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low-fat, tender like smør …how do you say, Valerie?”
    “Butter.”
    “ Ja , tender like the butter and very ecologically sound. Only the Sami can keep herds. Nobody else. It’s the law.” Gjertsen had been introduced at the beginning of the meal as a food safety bureaucrat of some kind. Dinah hoped it was his concern about excessive fat content and not radiation poisoning that kept him whippet thin.
    “WikiLeaks? What the hell?” Mahler’s voice carried like breaking glass.
    Valerie’s head snapped up. Dinah looked down the table. Senator Keyes was shushing Mahler with a finger to his lips.
    Dinah pricked up her ears. WikiLeaks was the organization that published classified government information from anonymous leakers and whistleblowers.
    Mahler kinked his lip and gave Keyes the back of his hand. “It’s your problem now. You hotshots best clamp a lid on it. It can’t go any farther.”
    “Is your reinsdyr not godt ?”
    “What?”
    Herr Gjertsen leaned his long, bony face into Dinah’s. “Is the taste of your steak not to your liking? Lots of iron and zinc and B vitamins. It’s very healthy.”
    “I’m not really hungry.” She wasn’t, but even if she were, she couldn’t bring herself to eat the remains of Dasher or Dancer or Donner or Blitzen. “The time change has confused my stomach.”
    “ Ja, ja . You will be hungry tomorrow night when we have seawolf. Spesiell . Very special and nutritious. You will like.”
    Dinah squeezed out a tenuous smile. What kind of God-awful creature was a seawolf?
    “He means Atlantic wolffish,” said Valerie. Apart from a curt “hello,” it was the first time she’d spoken to Dinah. This sudden outbreak of friendliness made Dinah wonder if she’d poked Gjertsen under the table and the two of them were creating a diversion to prevent her from hearing any more clinkers from Mahler. Valerie looked to be somewhere in her late thirties, with steely blue eyes, thick but artfully groomed brows, and a sharpish nose. Her hair was several shades lighter than her brows and she wore it layered with backward facing curls, a sort of ersatz Farrah Fawcett.
    Norris Frye had also noted Mahler’s remark. It had distracted him momentarily from his flirtation with Ursille. Valerie smiled at Frye. “Have you ever eaten seawolf, Norris?”
    “Can’t say that I have.”
    “It’s called stone biter in Iceland because of its fearsome fangs. They eat mostly crab and shellfish and they taste delicious. The chef here at the Radisson prepares them in a wonderful Thermidor sauce, isn’t that right, Herr Gjertsen?”
    “ Ja, ja. Fortreffelig .”
    Waiters had begun to clear away the plates and Ursille tinkled a little bell. “If you will please to follow me, kaffe and krumkake is now being served in the bar.” She raised her arms like a kindergarten teacher and waited for everyone to push back from the table and stand to attention.
    Senator Frye was the first one up.
    Herr Gjertsen held up his hand to one of the waiters and stood up. “I must supervise. Please to excuse.”
    Dinah watched the exodus with interest. Colt Sheridan and Jake Mahler, their heads together like parrots, strolled out in deep conversation. Although shorter and less physically imposing than Sheridan, Mahler placed a hand on Sheridan’s back in a way that implied that he was the alpha dog. Whitney Keyes trailed after them and, unless Dinah was mistaken, the look in his eyes betrayed a glitter of malice. But whether it was directed toward Mahler or Sheridan or both, she couldn’t tell.
    Valerie lingered over her wine. “What did you and Mrs. Sheridan talk about on the flight from D.C.?”
    “Music, mostly, and her days traveling around Europe as a performer. She told me a few Norwegian superstitions.” Dinah wondered if she could winkle any answers out of Valerie. “You speak Norwegian very well. Were you born here?”
    “My grandparents are Norwegian and I’ve traveled here on behalf of Tillcorp