“I don’t know,” said Rafe, pointing to Stavro, “but that’s your client.” Rafe hadn’t absolutely needed to be here for this, but he’d wanted to. And Frank and Sykes had thought his presence might be useful in case Catherine needed some hand-holding. Not that she was in any mood to hold Rafe’s hand.

Stavro stood sullenly by the car’s open back door until Frank took hold of his shoulder and turned him around so he was facing the man across the street in the white skullcap. Frank held Stavro in that position long enough for the man to get a good look at him. An exhibit. A show pony.

The man in the skullcap shook his head and stepped back into his shadow.

Frank shrugged, oh well, and turned Stavro around again, a pirouette, and the tourist got out of the back seat and joined them. He and Frank took Stavro by an arm apiece and started walking him toward the door of the bank. He moved grudgingly, but he moved.

Catherine was the first to see it happening. The man in the skullcap had reappeared and was coming across the street, fast. A taxi sped by and the man dodged around it.

“Who is he?” she said.

“No fucking idea,” said Rafe.

Frank was close enough to hear them and turned to see what they were talking about. He saw the man coming toward them and held up a hand.

“Not now, Mohammed,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

The man kept coming. He was at the curb now.

This wasn’t right. Rafe could see that, and so did the tourist. The man was on the sidewalk now, heading straight at Stavro. The tourist stepped between them and the man in the skullcap pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the throat.

Rafe and Catherine jumped back toward the door of the bank, but the door was shut and opened outward so they couldn’t pull it open without moving toward the knife in the assailant’s hand. His face was expressionless.

The tourist fell down, clutching his neck, his head pitching forward into a puddle by the curb.