Jana had Crane’s gun in her lap.

“Let her go,” the reporter said.

The driver glanced at Jana.

“Let her go and I’ll help you.” Crane was after a story. He was after Jana. He had no quarrel with the young woman.

“How? How can you help me?”

“I’m searching for the Scorpion. And so are you. I know things about him. I saw your face when you noticed the men in the limo. You were disappointed neither of them was him.”

“Give me a fact. Something I can use.”

“And you’ll let her go?”

She stared at him. “Maybe I kill you and her,” Jana replied.

“Or maybe I help you and nobody dies.”

“Pay for one life. Yours or hers. Give me a fact.”

Crane thought for a moment. What would be dear to her yet not give too much away? “There’s a Dubai connection.”

“Dubai? What?”

“That’s all I’ll tell you for now. For my own protection.”

Jana debated. Then she turned to the driver and spoke in Arabic. “Dump her by the O2,” she said. “We keep him.”

Middleton stood on the driver’s side of his car, his head hung in frustration. The London address Jean-Marc Lespasse found on Kavi Balan’s computer was a mosque just south of Tufnell Park, a thriving neighborhood in North London populated by hundreds of Muslims and far, far fewer Hindus. The mosque had a noxious reputation its new, moderate leadership couldn’t quite erase: Before his conviction for murder and racial hatred, its previous imam advocated jihad with suicide bombing its primary form—no one seemed to doubt his involvement in the 7/7 attacks. Supporting al-Qaeda’s violent activities, it had offered training in assault weapons and served as a clearinghouse for untraceable telecommunications equipment.

“A ruse,” he said. “A joke.”

From the opposite side of the car, Tesla replied, “Not necessarily. Maybe someone here”—she nodded toward the mosque and the squat brick buildings that lined the street—“knows of an attack on the mosque. It might not be a dead end.”

“But it’s a lead that will take weeks of infiltrating to develop. We don’t have the time. Not with what’s going on.”

Tesla tugged on the car door, but it was locked. “You’re right. We need to strategize.”

Middleton dug into his pocket and tossed her the keys. “Take the car,” he said. He gestured in the direction of the Tufnell Park Underground station. “I’m going to Wigmore Hall to see Felicia. It was damned thoughtless of me to forget her recital. Lose the weapons and catch up with me, if you’d like. We can talk to Connie and Jean-Marc once they get settled in Tampa.”