“The races can be very close,” Majid said. “A matter of inches. And camels run faster with less weight on their backs. The lighter the jockey, the better.”

Rafe nodded.

“So,” Majid said, “the jockeys used to be children.”

“Children?” Rafe said.

Majid nodded. “From Pakistan and India. The camel owners bought them from their parents.”

“Bought them?”

“The parents were impoverished. They needed money. Also, the camel owners might have lied to them about providing their sons with education.” Majid shrugged. “Or maybe they didn’t.”

Rafe wondered—was his next task going to be rescuing enslaved children?

“Then some articles were written in the international press, exposés, and the government was embarrassed, so it banned the practice.”

Okay, so not that.

“Who rides the camels now?” Rafe asked. “Monkeys?”

Majid shook his head. “Robots. With mechanical rotating arms holding whips. The camels’ owners drive their cars around the outside of the track while the animals are running. The camels are racing, and the Mercedes are racing. The owners have remote controls telling the robots when to swing their whips.”

“That sounds very bizarre.”

“It is. The robots wear jockey caps and jerseys with the colors of the owners’ stables.”

“The robots have heads?”

“Knobs,” Majid said. “Just big enough to hold the caps.”

He was silent while Rafe tried to visualize that. Nearby, an old man trailed by a young nurse was leaning over to smell some of the roses.

“What do you think?” Majid asked. “Does that make it all right?”

“Does what make what all right?”

“Doing the right thing after doing the wrong thing. The robots came in and there were no more child slaves.”

Rafe considered. “What happened to the children?”

“Some were sent home. The government put some in schools, I think. I don’t know.” Majid looked off in the sky at nothing.

“You want to replace children with robots,” Rafe said.

Majid looked down from the sky and nodded. “I can’t undo what’s happened. People dead in Africa. Children dead in France. But I can stop it from happening again, maybe. I can help. If I’m allowed to.”

“Allowed?” Rafe said.

“By the authorities. Your authorities.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Rafe said. “But they aren’t the only ones investigating this. That Nigerian police officer. He talked to me.”

“The Nigerian? He’s a crook.”

“He is?” Rafe turned on the bench to face Majid full on. “How do you know?”

“He came to me and demanded a share of the profits. He said they were owed to a corrupt cop in Nigeria who helped set up the explosion there.”

Rafe sat back and thought. Okoro a crook? Not put on earth to bring evil to justice? Could that be true?

It could.

But did it matter?

“What is it?” Majid asked. “What did he tell you?”

Rafe looked back at Majid, decision made. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.