“Under different circumstances,” Burim said. He was trying to be a good guest, but he’d been sitting here for hours watching the TV. Now the men were watching what looked like billiards. Burim could barely watch, and after his third beer, he turned down their offer of more. He needed to keep a clear head.

Burim knew what good fortune he’d enjoyed to this point. He had arrived at Heathrow, tired and disoriented, and was met by an unmistakably Albanian man holding a sign that read BERTY’S FRIEND. The sign was as redundant as it was misspelled—this unshaven, raven-haired thug was obviously the right man. He introduced himself as Billy and said he was going to look after Burim. Billy told Burim that Berti had called to say that the car Pia was using had been found in Iowa, but the police still weren’t treating her disappearance as suspicious. Burim said there was no way Pia was in Iowa. She had been on that plane to London from Italy. He was convinced.

After that, the men drove in silence to this terraced house in a run-down but functioning neighborhood in North London. Burim was bursting with questions, but he followed his driver’s lead and kept quiet.

Billy let Burim into the narrow home with lurid wallpaper and the smell of damp, and introduced Harry, a slightly older and better-dressed man.

“Billy and Harry?” said Burim in their common tongue.

“I know,” said Harry, “but the less we know about each other, the better, yes?”

“Agreed.”

“We have a room upstairs. It’s small, but you won’t be here long. Take a shower if you want. The water pressure is low, and don’t use all the hot water. You’ll need some clothes.”

“I’m fine. What are we doing about locating my daughter?”

“Of course. That’s why we’re all here. We have the picture that was forwarded, and the description. She is a lovely young woman. Which makes our job easier. The picture has been distributed to all our friends and associates. Who have their own friends and associates. They know there is a reward available. There is a reward available, yes?”

Burim nodded. He knew that question would arise, and he would pay. He just didn’t know how much. Burim struck that thought and moved on. “What about the Chinese? The plane that arrived at Stansted that fit the description was listed as a Chinese diplomatic flight.”

“It was,” said Harry. “Which makes us think that the contact in America may have been mistaken. We’re checking other airports.”

“But I know there was a Chinese connection with the case my daughter was investigating.”