Just before they left, though, Rhyme stopped and pivoted back. “If I can offer an observation or two?”

Spiro was stone-faced but Rossi nodded. “Please.”

“Does fette di metallo mean ‘bits of metal’?” Rhyme’s eyes were on the chart.

Spiro’s and Rossi’s eyes swiveled to one another’s. “‘Slices,’ yes.”

“Fibre di carta is ‘paper fibers’?”

“That is correct.”

“Hm. All right. The Composer has changed his appearance. He’s shaved his beard and I am fairly certain his head as well. He has the victim hidden in a very old location, and it’s deep underground. It’s most likely urban, rather than rural. The building is not now accessible to the public and hasn’t been for some time but it once was. It’s in a neighborhood where prostitutes used to work. They still might. That I couldn’t tell you.”

Ercole, he noted, was staring at him as if mesmerized.

Rhyme continued, “And one more thing: He won’t use YouVid again. He uses proxies to hide his IP address but he’s not good at it and I’m sure he’s smart enough to know that. So he’ll expect your computer people, and YouVid security, to be onto him. You should start monitoring other upload sites. And tell your tactical people to be ready to move quickly. The victim doesn’t have much time at all.” As he turned his chair toward the door he said, “Goodbye now. I mean, arrivederci.”

Chapter 15

Am I dead?

And in Jannah?

Ali Maziq could honestly not say. He believed he had been a good man and a good Muslim all his life, and he thought that he had earned a place in Paradise. Perhaps not the highest place, Firdaws, reserved for prophets and martyrs and the most devout, but certainly in a respectable locale.

Yet…yet…

How could Heaven be so cold, so damp, so shadowy?

Alarm coursed through his body and he shivered, only partly from the chill. Was he in al-Nar?

Perhaps he had gotten everything wrong, and had been dispatched straight to Hell. He tried to think back to his most recent memory. Someone appearing fast, someone strong and large. Then something was pulled over his head, muffling the screams.

After that? Flashes of light. Some strange words. Some music.

And now this… Cold, damp, dark, only faint illumination from above.

Yes, yes, it could be. Not Jannah but al-Nar.

He had a vague sense that perhaps this was Hell, yes. Because perhaps he had not lived such a fine life, after all. He had not been so good. He’d done evil. He couldn’t recall what specifically but something.

Perhaps that was what Hell was: an eternity of discomfort spent in a state of believing you had sinned but not knowing exactly how.

Then his mind kicked in, his rational, educated mind. No, he couldn’t be dead. He was in pain. And he knew that if Allah, praise be to Him, had sent him to al-Nar, he would be feeling pain far worse than this. If he were in Jannah, he would be feeling no pain at all but merely the glory of God, praise be to Him.