She scanned the lobby, aware that she was a little nervous. She was embarking on a case that felt bigger than anything she had tackled up till now. A just-arrived Delta Airlines crew was checking in at the front desk as the bellman took care of the luggage. Someone was rolling out a red carpet from the front entrance into the driveway, presumably for the Gabon president’s arrival. A group of officials who appeared to be the advance party were discussing logistics with the curvy woman in red and a Lebanese guy Emma thought was probably the manager on duty. Lebanese people in Ghana either managed places or owned them.

At a lectern on the other side of the lobby, a pretty young maître d’ in charcoal gray stood at the entrance to the outdoor Cedar Garden restaurant, where a few diners were having an early lunch. Emma rose and strolled over. “Good morning, madam,” she said amicably.

“Good morning,” the maître d’ replied, flashing even, white teeth. Her name badge said Zeneba.

“May I please have a look at the menu?”

“Certainly,” she said, handing Emma one.

“Thank you, Zeneba.” Emma looked through the items, relating to only one: vegetable soup for the price of thirty-six cedis, something that would cost one-sixth that much at a chop bar in Accra. “I’m meeting a friend here,” she said casually, “so I just wanted to get an idea of what you have.”

“Have you been here before?” Zeneba asked.

“No, my first time, actually.” She looked at the entrance where the presidential preparations had begun to appear more pressing. “I’m a little worried because I thought my friend would have been here by now.”

“Maybe you can call him?” Zeneba suggested.

“I did try, but he’s not picking up,” Emma said, getting out her phone. “I was late myself, so I hope he hasn’t left.” She gave a little laugh. “You know these Americans; they can be a little impatient.”

Zeneba smiled, agreeing without agreeing.

“You’ve been here all this morning, right?” Emma asked.

“Yes please.”

“Maybe you might have seen him.” She brought up Gordon’s photo—supplied by Derek—on her Samsung screen and showed it to Zeneba. “Have you seen him, by any chance?”

“Oh!” Zeneba exclaimed. “That’s Mr. Gordon!”

“You know him?”

“But of course. I remember him well. He was here with us a couple of months ago. He came to Cedar Garden often. He said our hummus is the best he’s ever tasted.”

Emma hadn’t the vaguest notion what hummus was. “Oh, wonderful,” she said.