She did not tell all that to Rafe when she called him. The story of her life could wait for another time. Or never.

She went to Rafe because he had helped her before. Well, he and Majid, but Rafe had put it together, and Rafe had some kind of connection with the US embassy or law enforcement or something. (She’d never gotten to the bottom of that. Every time they talked she was either too upset or they were jumping into bed. Or Rafe evaded.)

So she called Rafe, and they met at a bland modern café near the university, with peace and love posters on the walls and students working on laptops. She ordered a coffee and told Rafe everything she knew about Pleski. She said she would tell it to anybody, that she would go public, even at the cost of her job and whatever revenge Pleski could exact. “I don’t care,” she said. “I just have to stop it.” She was clear-eyed and calm.

Rafe put down his own cup and looked at her, seeing her in his current state of mind not as his lover, not as a woman whose cream silk blouse he wanted to pull off her, but as a person with a problem that he could help solve by dint of his experience and knowledge and position. It was like being back in the office in Connecticut looking at a complicated deal. He knew how to resolve complications.

“You don’t have to go public,” he said. “I have an idea.”

Catherine looked skeptical. Or disappointed. “Like your last idea? Just do what Pleski wants?”

“No,” Rafe said. “Not that. Not that at all.”

He asked her some questions about the Holborn Bank and about her new boss, and she answered them.

He told her what he needed and asked if she could get it. She said she wasn’t sure, there were security procedures.

She said she would try.

“Do you know about the camel races in my country?”

“No,” Rafe said.

“About the jockeys?”

“No,” Rafe said.

He was meeting with Majid in late afternoon, sitting on a bench near the rose garden in the Parc de la Grange. He had met with Catherine just hours before. His head was still on her problem. He did not know why Majid had summoned him to talk about camel racing, but he didn’t mind. Majid had said it was important. It seemed that once you resolved to act, there was suddenly plenty to do.

“Nobody goes to them,” Majid said.

“The camel races?”

Majid nodded. “There are hardly any spectators, but they are very big, very important, for the owners of the camels. Wealthy Emiratis with big stables. Bragging rights and big bets. Lots of money changes hands. Plus, it’s an ancient tradition, which means something there.”

“Okay,” Rafe said. Majid could take his time with this, whatever it was.