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Savich house

Georgetown

Tuesday morning

“My teacher said fried food isn’t good for anyone.”

Sherlock laid her hand over her heart. “Even fried ice cream?”

Sean looked horrified. “She couldn’t have meant that, Mama.”

Savich said, “Sean, I hear Gabriella, time for you to gather your stuff and head out to school.”

They were putting away the dishes, one of Savich’s hands rubbing Sherlock’s back, when his cell belted out Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher,” one of Sherlock’s favorites.

“Savich.”

Savich grinned into the phone. “Tell him we’re profoundly grateful to have earned his thanks.”

Savich heard a young woman’s voice.

Savich said, “Which brings us back to the question of why. All to pressure your government to remove your sanctions from Syria? Think of the sheer complexity of pulling off the kidnapping of a peer’s wife or daughter and forcing your government to remove the sanctions. All the moving parts would have to work together seamlessly, and it would depend on a number of people to do exactly as they’re told and keep their mouths shut. And if the imam is part of it, is he taking his orders from Aboud?”

Savich said, “My gut rejects revenge for Basara as a motive.”

“I bet she’s now glad he did.”

Savich said, “John, I hope you’re planning to bring Rome and Elizabeth in on this, for their own protection.”

“Of course, I’ve arranged to speak with them this afternoon.”

Savich laughed, said, “Didn’t you rub Mary Ann’s back when she was pregnant with Cici?”

“You can count on it.” Savich punched off. He said to Sherlock, “You heard everything. Anything to add?”

Sherlock groaned, whispered, “Keep that up and I’ll be your slave.”

“I did, and I’ll bet you did too, but you mean Beau, don’t you?”