“And an informal meeting, Gabon-style!” King Hughie said. “They say people like doing business at night in these parts! And I say, great! No time beats the present for ironing out the details of tomorrow’s ceremonious occasion!”

Gordian looked at him. Did he really believe everything that left his mouth had exclamatory value?

“I hope you’ll understand that I need time to freshen up,” he said. “It has been a long trip.”

Hughie looked over at Sheffield, who had been standing beside Gordian in apparent mortification.

“Not a problem!” he said. “Tom’s got himself a damn well-stocked wine cellar . . . and his cook went and prepared some beee-eau-ti-ful hors d’oeuvres to tide me over while I do my sampling!”

The two police detectives arrived first thing the next morning with an attitude of impatient irresistibility.

Megan’s response was to be patiently immovable.

She had sized them up the moment they entered her office and known they were poised to intimidate. Perhaps because they were men addressing a woman, or law officers accustomed to throwing around the weight of their authority, or for some combination of those or other reasons. She didn’t really care. They had stated what they wanted. She was determined to learn more about why they had come before offering her compliance. But although they wore their game faces as well as she did, and a sense of pressing urgency could be felt on both sides of her desk, Megan thought her clearer view of their relative positions might give her a bargaining edge.

The leveler was how much their presence worried her. She couldn’t afford to let them see it.

“Ms. Breen, we need to speak to Roger Gordian about his daughter,” said the senior investigator for the third time. His name was Erickson. Probably in his late forties. Big squarish face, cornflower blue eyes, a crop of wavy, canary blond hair wet from the rain outside. He sat with his right leg across his opposite knee, wearing brown off-the-rack mufti under his open raincoat. “You say he’s traveling someplace?”

“He’s abroad on business,” she said. “In Africa. It’s no secret.”

Erickson studied Megan across her desk. “Even so, you must be able to reach him. Or his spouse.” He paused, added, “We’ve tried their residence but no one seems to be present.”

Megan converted the tension in her facial muscles to an expression of firm resolve. Erickson seemed dogged but not confrontational. He might be the one to deal with.

“I believe Mrs. Gordian is visiting with relatives,” she said. “But you have my full attention. As the senior executive at UpLink in his absence, I’m responsible for managing its affairs. They include observing Mr. Gordian’s privacy and keeping him from being unnecessarily distracted. If you’ll tell me—”

“How about you make those job responsibilities include giving us some cooperation?” interrupted the other man.