She shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “You don’t get to know about Ben. Ben is mine. Ben isn’t part of the deal.”

“How long did you date?”

“I told you—”

“How long did you see him, Sarah? It’s important, or I wouldn’t be asking.”

“About nine months.”

“And then it ended?”

“Yes, it ended.”

“You ended it, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Ben was in love with you. Ben wanted to marry you.”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t feel the same way. You weren’t interested in marriage. Maybe you weren’t interested in Ben.”

“I cared about him very much…”

“But?”

“But I wasn’t in love with him.”

“Tell me about his death.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m quite serious.”

“I don’t talk about his death. I never talk about Ben’s death. Besides, you know how Ben died. He died at nine-oh-three A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, live on television. Everyone in the world watched Ben die. Did you?”

“Some of the passengers from Flight 175 managed to make phone calls.”

“That’s correct.”

“Was Ben one of them?”

“Yes.”

“Did he call his father?”

“No.”

“Did he call his mother?”

“No.”

“His brother? His sister?”

“No.”

“Who did he call, Sarah?”

Her eyes welled with tears.

“He called me, you son of a bitch.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He told me the plane had been hijacked. He told me they’d killed the flight attendants. He told me the plane was making wild movements. He told me he loved me and that he was sorry. He was about to die, and he told me he was sorry. And then we lost the connection.”

“What did you do?”

“I turned on the television and saw the smoke pouring from the North Tower of the World Trade Center. It was a few minutes after Flight 11 struck. No one was really sure then what had happened. I called the FAA and told them about Ben’s call. I called the FBI. I called the Boston police. I felt so utterly fucking helpless.”

“And then?”

“I watched television. I waited for the phone to ring again. It never did. At 9:03 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, the second plane hit the World Trade Center. The South Tower was burning. Ben was burning.”

A single tear spilled onto her cheek. She punched it away and glared at him.

“Are you satisfied?”

He was silent.

“Now it’s my turn to ask a question, and you’d better answer it truthfully, or I’m leaving.”

“Ask me anything you like, Sarah.”

“What do you want from me?”

“We want you to quit your job at the Phillips Collection and go to work for Jihad Incorporated. Are you still interested?”