“No,” said Lucy, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, but unwilling to betray Malik. She knew he had lied to her, but she couldn’t help feeling protective of this young man who was in such a difficult situation. Poor Malik was caught between two cultures, neither of which was exactly warm and fuzzy. She only hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision. “You’re not a rat, see,” she said, imitating James Cagney. “And neither am I, see?”

Feeling a bit at loose ends, they continued on to the Palais Garnier, where they took the tour and Lucy gazed for a long time at the Chagall mural on the ceiling, which depicted colorful abstract figures swirling in an endless dance. Slightly dizzy, she let Bill lead her to a bistro for lunch, where they finished off a bottle of vin rouge. Slightly giddy, they spent the afternoon on a bateau-mouche, cruising the Seine.

When the boat docked, they knew they’d put it off as long as they could and now they were going to have to tell Ted about his friend Richard. They stopped at a café for a quick brandy and, thus fortified, climbed the stairs to the apartment with heavy hearts.

But when they entered, they found the group members were all in high spirits.

“Guess what?” demanded Bob, who was practically giddy with excitement. “We got our passports!”

Lucy’s and Bill’s eyes met. “Really? You’ve got our passports?”

“Right here,” said Bob, handing them over with a flourish. “We can make our flight on Sunday. We’re going home!”

“That’s great,” said Lucy, running her fingers over the smooth leatherette booklet with the gold seal of the United States of America. Such a little thing, maybe four by six inches, she thought, and you handed it over at immigration checkpoints as if it were an airplane ticket. But it had the power to open national borders when you had it; without it you were really and truly stuck. She opened it and glanced at the unflattering photo, checking that she had the correct document, then closed it and tucked it in the zip pocket of her purse to keep it safe.

“A toast!” suggested Ted, raising his glass. “Vive l’Amérique!”

“Vive l’Amérique!” she repeated, accepting a glass of champagne and joining the others in the toast. This was not the time, she decided, to deliver bad news. And if she had suspicions about Adil and Malik, if she wasn’t entirely convinced of their innocence, it didn’t matter. For once, she was willing to admit that she didn’t understand what was going on and it would be better to leave matters in the capable hands of the police. She was going home!

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty