There was shish kebab for lunch, huge, savory hunks of spitted meat sizzling like the devil over charcoal after marinating seventy-two hours in a secret mixture Milo had stolen from a crooked trader in the Levant, served with Iranian rice and asparagus tips Parmesan, followed by cherries' jubilee for dessert and then steaming cups of fresh coffee with Benedictine and brandy.

Catch-22