It’s almost seven A.M. here or about one P.M. in France, and I remember the last time I stayed at La Tour Rose in Lyon. It’s hard to believe it’s been six years since I last visited Interpol’s headquarters, what looks like an intergalactic space station clandestinely situated out in the middle of nowhere along the River Rhône.

The secretary-general will be eating lunch because one thing I know about Tom Perry is he never turns down a civilized meal. So I’m not likely to get him but I try his office anyway, and his assistant Marie answers the phone.

“I’m sure he’s at lunch,” I say by way of an apology after we exchange pleasantries.

“He is,” she replies in her heavy French accent. “But he happens to be eating at his desk as he finishes a long call.”

“I want to pass on information and I could use his help with something.”

“Hold on, please. And it’s very nice to talk to you again, Madame Scarpetta. You must come back and visit soon.”

I can hear her talking to the secretary-general in French but I have no idea what they’re saying. Then he’s on the line, and I know instantly by the tone of his voice that he’s in the middle of something that is indeed serious. More serious than usual, at any rate.

“I wouldn’t bother you, Tom,” I say right off, “but I think it’s time we talk about what’s happening in Cambridge.”

“And also in Bethesda, it seems,” he says, and as I suspected he knows about Briggs.

Obviously Benton or one of his colleagues with the FBI has been in communication with Interpol, and I wonder who Perry was having the long phone conversation with right before I called. I wonder if it might have been Benton. His phone goes straight to voice mail every time I try him, and I would expect him to be informing the secretary-general of what’s going on since some murderous miscreant is using Interpol’s esteemed name in vain, basically spoofing the agency.

Possibly Carrie Grethen is. Possibly her accomplice is. Maybe both of them together are responsible for everything, but Interpol is more than a little familiar with her at least, I remind Perry as I explain why I’m reaching out to him. They got a bellyful of Carrie long years ago, and then like the rest of us believed she was dead until she decided to show us that she’s not.

“I haven’t had much sleep, so I hope I’m not rambling,” I add. “But you know very well how dangerous she is, and I don’t have an idea what the ultimate goal is but I know she has one.”

“Why do you know that, Kay?”