“Are you trying to provoke me?”

“Hmm?” I said, carefully keeping a smile from my face.

Eldridge turned from the window. Pale eyes in a face gone red: I didn’t need to read his mind to know he was mad as hell. “Al Fahid,” he said. “Chang. Gosse.”

“Not following you,” I said, taking a sip of scotch. Eldridge only ever bought the best. Somehow even in Cairo he’d managed to find the best.

“All your targets,” he said. “All dead.”

“You said dead or alive.”

“I meant alive.” His eyes flicked to my forehead, where that Harry Potter lightning scar shines. He thinks it’s what makes me psychic. I think he’s wrong. “You know that.”

“Al Fahid was fat, a stroke waiting to happen. Chang drank. A lot.”

“And Gosse?”

Now I smiled. “Undiagnosed heart defect. Congenital.” I set the crystal tumbler down, ice clinking, and spread my hands. “There really was nothing anyone could have done.”

He glared at me.

“Am I fired?” I said.

“No,” he said. “At least they’re off the map now.” He tossed me a folder. “Alive.”