I got out of the car and made the call. I used the cleaner’s burner and dialed a number that’s accessible and free from anywhere in the world. A female voice answered after three rings. “Yes?” I repeated a string of numbers a couple of letters and then some more numbers. There was a pause on the other end. Then, “Code?”

I spoke a long combination of letters and numbers.

“Who’s speaking?”

“Captain Keeler.”

“Retired Captain Keeler.”

“Correct.”

“Why am I speaking to a retired Captain Tom Keeler?”

“I need to speak with Blomstein.”

“I don’t know a Blomstein.”

“Yes you do. He’s sitting right next to you. Just transfer the call.”

There was a longer pause. Then the call transferred and was picked up. “Keeler.”

“Blomstein.”

“You’re bored already. You regret everything.”

“Not bored. No regrets.”

“So why are you calling me?”

“I’m going to send you a picture. I need to know if we’ve got anything on a guy. And I need to know what it is if we do.”

“You’re retired.”

“Correct.”

There was a long pause. “I guess it takes getting used to.”

“No. I’m used to it already. I was used to the idea of it a year and one week ago. I have no problems being retired, Blomstein. I’ve just got a little issue with a face is all. It’s not complicated.”

Blomstein chuckled, and he said, “Alright. You get last licks. Send it to the usual address.”

“Will do. You’ll get the face in a couple of minutes.”

I killed the line.

Nazari was waiting in the car. I said, “I need you to send your pics of the dead Afghan to a guy I know. If Qayoumi’s an Afghan, chances are he’s in a database and we’ll have something on him. If not, we’ll see.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“He’s just a guy.”

I wasn’t going to tell her that Blomstein was a US special operations intelligence officer based out of RAF Mildenhall, England. Nazari made no fuss. I gave her the electronic address, which was a combination of numbers and dots and a couple of letters, lower case and upper case, with a hyphen here and an underscore there. Her phone made a swishing sound when she pressed the button to send.

I hoped we wouldn’t get to Brumaire while Madame Vaugeois was having dinner. I figured she might consider that rude.