Majid, Rafe, and Catherine met at the hotel bar where the Harvard Business School held its receptions. It was late afternoon and rain clouds were massing again in the mountains to the north and people were drinking, except for Majid, of course. Catherine wasn’t drinking either. Rafe nursed a bourbon, warily. Catherine had invited both men to join her. Safety in numbers?

“I’m leaving Switzerland,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

Rafe looked at Majid. Apparently this was news to him, too.

“I’m going back to New York. Remember Nancy Cardoza from Cambridge? She’s at Morgan Stanley. She has a job for me.”

“Morgan Stanley?” said Majid.

“Solid,” said Rafe.

“Yeah,” Catherine said. “Plus she pretty much promised it wouldn’t involve suitcases full of cash or gunfire or lunatics with knives.”

Both men nodded.

“And,” Catherine said, “I can be near my father.” As far as she could tell, he still had his girlfriend, Karen. Maybe she could become friends with Karen. They could have family dinners. Well, pseudo family dinners.

“Tomorrow?” said Majid.

Catherine nodded. “I need a break. A clean break. This has all been a little . . . too much.”

Nobody could argue with that.

“I may be in New York, too,” Majid said. “I’m closing the fund. It seems like time to wrap it up.” The dead partner on the office floor, the trades for terrorists . . . new clients weren’t flocking in.

“Also New York?” Rafe said. “There’s a coincidence.”

“That’s where the business is. I have connections there from Cambridge, too.”

Catherine turned to Rafe. “Are you staying here? With your nonexistent hedge fund? Or whatever it is you’re actually doing?”

He started to say something. She held up a hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

She stood up. “So, I wanted to tell you both.”

She picked up her bag and walked toward the door.

Majid got up and walked after her.

Rafe considered getting up and following, too, then decided against it. Two men chasing her—that had been part of the problem. Not to mention that he’d nearly gotten her stabbed and shot. He would give her some space. He would call her later. If he got to New York.

He lifted his glass and discovered it was empty. He signaled the waiter for another drink. And looked up when he heard the waiter bringing it, but it wasn’t the waiter. It was Okoro, looking pleased with himself. He sat in the chair Majid had just left and said, “That is a very fine-looking woman.”

“She’s not available,” Rafe said. “Quite a coincidence running into you again.”

“Not a coincidence,” Okoro said. “You’re never hard to find. I told you. Bad tradecraft.”

“You here to give me a lesson?”

“No,” said Okoro. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Simple

SIMPLE