Wide-eyed, McKenzie said, “Yes, I see what you’re saying. But Khaled, he knew nothing. I’m sure. Our techniques work.”

Rhyme asked, “Did your asset actually give you the name ‘Khaled’?”

“Yes, and that he was being held in the Capodichino Reception Center.” She fell silent. “But, wait, no. Actually he didn’t. All he gave me was the family name. Jabril.”

Rhyme glanced toward Spiro, who said, “You kidnapped the wrong person, Signorina McKenzie. The terrorist is Khaled’s wife, Fatima.”

Chapter 60

Sachs and Ercole sped to the refugee camp, about ten kilometers from downtown.

Sachs parked outside the camp, at the main gate, where they were greeted by Rania Tasso, who gestured them inside and hurried them through the congested spaces between the tents.

Breathing hard from the fast pace, Rania said, “As soon as you called, I sent our security people to seal all the exits. All around the perimeter. It’s secure. We have guards and police watching Fatima’s tent—they are being discreet, hiding nearby—and she has not come out…if she was inside. That we don’t know.”

“Could she have left the camp?”

“It’s possible, before we sealed it. As you asked, we haven’t been inside the tent or contacted her husband. He has not been seen either.”

After a fast walk to the center of the camp, Rania pointed. “This is the tent.” Light blue, mud-spattered, several rips in the Tyvek. Laundry hung outside like semaphore flags on old-time ships. Only bedding and men’s outer clothing and children’s garments fluttered in the wind. Was that all that could be properly displayed to the world?

The tent door was closed. There were no windows.

A uniformed officer, very dark skin, dark eyes, sweat dripping from beneath his beret, joined them. He’d been watching from behind a stand offering water bottles.

“Antonio? Have you seen inside?”

“No, Signorina Rania. I don’t know if Fatima’s there or not. Or anyone else. No one has come in or out.”

Sachs opened her jacket, exposing the Beretta. Ercole unsnapped his holster.

Sachs said, “Ercole. I know what you’re thinking. She’s a woman and a mother. And may not be a hard-core terrorist. We don’t know what Ibrahim and Gianni are using as leverage to force her to do this. But we have to assume she’ll detonate the device in an instant if she thinks we’ll stop her. Remember: Shoot for her—”

“Upper lip.” He nodded. “Three times.”

Rania was looking about her, her quick gray eyes reflecting both bright sun and her heart’s dismay. “Please be careful. Look.”

Sachs saw what the woman indicated: In a vacant area next to the tent a half-dozen women sat on impromptu seats like tires and railway ties and water cartons, holding babies. Other children—from ages two to ten, or so—ran and laughed, lost in their improvised games.

“Clear the area as best you can. Quietly.”

Rania nodded to Antonio and he reached for his radio.

“No,” Sachs said fast. “And turn the volume off.”

Both he and Rania silenced their units and gestured to other security people. The officers did their best to shepherd people away from the tent. As soon as the officers moved on, though, the empty space filled with the curious.