“Yes.” Okoro started to walk toward the café.

After two steps, his path was blocked. A man squarely in his way. Not stepping aside. Not yielding.

“Detective Okoro,” Frank said. “How nice to see you again. And who are your friends?”

“All of it? You sent all of it?” Stavro said. “Bullshit! You were supposed to send ninety-five percent to Khartoum. Khartoum got five percent. Five! The Malta account was supposed to get five percent. It got nothing. Were you fucking confused? Where is the fucking money?”

Majid said nothing. He signaled for the waitress Stavro had chased away. She came to the table and, while Stavro glared, he ordered a coffee. Stavro waited until she stepped back, then spoke in a fierce whisper. A whole other level of intensity.

“Do you care about your family? About your sister? Do you care about your own fucking life?”

Majid faltered. He took a breath. Was Stavro armed? Would he take out his phone and call people in Beirut? No, he would do nothing yet, not here, not now. Majid called on his anger to hold Stavro’s gaze, to carry this through. “All the money was sent,” he said. “Five percent to Khartoum, yes. But all the rest to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes. Not to your account in Malta. I assume that is your account. It went to a bank in Geneva. The Holborn Bank. I took the liberty of opening an account there in your name. If you check, you’ll find that nothing is missing. All the money was sent.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck told you to do that?”

The waitress brought Majid his coffee. He stirred in sugar and took a sip and then looked at Stavro and told him. “Who told me to do it? You did.”

The two men flanking Okoro froze. They looked at the man blocking their path. Waiting to see what this was.

“What brings you out to the park today?” Frank said. “The fine weather? It couldn’t be our mutual interest in Mister Hassan, could it?” He nodded toward the table with Majid and Stavro.

“Actually,” Okoro said, “I was thinking of going over there to say hello. And perhaps to meet his companion.”

Frank smiled. A friend chatting with a friend on a sunny day in a pretty park. “You know what?” he said. “This really wouldn’t be the best time for that.”

The man was smaller than either of the men with Okoro. He was one and they were three. But that seemed not to concern him. At all.

“We could talk to him together,” Okoro said. “I assume you’re interested, too. Or are you just here to enjoy the weather?”

Frank looked at Okoro’s companions for the first time. Then back to Okoro. “Your friends wouldn’t be armed, would they?”

“Of course not,” said Okoro. “Why would they be armed?”

“Good,” said Frank. “Because mine are.”