The Flight Attendant(35)

“Someone he knew.”

“Or someone important in his life somewhere. But I can tell you this: I learned this morning that if she does work for Unisphere, it’s not in their Dubai office.”

“And you know this how?”

“I called them.”

“Dubai.”

“Yes,” Cassie answered, and she recounted her brief conversation with the receptionist.

Ani sighed deeply. Epically. Cassie knew that exhalation well: it was the Sigh of Judgment. “Okay,” she said finally. “Here’s the good news. The crime occurred in the United Arab Emirates and the United States has no extradition treaty with them. The Emirates would have to bring you back via a judicial summons—a letters rogatory request or whatever the Emirates equivalent is of a letters rogatory request. And those go through the courts and can take years.”

Cassie felt a flutter of relief and it must have been visible in her face, because almost instantly Ani held up a finger to stop the emotion from taking root.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re home free. There’s an amendment to the U.S. law that allows us to extradite a person who has committed a crime against an American citizen overseas. I want to check to see if an American citizen is exempt from the extradition.”

“If that’s the case, am I okay?”

“Maybe. But there are other issues in play. Even if the U.S. won’t send you back to Dubai, Sokolov’s family could still go after you in civil court: a wrongful death suit. Think O. J. Simpson. The criminal court acquitted him. The civil court held him responsible and the judgment was thirty-plus million dollars.”

“Oh, my God!”

“The families ended up getting nowhere near that. I heard they wound up with maybe half a million.”

“Still, I don’t have anything like that. All I have is my apartment.”

“That’s something. But none of this may even matter. On the other hand, those photos of you? Any day now they’ll be in the U.S. media. And pretty soon after that, you will be, so to speak, outed.”

“Am I that recognizable in the pictures?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to see them blown up. I’d have to see the originals. But from what you tell me, someone on the plane with you—one of the crew—will make the connection that it could be you. So will the FBI. What are your plans today and tomorrow?”

“I’m supposed to fly to Rome tonight.”

“Not Dubai?”

“No.”

“Good. Never go back there.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I mean that.”

“I understand.”

“And after Rome?” asked Ani.

“I fly back here. We arrive in Italy tomorrow morning, Tuesday, overnight in the city, and fly back to the U.S. on Wednesday just before lunch. We’re there a little more than twenty-four hours.”

“Pretty cushy compared to what some flight attendants endure.”

She shrugged. “I did my time on the regionals. I’ve been doing this a lot of years.”

“Oh, I know the drill. I know how it works.”

“We still haven’t discussed how in the world I’m going to pay you.”

Ani put her yellow pad on the table and sat forward. She looked almost kindly at Cassie and said, “Look, it’s not yet time to burn the carbons—”

“Burn the carbons?” she asked, interrupting the lawyer.

“Just an expression. Do you know what carbon paper is?”

“Of course.”

“Hey, I’ve never actually seen a piece. But I gather people overseas in the foreign services or the CIA used to have a saying: when the world was completely falling apart and the embassy was being overrun, that’s when it was time to burn the carbons. You know, to make sure that the Soviets or the jihadists or whoever wouldn’t get the state secrets. Anyway, it’s not yet time to burn the carbons, okay? So, breathe.”

“And as for payment?”

“My sense is you might come home to a shitstorm on Wednesday. Not a burn-the-carbons shitstorm, but it could feel…distressing. It could be distressing. So, I want you to go ahead and fly to Rome because I want to be sure you remain in the airline’s good graces, and because I want to be sure you’ve behaved in no way that suggests guilt. Forgive me, no additional way. The existence of those security camera photos is likely to give this story legs in the tabloid media here in the U.S. You watch. It may be as soon as tomorrow or the day after. The police in Dubai are going to bring better photos of you—good photos of you—to the Royal Phoenician and ask around. They’ll show the pictures to the bellmen and the hostesses and the people who work in the gift shops, and ask if you might have been the woman with Alex Sokolov. I have no idea if this Sokolov guy might have been a CIA spook or a Russian spook or whatever. Doesn’t matter. The family might simply be very well connected. Either way, I am quite sure that the FBI is going to want to talk to you again and this story could be around for a while.”

“I see.”

“But here’s the good news. I am also confident that my firm will represent you pro bono. You’re attractive and you work in a job that most people still believe—I know mistakenly—is kind of sexy. I don’t like to advertise the fact that we’re media ghouls, but we are. We really are. Years ago this place was pretty white shoe, but no more. So, we can help prevent your extradition, if it actually comes to that—which I doubt it will. We can help if there is ever a civil case—which, yes, is a little more likely, but still not something to lose any sleep over just yet. And we can help if the airline ever gives you any grief.”