The whole phrase made him even happier than the word had. It was an early-morning flight, but al-Zarzisi had. His keffiyeh sat on his head at an angle no doubt meant to be jaunty but in fact sloppy. Dawud ibn Musa looked like an unmade bed, as usual. “Wine-dark!” he blurted, and felt better. It was … It was … Khalid muttered in frustration. Homer’s word was on the tip of his tongue, but it didn’t want to come off. But he’d been out of the madrasa more than twenty years now. When he studied at the madrasa in Cairo, one of his instructors said Homer had a special word for that special color. The senior investigator peered down at the blue, blue water of the Mediterranean. Khalid al-Zarzisi had the window seat as the airliner flew from Tunis to Rome.
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