Enough, I thought. It’s not as though I hadn’t already worked this all through myself. In fact, Dox and I had already discussed it all. He was feeling awfully talkative.

Delilah and I made some small talk about the flight. She had flown first class and had slept the whole way, and was refreshed and ready for an evening in a tropical paradise. But Dox kept jabbering, and with Delilah right there next to me, I had no way of telling him to knock it off.

“And damn, man, I have got to tell you, that is one fine-looking woman! Why didn’t you say so? I would have understood right away why you wanted to see her. Hell, I’d have tried to see her myself. I would have done your countersurveillance for free, partner, if I’d known she was going to be the subject, you wouldn’t even have had to pay for my vacation. Well, too late now, a deal’s a deal.”

He stopped, and I thought, Thank God. But a moment later it started up again: “And here I thought you’d been leading a lonely life with nothing but your tired right hand for comfort! I judged you wrong, man, and I’m big enough to admit it, too. From now on, you’re my hero, I’m taking all my romance cues from you.”

Once we were on the plane I knew I was safe, at least temporarily, and I took the earpiece out, satisfied to think that Dox would now be talking only to himself.

Delilah and I caught up some more. The conversation was largely small talk, but I was probing, as well. So far I had two pieces of data, and both pointed to a problem: the timing of her call, and her failure to react to my obvious security moves. The jury wasn’t in yet, but the evidence was piling up. It bothered me, at some level, that it had come to this. In Rio it had been good, it really had. I should have just been able to deal with it-she was a professional, and business is business-but yeah, it was bothering me.

God, she was beautiful, though. You could see why she was so effective in her work. There was something about her, an aura, a magnetism, that I’d never encountered in anyone else.

And despite my suspicions, it felt good to be with her. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the data would start to accumulate in a more favorable direction.

The approach and landing were smooth, and a hotel car was waiting outside arrivals to take us to Amanpuri. The sun was getting low in the sky as we drove along Phuket’s two-lane, narrow roads toward the resort. I knew what she must be thinking: This is it? It’s actually not that much. But we were still somewhat inland. The island’s beauty doesn’t really unfold until you hit the coast. At which time, I knew, her diminishing expectations would make Amanpuri that much more breathtaking.

We pulled in off the resort’s winding, gated drive just as the sun was setting behind the steep, Thai-style rooflines of the bungalows and pavilions and the Andaman Sea beyond them. Palm trees swayed in silhouette to a gentle ocean breeze. A teak terrace flowed from the edge of the driveway to a long, black-bottomed pool, its surface like polished onyx against the darkening sky. In the tenuous golden light, we might have been looking at a movie set.

A porter opened the car door and we got out. “Welcome to Amanpuri,” he said, pressing his palms together under his chin and bowing his head in a formal wai, the Thai attitude of greeting and gratitude.

Delilah looked around, then at me. Her mouth was slightly agape.

“What’s that wonderful smell?” she asked.

“Sedap malam,” the porter said. “Brought here from Indonesia. It means ‘heavenly night’ because it offers its scent only in the evening. I think in English you call it the tuber rose.”

I smiled and looked at her. “Well? Do you like it?”

She paused for a moment, then said, “Oh, my God.”

“Does that mean yes?”

She nodded and looked around again, then back at me. Her face lit up in an enormous smile. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it does.”

We checked in under the rafters of the open-air entrance pavilion. A woman named Aom gave us a quick tour of the facilities-the fitness center, the library, the spa. Everything was teak and stone and seemed to rise up out of the hilly terrain as indigenous as the surrounding palm trees. I noted the presence of multiple guards, all extremely discreet. Amanpuri is a celebrity magnet, and the resort takes security seriously. Which, to me, was part of the attraction. Even if Delilah informed her people of our whereabouts, they would have a hell of a time getting in here unannounced and unobtrusive. As for Delilah herself, from what I had seen of her organization’s MO, her role was to set up the bowling pins, not to knock them down. Also, without checked bags, her ability to carry weapons would be limited. Knowing all this, and also, inevitably, influenced by the blissfully beautiful surroundings, I began to relax. I felt as though we’d been granted some sort of time-out, during which I might learn what I needed to know. Maybe I could turn the situation around, if that’s what was called for. Yeah, we’d faced a conflict of interests before and found a way to work things out. Maybe we could do it again.

Aom took us to our pavilion-number 105, with a full ocean view. The room was low-key and luxurious. The walls, floor, and simple furniture were all teak, with the porcelain of a long tub, a cotton duvet, and oversized thick towels all gleaming white by contrast. Everything seemed to glow with the golden light of the sun, which was still visible through the pavilion’s western doors.

Delilah was starving, so we decided to eat at one of the property’s two open-air restaurants. We sat along the railing overlooking the ocean. The sun was now completely below the horizon, and but for a thin line of glowing red between them the water was now as dark as the sky. The restaurant, like all Amanpuri’s facilities, wisely eschewed any piped-in music, instead allowing the breeze swaying the palm trees and the waves lapping at the beach to supply the necessary ambience.

We ordered roast duck sautéed with morning glories, soft-shelled black crab sautéed with chile paste, stir-fried mixed vegetables, and stir-fried bean sprouts with tofu and chili. I started us with a ’93 Veuve Clicquot.

“I have to tell you,” Delilah said as we ate. “I’ve been to some of the most beautiful places on earth. Post Ranch in Big Sur. The Palace in Saint-Moritz. The Serengeti Plain. But this is right up there.”

I smiled. “There aren’t many places that can make you forget everything. Everywhere you’ve been, everything you’ve done.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Where are the others? For you.”

I thought for a moment. “A few places in Tokyo, believe it or not. But they’re more like… enclaves. Oases. They can protect you from what’s outside, but you still know it’s there. This… it’s another universe.”

She took a sip of the champagne. “I know what you mean. There’s a beach in Haifa, where I grew up. Sometimes, when I’m back there, I can find a quiet spot at night. The smell of the sea, the sound of the waves… it makes me feel like I’m a girl again, innocent and unblemished. Like I’m alone, but in a good way, if you know what I mean.”

“To be unaccompanied by constant memories,” I said, quoting something a friend had once said to me, “is to find a state of grace.”

“Grace?” she asked, taking the reference literally. “Do you believe in God?”

I paused, thinking of my conversation with Dox, then said, “I try not to.”

“Does that help?”

I shrugged. “Not really. But what difference does it make, what you believe? Things are what they are.”

“What you believe makes all the difference in the world.”

I looked at her. We’d been down this road before, and I didn’t like the implicit criticism, maybe even condescension, in her comment. Then or now.

“Then you better be careful about what you believe in,” I said. “And about what it might cost you.”