He circled out from behind her, pushed Khalid’s half-eaten treat to the side, and sat down in the boy’s place. Huda’s throat constricted. The young couple at the next table fell silent too, as Abu Issa’s mukhabarat essence spread through the patio like a cloud of cheap cologne. The speakers at the mosque hummed, and the muezzin began to wail. His prayer ebbed and flowed like a holy tide. Abu Issa leaned across the picnic table.

“I hear you visited the Rashid Hotel.”

“I wanted to call you.” Huda’s whisper was tinny with fear. “My phone wasn’t working. There was no power. The electricity is still out. I had promised my son ice cream, I—”

Abu Issa raised his hand.

“Stop babbling, woman. Do you have anything to tell me?”

Huda shot a glance past his shoulder. Abdul Amir was no longer outside the coffee shop.

“Where’s my husband?” she blurted. “Did you take him?”

The words came out louder than Huda expected. The couple at the next table climbed to their feet and hurried away. A group of young men in fake Ray-Bans stubbed out their cigarettes and shuffled off, leaving behind glasses of orange juice still three-quarters full. The owner of the ice cream parlor watched mournfully as his customers retreated into the pink-and-gold haze.

“There is nothing to fear. Not if you cooperate,” said Abu Issa. “I want to know everything about this visit to the Rashid Hotel.”

Huda nodded rapidly.

“Ally went to visit a finance reporter for a magazine in Dubai. She was picking up a few books from him. That’s all.”

“Books about what?”

“Biographies about those British nurses and teachers who used to work here, back in the seventies. History, that’s all.”

“What else did they discuss?”

“I don’t know. Two men, two of your . . .” Huda trailed off.

The remaining customers took great pains not to look in her direction. They were like members of an ancient caliph’s court, milling about anxiously, while Scheherazade recited endless tales to delay the executioner’s sword.

“Two of your colleagues took me to a back room for questioning.” Huda kneaded her fingers in her lap. “One of them telephoned your office. Did you speak with him?”

Abu Issa said nothing. He made a show of inspecting the chunky ring on his finger.

“By the time they released me, Ally was ready to go.”

“What was the name of the man she met with?” said Abu Issa.

“Peter.”

“Peter who?”

“I’m not sure.”

Abu Issa growled under his breath.

“What sort of answer is that?”

“I don’t—”

His fist thumped the table.

“Your poor productivity is unacceptable. You must perform your duties without excuses. Do you understand?”

“Of course, I—”

“How is the girl connected to the reporter?” Abu Issa eyed her coldly.

“She said he was a friend of a friend.”

“Did she go up to his room?”