“He wants me to short the stock of a cruise line. And meanwhile send off the profits from the first two shorts.”

“Profits from the explosion in Africa and the poisoning in France that killed four children?”

“Yes.”

“And the profits are to be sent where?”

“Two places. Ninety-five percent to a bank in Khartoum, five percent to an account in Malta.”

“Five percent,” Rafe said. “Sounds like Stavro’s commission.”

“No shit,” Sykes said. Then, to Majid: “What have you done so far?”

“Nothing. He texted and I told him I’m still looking for shares to borrow. He wants the profits sent immediately. I told him that had to wait until Monday.”

It was Sunday.

“Ninety-five percent for his principals,” Sykes said. “What do you know about the people getting the ninety-five percent?”

“He said they’re Arabs, Muslims. That’s why they picked me.”

“No other reason?”

“No,” Majid said. “No other reason.”

“Stavro must know who they are,” Rafe said.

“We should definitely ask him,” said Sykes. “The bank in Khartoum is unlikely to be helpful.” She turned back to Majid. “If you told Stavro you had to meet him, would he do it?”

“I don’t know. I told him that Rafe had asked about him. And the Nigerian. He’s only communicating by text. I think he’d be suspicious.”

Sykes nodded. “He needs motivation.”

“Majid doesn’t send the money,” Rafe said. “That would motivate him.”

“Too blatant,” Sykes said. “And Stavro’s bosses might think your friend here is keeping the money for himself.”

“Even better,” Rafe said. “Wouldn’t that motivate them? They’d come after Majid. You could grab whoever comes and ask who sent them.”

Majid looked at Rafe. They’d come after Majid?

Rafe saw the look. “We could guard him. Couldn’t we?”

“Yes,” said Sykes, her tone not completely reassuring. “But we’d be grabbing low-level thugs who wouldn’t know anything. We want Stavro.” She unscrewed the top of an iced tea bottle. “I think it would be better if Mister Hassan here made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” asked Majid, relieved that the discussion had moved on from thugs coming after him.

“Instead of sending ninety-five percent to Khartoum, send five percent. A simple mix-up.” Sykes sipped her iced tea.

“And the ninety-five percent?” Rafe asked. “We take it?”

Sykes shook her head. “The account is in Stavro’s name, right? We can’t take it without getting Swiss authorities involved. Accounts are sacred here.”

“But we’re not going to send it to Stavro,” Rafe said.

“Of course not,” Sykes said. “And, as charming as your friend Mister Hassan here is, I’d rather not leave that money under his control, considering he has just helped finance two terrorist attacks. We’ll keep the money in Stavro’s name but transfer it to another bank. But not the one in Malta. We want a bank where we have friends.”

Rafe said, “There is one.”