Aziz caught sight of him rounding the corner. He watched him pass the bus stop. Aziz saw a cab, but Ghazi didn’t seem to notice it. Where was Ghazi going? “Ghazi!” He yelled from the bottom of his stomach. He must have heard him. He did. He stopped. Ghazi looked over his shoulder and turned around. He started walking to Aziz.

It had been a long time since April had been in the van with headphones, listening. She was glad Linda had a microspeaker in her ear. April had to fight the impulse to tell Linda every sentence. Linda was a bad liar. Hospital records showed she was deeply involved in insurance fraud, but she was stupid enough to think they believed her story about Heather Montrose and Abdelaziz Arkoun duping her. Sure they had, but Linda was a more than willing participant. She’d also insisted that all of them—Heather Montrose, Abdelaziz Arkoun, Abdelrafik Ghezil, Kamal Gamal—were terrorists back in 1996. When they asked how she knew they were terrorists, she said she saw explosives in their Everett apartment. What did they look like? Like bombs, she said. What kind of bombs? You know, she said, you’re FBI.

Linda and Heather were set to meet for dinner. Linda wanted to go to a bar, but the noise was too great. The scenario was simple. Linda had come into some money, in the form of a third husband, and she wanted to take Heather to dinner at a quiet upscale place to renew their friendship. Linda said Heather loved the idea, it was all good, but April wondered. She had no conception of Heather. Heather was completely outside her experience. Heather wasn’t— believable.

“Girl!” That was Heather. Sounded whiny.

“Miss Heather!” That was Linda.

“Look at you!”

“Look at you!”

“It is so good to see you!”

“Look, look at this rock on my hand!”

They had loaned Linda a diamond to make the new husband story credible.

“Let me see. Oh, Linda, it’s gorgeous! Just beautiful.”

Hostess was interrupting. Seating was happening. Waitress. April had forgotten how much filler there was. She looked at the technician and Agent Melhaney. They were concentrating.

It wasn’t until the second glass of wine, and the lateness of the entrée, which they had arranged with the kitchen beforehand, that things got interesting. It was Heather’s doing, not Linda’s.

“You know, Linda, I feel terrible about what happened.”

“What do you mean!?”

“You know, the insurance thing. With Aziz.”

Who was Aziz? Oh. She kind of remembered Linda said something about this. Not Abdelaziz. But Aziz. Abdelaziz Arkoun, she mouthed to Melhaney. He gave her a thumbs-up.

“That’s all good now,” Linda said, fairly unconvincingly. “My husband, he made the problem go away.”

“Aziz knows I am seeing you tonight, and he wanted me to tell you he is sorry. He wanted to come. So did Mourad.”