March 15, 1998, 3:00 a.m., Brussels, European Union Headquarters.
The meeting had been going on for six hours.
The ashtray was filled three times, the coffee machine emptied twice, and the sky outside the window changed from black to deep blue, then to lead grey.
The Italian representative stood up for the third time.
"I'll say it again, the refugee ship that docked at Naples Port yesterday had forty-seven people on board, twelve of whom had fake passports. The inquiry revealed that they are Chechens. They boarded from the Albanian coast, crossed the Adriatic Sea, taking twenty hours. The boat belongs to a Greek fisherman, who took money and claims to know nothing."
He threw a stack of photos on the table.
The photos showed faces—men, women, children. All with large eyes, deep-set eye sockets, expressionless, like a group of fish just pulled out of water.
The French representative didn't look at the photos. He stared at the Italian representative.
"Did they say anything?"
