Catherine paused before a section of the trail that had no handrail on the downhill side. As feeble consolation, there were bushes there, just below the level of the trail, that might, just possibly, catch a falling body (or maybe just slow it for a moment before it broke loose and bounced down to the valley). “Are you okay?” she said. “Or do you want to turn back?”

She waited for his response, seemingly nonjudgmental. If what he said next was going to put him in one category or another, she didn’t show it.

Majid cautiously turned his head and glanced over the edge. He imagined the plaque, Majid liked the mountains, sort of, and now the mountain has his bones in a gully somewhere.

Catherine looked back at him, her eyes bright green in the sunlight. Her pale skin. Her confidence on this ridiculous cliff. She was nothing like the girls back home. None of them would ever lead him. Was he weak to want to follow this one? To be with this one?

Is this what love feels like?

He moved forward along the narrow path.

Short Report

SHORT REPORT

Rafe’s research had commenced. The company that owned the pipeline, Sahel Hydrocarbon, was public. Its shares traded in London, and short positions had been taken in its stock before the pipeline exploded. Rafe got that from the short position report published by the British Financial Conduct Authority, which maintains a “public notification regime” for the benefit of all investors, in this case for investors who want to know which companies are thought by others to be on the brink of going down.

“Well, that is bloody cricket of them, don’t you think?” said Frank.

“I’m not sure ‘bloody cricket’ is the phrase,” Rafe said. He and Frank were hunched over computers in the cubbyhole office the US mission had deigned to assign to two agents whose mission they did not completely understand.

“Whatever,” said Frank. “You think our pal Homeboy was one of the short sellers?”

Rafe took another look at the report. “It’s hard to say. A whole bunch of traders took short positions. I guess Africa going down is considered a good bet.”

“I’d take it,” said Frank. “You ever been there?”

“Once. Photo safari. Tanzania.”

“Nice,” said Frank. “They carry you in a sedan chair? Give you a pith helmet?” Frank was there to assist Rafe, do legwork, knock on doors, show him around. He knew Geneva. He usually didn’t have much to say.

“No,” said Rafe. “Toyota jeep. Baseball cap.”

“Ah,” said Frank. “But one of those deluxe safaris, where the tents have air conditioning and flush toilets?”

Actually, Rafe’s tent did have all that and a hot water shower and wireless internet, too. He had taken his parents on the safari after he started making big money at Klamath. He didn’t think Frank needed to know any of this.