“I can’t bear the scene at our bar anymore. Too many bloody English! Especially that bald bloke and his curvy wife. God, what bores! If they complain about the service again, I’ll open a vein.”
“Let’s go somewhere else then.”
“Yes, let’s.”
“Where?”
“Have you been to the Tango?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s this way.”
She seized Natalie’s arm as though she feared losing her and led her through the shadows of the street. She was thin and blond and freckled and smelled of cherry candy and coconut. Her sandals slapped the paving stones like the palm of a hand connecting to an unfaithful cheek.
“You’re French,” she said at once, her tone accusatory.
“Yes.”
“
“My family is from Palestine.”
“I see. A shame, that.”
“How so?”
“The whole refugee thing. And those Israelis! Horrible creatures.”
Dr. Hadawi smiled but said nothing.
“You’re here alone?” asked Miranda Ward.
“That wasn’t the plan, but it seems to have worked out that way.”
“What happened?”
“My friend had to cancel at the last minute.”
“Mine, too. He dumped me for another woman.”
“Your friend is an idiot.”
“He was gorgeous, though. Here we are.”
The Tango generally didn’t come alive until late. They passed through the deserted cavelike interior and went onto the terrace. Natalie ordered a glass of Santorini white; Miranda Ward, a vodka martini. She took a decorous sip, made a face, and returned the glass to the table.
“You don’t like it?” asked Natalie.
“Actually, I never touch alcohol.”
“Really? Then why did you invite me for a drink?”
“I needed to have a word with you in private.” She gazed at the darkening sea. “It’s lovely here, but dreadfully boring. What do you say we take a little trip, just the two of us? It will be an adventure, I promise.”
“Where?”
Smiling, Miranda Ward raised the martini to her lips. “I used to love this stuff. Now it tastes like bloody nail polish to me.”
Together they returned to the Panorama and informed the clerk that they planned to travel to Turkey. No, they did not require assistance with ferry bookings; others had done that for them. Yes, they would like to keep their rooms; their stay in Turkey would be brief. Dr. Hadawi then returned to her room alone and packed her bags. Afterward, she dispatched a text message to her “father,” telling him of her plans. Her father pleaded with her to be careful. A moment later he sent a second message.
ARE YOU WELL?
Natalie hesitated and then typed her answer.
LONELY BUT FINE.
DO YOU NEED COMPANY?
Another hesitation, then three taps on the screen.
YES.
No reply was forthcoming. Natalie went down to the terrace, expecting to see Miranda Ward, but there was no sign of her. The tall pale Russian was in his usual place at the bar, where he had found fresh prey. Natalie sat with her back to him and consumed the last wine she would taste for many weeks. When she had finished it, the waitress brought a second glass.
“I didn’t order that.”
“It’s from him.” The waitress glanced toward the bar. Then she handed Natalie a slip of paper, folded in half. “This is from him, too. Looks like this is your unlucky night.”
When the waitress was gone, Natalie read the note. Smiling, she drank the second glass of wine, slipped the note into her handbag, and left without acknowledging the loathsome creature at the bar. In her room she showered quickly, hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the latch, and switched out the lights. Then she sat alone in the darkness and waited for the knock at her door. It came at twenty minutes past ten. When she unchained the door, he entered with the silence of a night thief. “Please,” she said, collapsing into his arms. “Tell him I want to go home. Tell him I can’t do it. Tell him I’m frightened to death.”
WHAT’S YOUR REAL NAME?” asked Natalie.
“The management of the Panorama Hotel is under the impression it’s Michael Danilov.”
“Is it?”
“Close enough.” He was standing before the door that gave onto the balcony. A pale moon illuminated his pale face. “And you, Dr. Hadawi, have no business inviting a man like me to your room.”
“I did nothing of the sort, Mr. Danilov. I said I needed company. They could have sent the woman instead.”
“Consider yourself lucky. Empathy isn’t her strong suit.” His head swiveled a few degrees, his eyes found hers in the darkness. “We all get nervous before a big operation, especially those of us who operate in places where there’s no embassy if things go sideways. But we trust in our mission and our planning and we go. It’s what we do.”
“I’m not like you.”
“Actually, you’re more like me than you realize.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“The kind we never talk about.”
“You kill people?”
“I eliminate threats to our security. And on the night before a big operation, I’m always afraid that I’m the one who’s going to get eliminated.”
“But you go.”
He averted his gaze and changed the subject. “So the comely Miss Ward is going to take you to the other side.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not. Did she give you the route?”
“Santorini to Kos, Kos to Bodrum.”