a stone, told me he was willing to give me assurances.

“What kind of assurances? Can you promise I’ll get the girl? Can you assure me I won’t get killed spying on Willy Smets?”

“No, Dan,” he said. “I can’t promise you any of that. What I can tell you is that I’ll be very appreciative. Your country will be, too. And the Indian government, for that matter. You’ll have done good. The right thing.”

“No Sushmita, then? No happily ever after?”

“No.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?” I asked. “Steal his books? Wear a wire? Take him out with a bullet behind the ear when he least expects it?”

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Of course not. I’ve never even held one in my hand.”

“Then we won’t ask you to shoot him.”

I glanced away, then chuckled. This wasn’t the same jerk I’d met a couple of weeks before. He was a serious, even-tempered guy, who projected authority. He had an uncanny knack for making you want to please him. Like a football coach or a platoon sergeant, only he went about it quietly. He was a pretty fine actor, as well.

“What do you want me to do?” I repeated.