She neither lowered her voice nor changed her tone. “So then, when do we move the equipment?”

Archer said, “Soon. It is set. It will be done. The wise control the world.”

“The wise control themselves,” she said quickly, pressing the button that ended the call.

Jana returned the BlackBerry to the drawer and, as she unpacked her small duffle, thought of Crane, who lurked in the next room. She had mixed feelings about the reporter. Her sources had given her a lot of information about him. He wasn’t about money or power. He was about journalism and the Story—with a capitol “s.” Which meant she could trust him up to a point. Jana, though, never believed in trust; daughters whose fathers are murdered rarely do. But Crane had access to important facts.

And in this murky business, facts were what she needed.

Besides, the gawky reporter was lusting after her and therefore it would be easy to tap the spigot of what he knew about the Scorpion, Middleton and the others.

After the girl she thought was Charlotte Middleton had escaped in London, Jana had cut Crane free and he’d behaved just as she knew he would: like a puppy with no desire to stray from his mistress, leash or none. She’d tried to charm from him what information he had but he’d continued to withhold details, other than the lead was centered in Dubai. Jana had immediately sized up what was going on and suggested that they go there together. She’d find the connection to the Scorpion first hand while he continued his research for the story.

It’s what he’d been hoping for all along. He immediately agreed.

Now, Crane approached with deliberately noisy steps and knocked.

“Come in.”

“You people do yourselves well, Jana,” he said in French. “The bedroom on the far side of the living room is spectacular. Plenty of room. Lovely view, too. You can see all those odd little boats.” He changed gears quickly. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Questions,” Jana said, “always questions.”

“I gave you Dubai. You promised me the truth for my story. So?”

“Really, Pierre, yet another question? Can we concentrate on something other than talk? We’ve been on airplanes for hours.” Jana let her voice fall, but kept her eyes steady. She knew how to play this game, a matter of tone and body movement rather than words.

Crane took the bait. “You are a very attractive woman, Jana.”

“A compliment from a man who tells lies for a living—what is that worth?” Again, her words meant little.

“I’m a journalist. I don’t lie . . . Well, not very often. Besides, beautiful women don’t need compliments from homely men.”

“So now I am beautiful?”

“You know perfectly well you are.”