“He’ll talk to people who can ensure his safety. So that’s what we are.”

The area was even wealthier than she expected. Posh London: leafy, peaceful, sinister, with rows of identical stuccoed houses surrounding locked, private squares and not many humans in sight at all.

They drove by the rendezvous point, checked for any obvious signs of danger. But danger rarely made itself obvious. Taylor parked a street away, and they split up and approached from opposite directions, eyes out for anyone waiting. Neither of them saw anyone.

They were at the corner at the specified time. Taylor assumed they were being watched. A moment later a man crossed toward them, very tall, very tightly suited in a navy blazer. A former member of one of the diplomatic wings of the police, Taylor guessed. He had that practiced stiffness. He looked them over, glanced at the nearby cars.

“Waiting for someone?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Jerry Lau.”

“Just you guys?”

“Yes.”

“I work for Jerry. I’m going to take you to where he’s currently staying. Can I see some ID?”

They showed their government passes. The man studied them carefully, then handed them back.

“Follow me.”

He led them around the corner, onto an exclusive cul-de-sac where the houses were behind solid fences, then stopped beside an ornate but very functional metal gate higher than their heads. It opened electronically without him apparently doing anything. Inside was a gravel garden and a shiny black Mercedes, then an attractive Georgian house with ivy and security cameras and metal shutters closed on every window.

“Need to give you a quick search,” he said once the gate had slid back into place behind them. They spread their arms. He patted them down for weapons and wires. When the guard was satisfied they were not a threat, he knocked on the front door. Another guard answered, and the four of them walked in.

The house contained no personal effects. Taylor suspected it had nothing to do with Lau and that was precisely why he was here. It felt like a stage set, very beautifully decorated, with shades of plum and midnight blue on the walls and little busts in alcoves. Lau appeared, coming down stairs at the back of the main hall, shrugging on a suit jacket. He was slight and smart, wearing a black shirt, tan chinos, expensive Italian shoes. Taylor wondered if he’d dressed for them or if he did being on the run in style. His face had an unmarked, ageless quality. But he wasn’t happy.

“They’re legit,” the guard said. Lau appraised the pair. Beneath the evident anxiety Taylor sensed a zealous energy—someone who had monetized a childhood passion: intelligent, spoiled, gifted.

“What happened to my crew?” he said.

“That’s what we want to find out: what happened to them and how we ensure it doesn’t happen to you.”

“Until now it seemed you were going to break every promise you made.”