“We’re journalists. We prefer to let facts speak for themselves.”
“You’re probably right,” said Simon, not liking her high-and-mighty act. He knew plenty of bent journalists, too. “I’m just a guy who fixes cars for a living.”
“There you are, then,” said Mandy. “You said it, not me. Let’s stick to what we know and can prove.”
But London held him with her eyes. Two hours ago she’d escaped being killed by the narrowest of margins. She no longer possessed the luxury of relying solely on the facts. Facts offered scant protection against a global conspiracy that had put her squarely in its sights.
“Go on,” said London. “You have more to say.”
“May I use your computer?” he asked.
“Desktop is in the study,” said Mandy.
The three moved into the Blumes’ study. Dark, wood-paneled, leather-bound volumes lining the shelves—they hadn’t changed rooms but continents. The air-conditioning blasted so hard, Simon shivered. He slid the keyboard closer and accessed his new email account, bringing up the last message from Arjit Singh, which included an attachment titled “PRF,” for “PetroSaud recovered files.”
“So far you’ve seen only the files Rafa sent London. As I said, there are a few more.”
“How many?” asked London.
“Total? A million. Give or take.” Simon saw a look pass between the two women, equal parts disbelief, astonishment, and joy. The Holy Grail. “Emails, texts, spreadsheets, banking instructions, the works,” he continued. “Rafa downloaded them from the company server his last day of work four years ago.”
“A million?” said Mandy. “This is all happening a bit too quickly for this old broad. I need a ciggie.”
“And you’re certain they are authentic?” asked London.
“As certain as I can be. Have a look.”
“Oh, we will,” said Mandy, taking a filtered cigarette from a box on the desk and hoisting a heavy silver lighter.
“My first concern is whether you can use them in court,” said Simon.
“If the documents are real, they are admissible,” said London. “It doesn’t matter how we came upon them, whether we found them lying on the street or were handed them on a silver platter. We’re not dealing with privileged information…you know, communications between a lawyer and client, that kind of thing. Otherwise we’re in the clear. When all is said and done, Mr. De Bourbon will be regarded as a whistleblower. I hope that is some consolation to his family.”
Simon nodded, thinking of Delphine. Cold comfort. “What I’ve seen of the files validates what you know about the Indonesian and Malaysian funds. It looks like those were the first ones that involved PetroSaud. We can come back to those later. Now we need to concentrate on the other thing.”
“The dog whistle,” said Mandy, caustically.
“I think they call it ‘Prato Bornum.’”
“Prato what?” said Mandy.
“Sounds Latin,” said London.
“In fact, it’s the medieval name for Zermatt, Switzerland,” said Simon. “You know, where the Matterhorn is. ‘Prato’ means source, or a wellspring. ‘Bornum’ means ‘the place where it begins.’ Put them together and you have ‘Here, where the spring originates.’ The ‘spring’ refers to the river that flows through the town of Zermatt down to the Rhône Valley.”
“The place where the spring originates.” London considered this. “A place of purity, preservation, and piety. I think I’m getting the drift.”
“So am I,” said Mandy. “And I don’t like it one bit.” She drew from her cigarette. “Apologies, Simon, if I was a bit snide. Comes with the territory. Trust is a four-letter word.”
“Apparently, there is some kind of spiritual affiliation with the spot,” Simon continued. “A sacred link to the past.”
“And how did you figure this out?” asked London.
“To an extent, luck. As I was looking through the files, I saw the initials ‘PB’ and the words ‘Prato Bornum’ in a few places. In one, Hadrian Lester tells Tarek Al-Obeidi, PetroSaud’s managing partner, that a portion of the money used to buy the false oil leases had to be sent to an account at the Bank of Liechtenstein and flagged ‘Prato Bornum.’ I thought it sounded odd, so I did a word search. After that, it was a question of putting two and two together. Like I said, the files are four years old. That’s about the time PetroSaud got involved with the Indonesian sovereign wealth fund.”
“Future Indonesia,” said London.
Simon read from the screen. “Here’s another from Lester. ‘Tarek, it is essential our team is on board with larger objectives, PB, and do not balk at payment.’ And another: ‘T, spoke with NS. She’s a firm believer in the cause. Provided all her account information at BOL. She