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night through which he drove.
    “Marwan?” Ramy shouted again. “What in the world is going on?”
    Marwan set down the pistol, wiped his hands on his suit pants, and tried to breathe. Then he picked up the phone and said, “Yes, Ramy, I’m still here. Sorry.”
    “What happened? Are you all right?”
    “No,” Marwan said. “Actually, I’m not.”
    He gunned the engine and raced onward toward Marseille. But as he did, a dam broke deep within Marwan’s heart. He began telling his brother all that had happened. His conversation with Ramsey. The assassination. The car bombing. The gunfight at Le Méridien. The taxi driver. The residential shoot-out. The stolen car. His decision to run. And how close he had just come to murder.
    It was a confession borne partly of anxiety but mostly of guilt. But it was also information Ramy had to have. He was, after all, the number two man in Marwan’s company, and everything that had just happened was about to dramatically affect that company. Perhaps more importantly for the moment, Marwan needed from his brother a level of clarity and emotional distance from the events of the last few hours that he himself could not muster.
    “You think I made a mistake?” Marwan asked when he had finished the story.
    “What, you mean leaving Monte Carlo after all that?” Ramy asked.
    “Right.”
    “Not at all,” Ramy said without hesitation. “I would have done the exact same thing.”
    “Really?”
    “Absolutely,” Ramy insisted. “You had no choice.”
    “And if the patrol car had stopped you?” Marwan pressed. “What would you have done then?”
    “Just thank God it didn’t come to that,” Ramy replied.
    The truth was Marwan was in no mood to thank God. He had been angry with God for years. His prayers seemed to count for nothing. Every day they seemed to evaporate like the morning dew. He had questions that were never answered. He had wounds that were never healed. He had lost everyone he had ever loved, except for Ramy. And now all that he had worked for was about to slip away.
    “This thing could sink us, Ramy,” Marwan said after a pause.
    “Or kill us,” his brother noted.
    Marwan’s stomach tightened. Ramy was right, and Marwan felt terrible for putting him in this situation. He had always been Ramy’s protector. Now he had exposed them both to great danger.
    “I’m so sorry,” Marwan said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
    But Ramy wouldn’t hear of it. “Hey, don’t worry about me,” he said.
    “But I do worry about you,” Marwan replied.
    “Marwan, really, I’ll be fine,” Ramy insisted. “So will you. We’ve been through worse, right?”
    “I’m not so sure, little brother,” Marwan sighed. “I’m not so sure.”

11
    Police helicopters buzzed over the city. Checkpoints were up on all roads leading in and out of Monte Carlo. Cars, taxis, buses, and trains were being checked, as were hospitals and hotels. The harbor had been shut down; so had the private heliports. Officials at the airport in Nice, the closest airport serving Monaco, had been notified and were on the lookout.
    But thus far, there had been no sighting of Marwan Accad, the only witness to a crime that had rocked the tiny coastal city, much less a serious lead to whoever had pulled the trigger and killed Rafeeq Ramsey in the first place. Inspector Jean-Claude Goddard shook his head and stepped out on the balcony. He breathed in the brisk night air and stared at the waves lapping against the cement piers, waiting for the ulcer to start forming in his stomach.
    “Here’s the photograph you requested,” Colette DuVall said, handing Goddard an 8½-by-11 glossy, fresh out of the printer.
    “This is from the surveillance footage?” Goddard asked.
    “Yes, sir,” DuVall said. “And the video’s all cued up for you when you’re ready.”
    “In a moment,” Goddard said.
    For now he stared at the image of Marwan Accad in his hands. He was a good-looking young