Followed closely by Ashe, Sinàn raced up to the Altona apartment. Beck inspected the smashed lock. In agony of frustration, Sinàn poked under every visible item of furniture. Ashe pulled a suitcase out from behind the TV. He rattled it. ‘Sounds interesting.’
Sinàn froze. ‘Too late. The Baba Sheykh is gone.’ He took the suitcase from Ashe and clutched it to his heart. ‘Nothing could have separated the Baba Sheykh from this.’
‘Al-Qasr did. What is it? Senjaq?’
Sinàn was surprised.
‘I was at Lalish, Sinàn.’
‘Then you are thrice blessed.’ Sinàn studied Ashe’s face. ‘Who do you really work for, Mr Ashe?’
Beck frowned. ‘Goddammit, Ashe! You’re supposed to be an observer!’
‘As every student of popular quantum theory knows, observers can exert a major influence on what is observed. Anyhow, we’ve lost al-Qasr, and we’ve lost the Baba Sheykh. I’ve observed that much.’
Sinàn put his head in his hands. ‘My fault! It was all my fault. He begged me to take him. I left him.’
As Beck’s forensic contingent arrived to scour the apartment, Beck made interminable phone calls. Delighted to have bagged at least half the intended brace, Ashe listened to Sinàn’s story.
Beck was in despair. Ashe patted him on the back. ‘Come on, Sherman, I know you’re fearing a rocket from Lee, but, truth is, al-Qasr has foxed us because he’s fucking clever. And being the guilty party – and being clever – always gives the bastards a temporal advantage. Nil desperandum.’
Ashe finally won Beck’s attention. ‘Two questions bug me, Sherman.’
‘Shoot.’
‘One. How did al-Qasr know the Baba Sheykh was here? Two: who arranged this apartment for Sinàn and the holy man?’
‘You better ask Sinàn here.’
‘I have.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Guess.’
Beck rubbed his eyes. He wondered who had turned the lights out in his mind; nothing always felt like nothing.