supposed to have been impressed by the former chancellor of the exchequer and the head of the World Bank. Paragons of your world. I don’t think a twenty-four-year-old doctoral candidate can compete.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Simon. “I’d listen to you.”
“I’d make certain you did.”
“I liked the talk. I did, really.”
“I believed you the first time. Not sure about the second.” The smile faded, her gaze much too frank. “But will you take it to heart? Me, I live in an ivory tower. You, you’re out there in the real world. Where are you being posted, anyway?”
“Private banking.”
“The front lines. Face-to-face with the enemy.”
“The enemy?”
“The wealthiest of the wealthy. What’s the minimum deposit these days? Fifty million? A hundred? To get that kind of money, you have to have set aside your morals long ago.”
“That’s a cynical way of looking at the world.”
“Machiavellian is more like it, though I’d prefer plain realistic. You look like you understand what that means. Not one of those pink-cheeked cherubs from Eton or Winchester, are you?”
“No.”
“Don’t look it.”
“I suppose we’re getting somewhere, then.”
“I can’t quite see you cooped up in an office twelve hours a day.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Maybe you’ll be the one who does something about it.”
“About what?”
“Everything. Greed. Corruption. Cronyism. The yawning chasm of income inequality that threatens to bring the world to the brink of revolution.”
“Right now I’m just looking forward to doing my job.”
“A company man. A factotum.”
“You show no mercy, do you?”
“I don’t know about that.” She stepped closer to him, so close he could smell her perfume, count the lashes above her eyes. “I’m always on the lookout for someone to bring over to my side.”
Simon laughed. “A true believer.”
She flinched, and he noted the flash in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks. “Someone had better be.”
“Do true believers go out for drinks?”
“Not with the enemy.”
“Not yet, I’m not. There’s still a chance.”
“You know…I just think there might be.”
“I’m Simon. Simon Riske.”
“Delphine. Delphine Blackmon.”
She extended her hand, and he couldn’t help but notice the chic watch hanging from her wrist. A Rolex Oyster. De rigueur for every crusading do-gooder.
Eleven years.
A heartbeat.
Simon watched Delphine descend the stairs and walk along the path toward the river, her face visible only intermittently, on and off like an old-time flicker as light from one lamp and then another fell upon it. She looked thinner, sharper, her hair cut shorter, blonder, dyed now. Her posture was more erect, her step too confident, trying to be something. A woman where before there’d been a girl.
He stepped from the shadows. “Hello, Dee.”
Delphine Blackmon halted, hand to her chest. “You startled me.”
Simon kept an eye over her shoulder. He caught no sign of anyone following but knew better than to trust himself. He was still wondering about the white Nissan and its blond driver. “I’m sorry. Precautions.”
“So this is what you do now?”
“Not exactly.”
Delphine stepped closer as if drawn against her will, a hand rising to his cheek. Abruptly, it fell to her side. Past was past. “How is he?”
“We need to get him out,” said Simon.
“What can I do?”
“I’m not sure if you can do anything. Has Adamson kept you up to date?”
“Oh yes. Mr. Adamson is thorough if nothing else. He wasn’t happy with how your meeting at the jail went this evening. He told me you were confrontational bordering on disrespectful. He said you offended Colonel Tan.”
“He told me the same thing.”
“You don’t like him.”
“Let’s just say that he and I approach the table from different sides.”
“What does that mean?”
Simon let it hang there. She knew him well enough, how he did things. “Tell me about PetroSaud.”
Delphine shrugged. What do wives know about their husbands’ jobs? “So long ago. Rafa turned Malloy down at first, despite the fact that he desperately needed a job. Said he didn’t like Geneva. Malloy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He hounded Rafa, offered him an apartment in Cologny, a car—a Porsche—expense account. Rafa ate at Le Relais de l’Entrecôte three times a week.”
“Did he mention any problems? Anything that bothered him while he was there?”
“We didn’t talk about work. I was traveling myself, research, writing. Mostly the Middle East, Africa. I had my own thing. Besides, you know how I feel about what you do.”
“What I do?”
“You and Rafa. Banks. Financiers. Insurance companies. Private equity. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”
“I don’t think we’re as bad as all that.”
Delphine canted her head. “Wasn’t my father one of your clients?”