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all some grotesque mistake. “Harry has more lives than a dozen cats. Maybe he escaped.”
    â€œI regret to tell you that we have received absolute confirmation of his demise.” The ambassador paused dutifully and then continued. “Agent Webb, please try to understand what has happened. We hired Harry Bennett thinking that the worst he might find was a counterfeiting organization that funneled money to insurgents. Instead, he seems to have uncovered an attempt by the Russians to reinsert themselves into our region. We know they have recently made overtures to Syria and Hezbollah in Lebanon. But this is the first time we’ve found evidence of their operations inside the West Bank.”
    The priest said, “What is confusing to us, Agent Webb, is that the Palestinians themselves brought us this news. We have numerous projects within the community of Palestinian Christians, you see. An ally in Hebron came to our mission and reported that the Russians had been behind this. Why, our source did not know. But it was the Russians and their target was Mr. Bennett.”
    The ambassador said, “Agent Webb, can you tell us what Storm Syrrell might be working on at this time?”
    The day’s tumult condensed to where it crimped her very soul. “Storm is in Europe.”
    â€œAre you aware, Agent Webb, that Ms. Syrrell recently bid on and purchased a Russian oil from the postrevolutionary period?”
    She blew her nose. “You’re not making sense.”
    â€œI agree this is most confusing. But please try to understand. At the same time that Mr. Bennett was tragically lost to us, Storm Syrrell arrived at an auction to bid on one particular item. The sale price was one million dollars. This is double what the painting should be worth. Possibly three times its value.”
    Emma reached for her door. “I have to go.”
    â€œAgent Webb, please hear us out. We fear that whatever killed Harry Bennett may also be targeting your friend Ms. Syrrell. There is the utmost urgency to our determining why the Russian government considered Mr. Bennett such a threat. We are concerned they might also go after Ms. Syrrell.”
    Her door handle did not work. “Let me out of this car.”
    The ambassador spoke to the agent behind the wheel. Instantly the man was moving. “Please, Agent Webb. Can you tell us—”
    â€œStorm is supposed to search out something called the Amethyst Clock.”
    The priest said, “But that is a myth.”
    â€œStorm thinks so as well.”
    â€œWhat is this?” asked the ambassador.
    â€œIt is nothing; is what it is.” Father Gregor appeared insulted by the news. “A legend that should have died centuries ago. A fable with no importance except that it represents a most tragic period in my nation’s history.”
    Emma was moving before the agent fully opened her door. The ambassador leaned over farther and offered her his card. “Please, Agent Webb. Call me if there is anything further you might think of.”
    â€œOr need,” Father Gregor added, pressing a second card into her hand. “We are ready to serve you, madame. And please accept—”
    Emma slammed her door on the condolences and fled.
    But midway up the path, she found herself turning around and hurrying back to the car. Apparently the analytical portion of her brain still functioned, even when her heart was crushed and her life over. When the agent opened the rear door, she leaned down and asked the priest, “Why you?”
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œA Polish priest just happens to receive word about a bomb in the West Bank. Why?”
    The priest shared a look with the ambassador, enough for Emma to know she had this one thing right.
    Father Gregor said, “There is far more at stake than a good man’s tragic demise.”
    Not for me, Emma thought, and was forced to clear her face once more.
    â€œNo matter what Ms.