Oshicora appeared not to notice the abrupt whiteness of Petrovitch’s skin, and he carried on. “One word from me, and he will lose his citizenship, his company, his assets. He will be stateless, a refugee like we once were. You, I will deal with honorably. After the way the Americans treated my countrymen and women, I have no compunction in exploiting any one of them mercilessly.”

“Yeah, well.” They were at the lift again. Hijo was as immobile as when Petrovitch had left him. “Thanks again, and goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Petrovitch-san. I wish you good fortune and success in your studies. The secrets of the universe are elusive, but perhaps you are the man to catch them.” Oshicora turned to Hijo, who bowed low. “Petrovitch-san is leaving us now. Please make certain he arrives home safely.”

The last sight of Oshicora that Petrovitch had was his smiling face being narrowed to a line by the closing doors.

Hijo led him back through the sea of Japanese faces to the lobby, but didn’t leave him there. Instead, they went through a side door and down a spiraling ramp to an underground loading bay. Sharp white light lit up a pillar-supported concrete chamber. A car sat silently, waiting for them.

It was big and black and crouched low on its suspension. Polarized glass rendered its windows opaque. Petrovitch wondered if there was anyone in it—whether or not it was completely automatic—when the rear door rolled aside electrically and the courtesy light came on.

“Please, Petrovitch-san.” Hijo gestured to the open door, and Petrovitch climbed in. He’d been wrong. There was a driver, and someone riding shotgun. Then Hijo himself got in beside him and tapped the shoulder of the man behind the wheel.

“I didn’t realize you were coming with me,” said Petrovitch. He was eager to be away; he didn’t trust Sorenson to keep his mouth shut.

Hijo pulled the seatbelt across his body and clicked it into place. “My employer would be most displeased with me if something happened to you while you were in our care,” he said by way of explanation.

“So I get a ride in a bullet-proof car.” Petrovitch took a deep breath, and followed Hijo’s example with the seatbelt. “Does this thing go south of the river?”

Barely aware that the engine was running, Petrovitch felt the car ease forward toward a steel shutter that rolled upward. They were outside in a recessed road that gradually rose to join another. He twisted in his seat: he could see the base of the Oshicora Tower behind him, but not its top. They turned, and he lost even that view.

He was driven down the Strand, and across Waterloo Bridge, which neatly skirted the parliamentary Green Zone, then back west along the river before heading south. He even caught sight of the old Palace of Westminster brooding, black and cold, behind concrete walls.