Rees shook hands, turning to her full face. “Miss Kingsland,” he said gravely, “I know from experience that staff members in the field tend to feel forgotten. It’s natural, being so far from Headquarters—natural, but mistaken. Believe me. You people, and the wonderful work you’re doing, are in our thoughts at Headquarters every day. I want you to know how much you’re appreciated and remembered.”

“I do know. Thank you.”

Grilli moved uneasily. His hands shifted back and forth over his knees. “Here’s the Cap.”

The Captain strode from the hotel, got into the front seat, turned, and nodded curtly. Something had happened to him in the night. He was redder and flabbier, out of sorts and breath. The driver jumped in beside him, closed the door, reached for the starter.

“Well, get going, man!” cried the Captain impatiently.

The car rolled out of the hotel driveway. To their left, through a screen of eucalyptus leaves, they glimpsed an enclosure of long, leaning markers.

“A Turkish cemetery,” exclaimed Miss Kingslake, leaning forward.

The driver slowed down. “It is the cemetery for civil servants.”

They passed through an agglomeration of Mussolini’s architecture, and came within sight of the harbor and the ancient city. At this hour the walls of the Crusaders were tangerine, their splendid order pierced here and there by a gleaming tower or a minaret. Clelia Kingslake sensed, again unwillingly, that an expression of interest would not be welcome. Nevertheless she said, “How marvelous.”

“A façade,” Grilli said, “that’s all this is, a façade. This place is poor as hell. Without the big powers to back them up, they’d be nothing.”

On the far side of Miss Kingslake, Rees beamed. “I’d like a picture of this.”

“All right, man, you can stop here. Momento, what-have-you and so on. Not here, you fool, have a bit of sense, pull over to the wall.”

“If we pulled out of here, all this would fold up tomorrow.”

“The walls,” said Miss Kingslake, “are in some places seven centuries old.”

“Not getting out, Miss Kingsford?”

Having left the car, Grilli turned back, hung his fingers over the open window. “Take my advice, girlie. Don’t try to be a wise guy.”

Alone with the driver, Miss Kingslake asked, “Where do you live, Mihalis?”

He pointed, “Over there, on the façade.”