«It hurts to say, but he’s not thinking clearly. He has not been well balanced, since we had the news about your brother in Liso. So, I worry. He’s a very smart man, but he doesn’t have enough distance, in this case. And he’s worse for drinking.»

«Does he often drink as much as he did at Solstice?”

«More. He was on his best behavior, then.» A heavy sigh, on the other end of the line. «I think before Cyril came back, he had finally become resigned. I’ve never known him as a happy man, but now I’m afraid of what he will do, trying to … to … »

She twisted the telephone cord in her fist. «What do you think he is going to do?»

«I know he’s going to blackmail Emmeline Frye.»

“What?” she asked, aghast enough to fall back into Geddan.

«I’m more afraid of what he’ll do if she doesn’t step like he tells her to.»

«Blackmail her for … for what?» Even as she said it, she knew. «How?»

«She’s moving some contraband for Cross-Costa. Or, her company is.»

«And he’s found a way to tie her to it?»

«He has. Frye and her deputy … anyway. That’s why he asked me to talk with Mr. Addas. He needs a journalist. Insurance, he said. If she doesn’t do what he asks, he’ll break the story.»

«He’ll … he’ll … » Metaphor failed her in Porashtu. “He’ll tear the country up.” Then, «If this comes out … Saeger doesn’t know how to lead a country.»

«I don’t think he cares,» said Daoud.

«Of course,» said Lillian, crumpling the crease of her trouser leg in one angry fist. «The Amberlough he knew is gone. Why should he mind what happens to this one?»

“Laurie Kostos,” Daoud told him. “That is who you want.”

Aristide tipped vermouth into the cocktail shaker and began to stir. “At the Observer?”

“Lately, yes. But no longer. There was, it seems, some acrimony in the parting. Now he is the anchor for a new nightly program on FWAC.”

Aristide tapped the spoon to dislodge a drip. “I said hungry. He doesn’t sound it.”

“The program is only in its first few months, and likely to be taken off the air if he does not make it sell cigarettes, or what you like.”

“Better,” said Aristide, savoring the word before chasing it with gin. “Where can I find him?”

“He broadcasts from the Icepick every night at eight o’clock.”

Aristide glanced at the clock, downed his martini, and called a cab.