“He knew things he shouldn’t know.”

“What things?”

That I am a CIA agent. The thought ricocheted inside his head.

“Is there a chance he got arrested on purpose. To get inside, somehow? To . . . I don’t know . . . to occupy your resources?”

Hungry sat down at the foot of the bed. “What are you saying?”

“He’s in prison because of me . . . What if he meant, to give The Sovereign a reason to send me? To give you a reason to let me in?”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

She was right. It didn’t make sense. Botha seemed to know he was a CIA asset. But if Botha was in with the CIA, why had Eady and Barrow sent him?

“Let’s go back. Does Sehlalo have history with the Americans? With the intelligence community?”

“Not possible,” she scoffed.

“What?”

“Sehlalo would never betray me.”

“Does he?”

“With your intelligence community? You mean the CIA?” She stood up from the bed. “Do you know what you’re suggesting? Are you completely ignorant of our history? Mandela spent twenty-seven years in prison because of your CIA. The CIA helped hunt and kill our comrades in Angola, Botswana, Zambia, Mozambique. And later, when Apartheid fell and the rest of the world said its humble apologies, your CIA and your State Department kept Madiba on your terrorist watch list! Our democratically elected president, an international terrorist, until he was ninety years old!

“Any connection, any appearance of a connection, between my team and the CIA would be fatal. I’d be branded Third Force. We could all wind up in prison. Or dead. This is no game, Tom. No,” she said, turning to the window, “Sehlalo would not help the CIA. It would jeopardize everything we’re doing, everything I’ve devoted my life to.”

Klay’s muted cell phone began buzzing. Something in his gut was buzzing more.

“You have a cache of files.”

She did not respond.

“Botha knows it, Hungry. He said to ask you where you got them.”

When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Was it Sehlalo who brought them to you?”

“Sehlalo did not betray me.”

Klay’s eyes narrowed. “But there is something?” His voice was determinedly steady. “I can see it. You’re not telling me something.”

“It’s not important. Not relevant,” she corrected.

“What?”

Hungry faced him. “It’s personal.”

“It’s all personal.”

“I’m engaged, Tom. I’m going to be married.”

Something in his chest tightened. He laughed bitterly. First Erin, now Hungry. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.”

Her eyes clouded in disbelief. She shook her head. “You already have.”

Sehlalo. He sighed. He’d missed that, too. “Well, I’m happy for you,” he said.

“It’s not public. The staff know. But you see, he would never betray me.”

“Not intentionally.”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”