Still a Crown Colony of the British Empire, the tiny flat island—a few minutes' flight from Cuba, less than an hour from Miami—possessed more banks than hotels, more financial offices than brothels, more citizens in business suits than beach wear.

Yet the beaches were lovely, Joanna thought as she and Lev strolled along the concrete walk from her hotel to the restaurant where she had been told the meeting would take place. It's a shame we won't have the time to go snorkeling or enjoy the sunshine.

The street was lined with restaurants and shops vending beach wear and souvenirs. They were dressed like tourists, as they had been instructed to be. Joanna was in white shorts and a flowered sleeveless blouse, with a big floppy straw hat; Lev wore comfortable baggy slacks, a loose-fitting mesh shirt hanging over them, and sunglasses.

"I see the string bikini is making a comeback," Lev said, grinning. "I'll have to buy a few for you."

Joanna pretended to grimace. "One woman on the entire beach in a string outfit doesn't make a fashion trend, Lev. And she's very young, probably still in her teens."

Her husband shrugged. "She is a bit on the emaciated side, but still she seems quite attractive."

"Honestly."

"You would look much better than she does."

"I couldn't wear a skimpy thing like that on the beach!"

"Who said you'd wear it on the beach?" Lev countered. "We have fourteen rooms in Savannah. I could spread a little sand in the sun porch and chase you through the entire house."

"You would, too, wouldn't you?" Joanna said, laughing. Lev was trying to lighten her mood, she realized. Ease the tension.

Arranging a meeting with Seigo Yamagata had been easier than getting to see Georges Faure. And more difficult. Yamagata was even more inaccessible than the U.N. secretary-general, but his aides had responded with swift politeness to Joanna's call. Very indirectly they suggested that a luncheon might be of interest to both parties. Joanna refused to come to Japan; Yamagata's aides said with deep regret that a meeting elsewhere would probably be impossible.

At Lev's suggestion, Joanna suggested a neutral territory. Within an hour Yamagata's twenty-year-old son Saito called back to propose meeting at Grand Cayman. Quietly. Discreetly.

"Many corporations conduct business on Grand Cayman," the young man said, looking earnest. "It would not be out of the ordinary for a very high officer of this corporation to be present on the island at a certain time and place."

Joanna nodded at his image on her phone screen. "Yes," she agreed. "Masterson Corporation does business with several banking establishments there."

The time and place were set. Now Joanna and Lev walked along the beachfront street in the brilliant late morning sunlight and brisk sea breeze, heading toward the Sunrise Hotel.

"I wonder how many of these Japanese tourists are actually Yamagata security people," Lev murmured.

Joanna had noticed them, too, strolling innocently along the beach walk, window shopping, lolling in the sunshine. "About the same number as our own Masterson troops," she replied.