I said, “We haven’t seen any female migrants because they are being kept out of sight. Now we add that third thing to the other two.”

“Which is why they are digging. Digging to hide the girls.”

“Maybe. We don’t know yet, exactly.”

“But we can call the Iraqi guy’s number. The office.”

The Iraqi SIM card was still in Nazari’s phone. So she dug it out of her pocket and started to hunt for the number. I was looking at something down by the tennis courts. A young guy was setting up a coffee cabin in front of the tennis courts. It was a little wood-sided structure with a fold-up counter. He was flipping up the fold-down windows. I could see pastries in a glass case. I figured, if he was opening up for the day, he’d have fresh-brewed coffee happening.

I said, “Do you see what I see?”

She looked up and followed the direction of my gaze.

“Coffee.”

“Which is something that we should drink, now.”

“Most definitely.”

“I’ll get the coffee. We’ll call the Iraqi while we drink it. It’ll be more comfortable that way. No reason to suffer unnecessarily.”

“And pastries, of different kinds.”

“Hopefully.”

“At least two each.”

I walked down the hill. We hadn’t eaten since the evening before, and I’d burned a lot of calories. I could feel the jitters telling me I was craving nutrition. There was a little footpath down the hill and over the grass to the courts. My eyes hunted the pastries. I thought, two for me, two for Nazari. Coffee, light and sweet. Plenty of milk, plenty of sugar. Keep the energy going, at least until we could take a nap.

The coffee hut guy was young, skinny, and blond. When I saw the way he was staring at me, I realized how scary I looked. My face smeared with a thin crust of dried dirt, maybe a little blood. I said, “Digging is hard work, my friend. Hard, hard work.”

“Digging?”

“Yes, sir. The garden is a harsh mistress.” I smiled broadly.

A smile is infectious, and in France it’s uncommon. Smiles in France are like sunshine in Finland, a treasure to be cherished. So the guy couldn’t stop himself smiling back. “Can I help you?”

I ordered the coffee and the food. While he worked the coffee machine, I looked at the place. The hut sold coffee, snacks, and tennis gear, like balls and racket tape and sweat bands for the head and the wrist. They had a big case of energy drinks and sports supplements. Prices were written on big yellow star tags. A sign said, ‘cash only’.

When the order was ready, I paid. The guy handed me a little paper receipt, which I crumpled into my pocket. I hauled the sack of croissants and the to-go cups back to Nazari.