“No. But I shouldn’t make you wait—”

“Go. I’ll watch.” A bar overlooked the hill. Inevitably, it was styled as an après-ski lodge and called the St. Moritz Café. Holm sat by the natural-gas fireplace and sipped hot cocoa and watched Rashid ski. He moved cautiously, like most first-time adult skiers. But she saw that with a little training, he’d learn fast. He never let the skis run away from him. He saw her watching, waved. She waved back, and as she did—

Realized—

He’s too smooth. Has been all along. If he can pick this up this quick, then he can fool you a dozen different ways. Get rid of him. Burn him. Now.

SHE KEPT WAVING. The feeling faded as fast as a sunset. She had no reason to distrust this man. She felt as though she’d embarrassed herself, flinched in public. Though she hadn’t said a word aloud.

An hour later, he appeared, his hair mussed, grinning.

“Fun?”

“In point of fact, I enjoyed it enormously.”

“That means yes, right?”

“You missed out, Miss Simmons.” Her cover name.

“Next time.”

They walked to the mall’s giant parking garage and found the Toyota minivan she’d rented. There they went through the usual end-of-meeting housekeeping. She pushed five thousand dollars on him over his objections and gave him a Motorola that looked like a stock smartphone but was satellite-capable. “You get in trouble, you send the distress signal, we’ll come get you. Anywhere in the world.”

“Thank you, Miss Simmons. But I don’t intend to get in trouble.”

“Nobody ever does.”

“Until I see you next, be well.”

“You, too.”

He walked away without looking back.

BACK IN KABUL, she decided to tell Manny Cota, station chief, about her premonition. “Maybe we should slow it down with Marburg. Check him again.”