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were sent out here to do.”
    “So you’re going to treat her like any other bimbo who comes to your apartment?”
    “I’ll give her my best, old sport.”
    Prosser frowned. “Do what you like, Harry. But these are proud people. If any of the women you interview in your bedroom get the idea that you took unfair advantage of them, you may wish you’d been more careful.”
    “I suppose that’s something you’d know about, Con. You’ve gone through enough women here to know. Look over there, in the dining room. Your latest ex hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.”
    Across the apartment, at the entrance to the dining room, Prosser recognized the profile of Ulla Hamawi, née Sundstrom. At thirty-nine she still had the slim, athletic figure of a woman half her age. Her tawny blonde hair hung straight and loose down her back, and her sleeveless black dress displayed her long, girlish limbs and golden tan to glorious advantage.
    For a moment Prosser forgot about Landers as he watched Ulla through the screen of bodies that separated them. She was standing opposite Maarouf Zuhayri, and the two of them seemed to be embroiled in some kind of sullen argument. Zuhayri appeared determined to secure her consent to something, but she stubbornly resisted.
    “What the hell is Ulla doing here?” Prosser demanded irritably as he turned away from them. “You know we don’t see each other anymore. Why didn’t you tell me she would be coming?”
    “I happen to like Ulla. So I invited her,” Landers replied. “I like you, too, Con. If the two of you can’t stand being at the same party, you’ll just have to work something out.”
    “And what’s she doing with Zuhayri? She didn’t arrive with that slime, did she?”
    “Actually, ‘that slime’ came as a guest of your precious ward, the hoochy-coochy dancer.”
    “Layla?”
    Landers nodded. “But once he came through the door, he cut Layla loose and has been following Ulla around like a stray pup. I didn’t realize they were acquainted.”
    “Zuhayri is a crony of her ex-husband—another dirtball.”
    “It’s funny, Con. If I didn’t know you’d dropped her like a hot rock, I might think you were jealous.”
    Just then Ulla gazed across the room and noticed for the first time that Prosser was watching her. She whirled around as if stung, bade an abrupt good night to Zuhayri, and set off for the exit.
    Zuhayri followed the line of her gaze to Prosser. The glare of jealous hatred in his eyes was unmistakable. But Prosser was not interested in Maarouf Zuhayri’s feelings at that moment and set off instantly in pursuit of Ulla. He intercepted her just inside the foyer and blocked her path to the door.
    She glared at him without a word, waiting for him to step aside.
    “Don’t leave, Ulla. If you’re uncomfortable with me around, I’ll go. I had no idea you would be here.”He spoke softly, with an undertone of self-reproach.
    She lowered her eyes, stepped around him, and went out the door without closing it behind her. Her mouth was set grimly, and her eyes held a watery gleam.
    By the time the thought occurred to him to follow her outside, she had already entered the elevator and begun her descent. He started off down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, but gave up the pursuit after three flights. It was clear that he would not be able to overtake her. And he no longer knew what he would say if he did.

 
    Chapter 3
     
    Thursday
    Prosser awoke to the muffled bursts of underwater explosions not far offshore. It was the dynamite fishermen again, landing their daily catch by tossing bundles of dynamite sticks wrapped in electrician’s tape over the sides of black rubber dinghies. In the five years since the Lebanese civil authorities had lost control over public life, these high-volume poachers had devastated the undersea life along the city’s shoreline, killing a dozen fish for every one that they sold to the busy open-air restaurants of