Layover in Dubai

“No. I gave it to Nanette.”

Sharaf frowned.

“Then her actions make no sense. Unless … Did you look inside it? More to the point, did you tell Miss Weaver that you looked inside it?”

Sam frowned in concentration.

“I did. I mentioned he’d written a few names and numbers. That was right before she invited me to her room. I was delivering the datebook when she dropped her key card.”

“Meaning she began her charade after she learned you had seen the contents. In that case, it is very important to know what you saw.”

“Like I said, a few names and numbers. None of it made much sense. But I wrote it all down on some hotel stationery.”

Sharaf brightened. “The piece of paper in your wallet?”

“You searched my wallet?”

“Of course. I am a policeman. But one more question, a very important one. When you wrote these things down did you summarize, or use shorthand?”

“No. It’s verbatim. I’m an auditor. We don’t take shortcuts.”

Sharaf beamed a fatherly smile, as if Sam had just brought home a perfect report card.

“That, at least, gives us a starting point. I will begin calling those numbers as soon as we’re home. Perhaps I will even pay a visit or two before the night is over.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sam said.

The words were out before he had time to think. It was partly because his anger with Nanette was coming to a boil. He was also realizing that simply hiding was no longer an option. He needed to fight back, and he had to do it here. Even if he made it safely back to New York, Nanette had probably spread enough poison to get him fired, or even jailed.

Sharaf was having none of it.

“I cannot allow it,” the policeman said. “Not with what you are up against. And I don’t just mean the Russians. I saw your Miss Weaver in action this afternoon.”

“Where?”

“CID headquarters. I was upstairs for a briefing. She was coming out of Assad’s office, and she looked me right in the eye, like she knew exactly what I was up to.”

“She can have that effect. What did you say?”

“Nothing of substance. We exchanged the customary pleasantries and she was on her way.”

In truth they’d said more, but Sharaf didn’t want to elaborate, partly because their exchange had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Her directness took him by surprise. Most males in her position would have offered a fake smile and an oily hint of a bribe, or, if they wanted to be threatening, a vague allusion to all the local clout at their disposal. None of that for Nanette. She got straight to the point.

“Assad tells me you’re responsible for letting our Sam Keller go on the lam.”

“You’ve been misinformed. The booking sergeant was in charge of his custody.”

“Well, just so you know the gravity of the matter, Sam Keller stood idly by while a fellow associate got himself killed. And for all either of us knows, he was a participant in the affair. For good measure he then crossed the line sexually with a female superior, probably in an attempt to find out what I know. The sooner he is back in hand, the better for all of us, wouldn’t you agree?”

With a lesser adversary Sharaf would have continued to play dumb. Using that approach with her seemed foolhardy, even dangerous. It wasn’t just that she represented a powerful corporation (although he knew that would have been sufficient grounds for the Minister), it was that he detected in her a keen and watchful intelligence, plus the patience to deploy it to maximum effect. What’s more, she seemed willing to use it toward any end, an advantage he would never enjoy.

In addition, her manner was so convincing that for a moment he even entertained the thought that she might be telling the truth. After all, how much did he actually know about Sam Keller? Could the young man really be trusted? Maybe he had attacked this woman. Maybe he had cooperated with the men who’d killed Charlie Hatcher. Perhaps Nanette Weaver had information that could help him.

But by then, Nanette Weaver had already turned on her heel and was heading for the door. Sharaf was on the verge of flagging her down when he noticed Assad watching eagerly from his office, and that was when he came to his senses. Assad’s stupid, leering grin gave away the whole sham, and Sharaf realized he had nearly been duped. A compliment to her talents, he supposed.

“So you’ve seen firsthand what she’s like,” Sam said. “All the more reason you need my help.”

“I cannot allow it,” Sharaf repeated. “If I put you at further risk we will both be in trouble. You are neither trained in this kind of work nor accustomed to its dangers.”

“But I’m stuck here. With nowhere to go and no one to help me.”

The remark cut deeply. There was no way Sam could have known it, but it was a direct echo from Sharaf’s bedtime reading of Crime and Punishment the night before, calling to mind a line uttered by a desperate drunk named Marmeladov:

“Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn?”

As if sensing an opening, Sam pressed his case.