“Langley didn’t see that one coming,” Barrow said. “Too excited about the gadgets, I expect. We got out, of course. His fund program started right after. With nobody looking, a few of our people peeled off and went rogue. Sequence isn’t important really. Hell, number one search term our people type into Google these days is ‘Perseus.’ How many skew their work to audition for Terry Krieger I don’t know.”

Barrow sat back. “So that’s how it started. Those funds are made up of rogue intelligence officers from all over the world, working together, for Terry Krieger. Conspiracy. Bribery. Fraud. Murder. It’s a long list that ends in treason. I am no goody two-shoes. But treason I do not abide. Which brings us back to Vance Eady.” Barrow swallowed the rest of his drink and pressed the call button. “Leave us the bottle, Troy.” He topped off Klay’s drink.

Klay looked at Barrow, not really seeing him. Instead he pictured Eady in his office that last day. Around them Eady’s artifacts packed up, outside movers hammering shipping crates together. Eady talking about his cancer before explaining the sale to Krieger. “This was not my decision. Krieger pitched the board in Davos. I was brought in after. For appearances, I expect . . .” Klay felt his anger turning to rage, his stomach in knots.

“So, Tom—”

Klay spoke through a clenched jaw, “Tenchant.”

Barrow nodded. He opened the briefcase again, found the file he wanted, and withdrew a photograph. “Hitter. Kicked out of the Marines.” In the photo, Tenchant was loading bags into a Land Rover. There were camera bags at his feet, one bag especially long. The photo was date stamped. In the background was a Kenyan car rental agency.

Barrow laid out more documents and photos of Tenchant. “Started as a babysitter on you, we think.”

“You could’ve stopped him. You let my friends die.”

“Not ‘let.’ We didn’t let anything. And let me make this clear. There is no ‘we’ here, Tom. My God will judge me for my decisions, but anyone I took this up the chain to might have been compromised. Half the people above me are compromised, for Chrissake. I had no idea how far up it went—”

“Now you do?”

When Barrow didn’t reply, Klay upended his glass and set it down hard. Barrow reached out to pour him another, but Klay waved it away. He wanted to wave away the voice in his head, the one saying, You could have stopped him, Tom . . . You were the gun . . .

“Hungry was always going to be sacrificed,” Klay said.