his hands on his knees and was silent.

Once, after my brother had returned to school, the old man went out to his workroom and didn’t come back, even though night had fallen. I found him sitting by the light of a single candle, holding a beautiful piece of wood he had been working on for weeks. As I stepped inside the room, he broke the wood across his knee. “Which piece should we burn first?” he asked me. I had no idea what to reply.

After my brother had disappeared outside the wall that surrounded the park, I set off for the lake. I walked, not noticing where I was or what I saw. I must have gone across one of the bridges, because the next thing I knew, I was all the way around on the western side of the lake, sitting on a bench that shared a patch of grass with a small linden tree. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a man jogging down the path. Barely a meter away, he stopped to tie his shoe. I knew what was going to happen next. He sat down beside me. “Nice day,” he said. “You jog? Good way to get exercise and see the sights.”

These people had no shame. I started to get up.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean any offense,” he said. “Just trying to make conversation. You look a little lonely, sitting here.”

I sat back down. “Let’s save ourselves a lot of time. I’ll give you my answer first. No. I’ll throw in an extra one for emphasis. No. And I have plenty in reserve. I brought a suitcase full of them and put several in my pocket this morning. No. Now, go ahead and ask your question.”

“What question? I told you, I was jogging. I’m here on a vacation.”

“Good for you. Myself, I’m here to dedicate a memorial to the Heroes of the Revolution.”

“Funny man. Look, you may not know it, but there are a lot of people about to crawl up your ass. Here’s my phone number.” He put a piece of paper on the bench next to me. “If you get nervous or decide you want a change of scenery, just call and ask for Mr. Walbenhurst.”

“Some name. I don’t think I can remember it. Is it real?”

“Everything is real, Inspector. And everything is possible.” He leaned over and checked his laces again. “Well, write if you get work,” he smiled. “That’s what my mama used to tell me.”

The woman sitting three benches away waited until he jogged past before she stood up. Nothing left to chance, I said to myself. Which is why nothing was possible.

3

The talks were on and then off and then on again for the next week. Their side read talking points, we read ours, then we all stood up and stretched. Then we sat down again to read the same talking points, and to hear theirs all over again. Finally, on a rainy afternoon, the opportunity arose to pass the message that Sohn had given me. The man I had selected as the target walked up to me.

“Nice tie,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“My tie?” It wasn’t what I had considered as the opening for slipping in the assassin’s blade.

“You seem to have a good collection. That one looks Italian.” He pointed to his own tie. “Mine are shabby by comparison, I’m afraid. I used to have one I bought in the Paris airport, but I can’t find it anymore. Does that happen to you? Ties disappearing. I have the same problem with socks.”

What problem? Were socks a problem? Were we exporting socks to rogue states?

“It looks like we’re going to be here for another week or so. Why don’t we all get together on the weekend, maybe go for a drive in the mountains? We could get a small bus. Let me know.” He smiled. “Nice talking to you.”

4

The idea of meeting the daughter of a Turk who worked for Israeli intelligence was not mine. I resisted up to a point, but I do not believe in taking hopeless stands. Dilara wanted to do it; she insinuated herself against me in ways that rapidly made my opposition untenable. I’d been to her father’s café almost every day, and every time she served me tea and little sweets and long ravishing looks that made my heart pound on my rib cage with a fierce insistence. Thursday afternoon, during the lunch break at the talks, I hurried