‘Oh, it’s not, I suppose. Not immediately. But it is important that you understand where you are now, Miss Julianne, and how the city works. You and I have a problem, not because of assassins and bomb-makers, no matter how clumsy they are, but because of power. Henry Cesky is a long way from here, but he is a powerful man, thus he can reach out and touch us. His power insulates him from any attempt we might make to reach out in return. Even to accuse Cesky is fraught. He is a hero of the second American Revolution, a confidant of power because he is a prominent supporter of the President. You are a smuggler, a thief, a killer. I am a mercenary. Our word counts for nothing against his. And as you saw at the police station this afternoon, my position here, while not untenable, could be made precarious. By the application of power.’

Downing hoisted himself up onto the brushed-metal surface of the bench. It seemed unusual, completely out of character for him, thought Jules. But he looked comfortable enough, sitting up there sipping his beer. She had a sudden vision of him as an undergraduate student in cheap digs in London, propped up on the kitchen bench, talking and drinking into the wee hours.

‘Mr Shah is right, Julianne,’ the Englishman said, using her first name for a change. ‘You need to understand that we must be careful. Very careful. This isn’t a problem that’s amenable to being tackled in the same way you’d see off a bunch of pirates. That’s why I suggested the little soirée upstairs. As Mr Shah says, they’re quite common among the émigré population. People like to gather together for support. And it makes it a little less remarkable that I should be here, or Mr Pappas. We both have clients upstairs, and of course Nick is a friend of the family.’

It was Pappas’s turn to take up the chore of explanation. He’d already downed his beer and seemed perfectly relaxed, grabbing himself another one from the fridge at the back of the room, talking as he went.