Selecting two firm pieces of the fruit, he moved to the register and glanced casually out at the street as the clerk rang up his purchase. The Turk was nowhere to be seen but Haddad assumed he was out there.

He paid in cash, and after the clerk gave him his change she went to place the fruit in a small paper bag.

He stopped her.

Reaching across the counter, he tore one of the larger plastic grocery bags from its stand and dropped the plums inside.

The clerk didn’t protest.

Thanking her in Bulgarian, Haddad pocketed his change then went outside. Still no sign of the Turk, but across the street was an unlit alleyway and Haddad was certain the man was waiting there.

Countersurveillance was a careful process that involved U-turns and double-backs, taking needlessly complicated routes to your destination. And given enough time, Haddad knew he could lose the Turk with relative ease. But that would only be a temporary solution to his problem. When he returned to the hotel his pursuer would be there again, feigning indifference behind a travel brochure or a magazine or a novel this time.

So Haddad decided to go with his second option.

Death.

Crossing the street, he moved toward the alleyway knowing that the Turk would be on his guard, worried that he’d been spotted. But Haddad gave nothing away, reaching casually into his bag as he passed the alley without a glance and continuing up the sidewalk.

Selecting one of the plums, he bit into it and tasted the sweet, tart nectar. The near sensual delight of it reminded him again of the Gypsy whore and the realm of the flesh. It seemed strange to him that one pleasure should be accepted and the other considered sinful, but that only reminded him of how little time he had spent in religious study. It was something he promised to rectify when this matter was concluded, inshallah -if it were the will of Allah.