“Tried to save him?” Ercole asked. “This is certain?”

“Yes. He ran toward the men, shouting, but he was too late. They fled back into the camp. When the Composer saw Dadi lying on the ground, he simply stood over him, looking shocked. Shaking his head. Then he set the noose on the ground and he too fled.”

“All right. That’s interesting news, Rania. Thank you. Did they say anything else about him? The identification of the car?”

“No. It happened very quickly.”

Sachs turned to Fatima. “Please say I’m sorry for her trouble.”

But the woman answered in English. “I am thanks for that.”

“What happened, exactly, please?”

Fatima gave a fast response, in Arabic, the words edgy and staccato.

Rania explained, “She and Khaled left Muna, this is her daughter, there, with a neighbor and went outside to meet a man about a job for Khaled after they were granted asylum. The Composer approached them there. He struck Fatima and pushed her down—it’s very bad for a non-Muslim to touch, much less strike, a Muslim woman. This shocked and stunned her. Then he slipped a hood over Khaled’s head, and immediately Khaled grew groggy. Fatima jumped up and fought. But he hit her again hard and she fell back, dazed. When she climbed to her feet, they were gone and a car was speeding away. She couldn’t see what kind it was either. Dark. That was all she said.”

“I kick-ed him and scratch-ed,” Fatima said in cumbersome English, speaking slowly as she sought the words. “He was…” She said a word in Arabic to Rania.

“Surprised,” Rania translated. “Unprepared.”

“His shoe came off in the struggle?” Ercole asked.

“Yes. I pull-ed it. Holding to his leg.”

“Did you see anything unusual about him? Tattoos, scars. His eye color? Clothing?”

After translation, Rania said, “His sunglasses fell off and his eyes were brown. A round face. She might recognize him again but she is not sure. All Westerners look alike to her. There were scars on his face, from where he had shaved, it seemed. He wore a hat. But she can’t recall his other clothing. Except it was dark.”

“She’ll be all right?”

“Yes, our doctors say it was a superficial injury. Nothing broken. A bruise.”

Fatima cast her eyes onto Ercole’s gray uniform. Then she turned to Sachs and gazed at her desperately. “Please. Fine-ed Khaled. Fine-ed my husband. It so much is important!”

“We’ll do everything we can.”

Fatima gave a hint of a smile, then grabbed Sachs’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. She muttered in Arabic, and Rania translated. “She says, ‘Bless you.’”

Chapter 46

The injury wasn’t bad.

Stefan had been more shocked than hurt when the woman rose from the ground outside the Capodichino Reception Center and, screaming and flailing, attacked him.

He walked into his farmhouse now, carting the Browning .270 hunting rifle in his gloved hands. He hung it on hooks above the fireplace and set the box of shells beneath it. Ironic, he thought: using a hunting rifle against Artemis, the goddess of the hunt.