Golden Oasis Hotel
Tehran, Iran
June 15, 9:03 a.m.
It was her. Same voice, same hint of an Italian accent. A bit more pronounced now. I fought the urge to check my body for laser sights. There were none, but I moved out of the line of sight of the hotel window.
“What is it now?” I asked. “You want to set me up for a playdate with Satan?”
She laughed. At least someone thought I was funny. “No,” she said, “you said you wanted to meet me.”
“I do.” I tried not to sound too eager. I used my thumbnail to slide back a panel on the side of my phone. I pressed a button that activates a trace. “Name a place. I’ll buy the coffee.”
“Sorry… it will have to be over the phone. I want to ask a question.”
I almost laughed. “Why on earth would I want to answer one? Last time we chatted, you put a laser sight on my balls.”
“I could have shot your balls off. I did not. You can check if you like. I’ll wait.”
“Okay,” I said, “admittedly you get some Brownie points for not blowing my balls off. Thanks bunches, but it’s hardly a basis for enduring trust.”
“‘Brownie points’? You are a strange man, Captain Ledger.”
“You have no idea.”
“Maybe I do.”
Before I could respond to that she came at me out of left field. “What did Rasouli give you?”
“What makes you think he gave me anything?”
“He said he wanted to give you something.”
“Okay, there’s that. He’s your boss, why don’t you ask him?”
She made a gagging noise. “God! I would rather shoot myself than work for such a cockroach.”
“Didn’t look that way an hour ago.”
“Eh,” she said dismissively. “It was contract work. Believe me, Captain Ledger, it is all I would ever be willing to do for him.” With her accent she pronounced my last name as “La-jeer.” I liked it. Made me feel exotic and mysterious.
“Even so,” I said, “why not ask him?”
“He doesn’t know me. I’m a voice on a phone to him. Why would he trust me?”
“Why would I?”
“I am asking very nicely,” she said.
Despite everything, I laughed. She did too. “I’ll think about it.”
“I promise not to shoot you.”
“Yeah, that earns you those brownie points, but so far you’re only a sexy voice on a phone line. You don’t have enough points to buy much more than civility.”
There was a short silence as she considered this. I looked at the display on the side of my phone. The trace was about halfway completed.
“Maybe I can earn some extra ‘brownie’ points,” she said.
“How?”
Instead of answering she asked, “Can I call you ‘Joe’?”
I smiled and shook my head in exasperation. Ghost looked at me in disgust. He would have hung up a long time ago, I suppose. “Only if I have something to call you.”
“You have to know that’s impossible.”
“Then give me anything. A nickname.”
“I have a thousand names.”
“Yes, that’s very ‘international woman of mystery’ of you, but I only need one.”
After a few seconds she said, “Violin.”
“Violin,” I said, testing the name. “That’s pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll bet you are, too.”
“No,” she said, “I’m a monster.” And in those four simple words her tone changed from playful humor to something else. She packed that word with such intense sadness that I was momentarily left speechless. Before I could fumble out a reply the line went dead.
I stared at the phone. The LED tracer went from green to red. Trace incomplete.
“Okay,” I said aloud. “That was surreal.”
Ghost stared at me with huge doggie eyes. Sadly he offered no wise insights into what the hell was going on.