Walking inside the club, Condley immediately noticed Francois Petain, dressed in a gray suit and a red silk tie, at a corner table near the rear of the room. The soft-featured Frenchman was holding court before a half dozen people, his large hands waving grandly in the air as he entertained them with a story. Van sat next to him, wearing a tantalizing black sheath dress. She was smiling, seemingly dazzled by his narrative, as if she had never made the phone call that had roused Condley from his sleep.

It was clear that this was Petain’s show and that the others, who were laughing hilariously, were enjoying it immensely. The table was cluttered with a stack of Heineken, Foster’s, and Tiger beer cans, as well as Perrier and Orangina bottles and a half dozen empty wineglasses. Van noticed Condley first. Petain, following her gaze, stood up and waved, surprising him with an open smile.

“Ah, Monsieur Bone Picker has arrived.”

Condley sauntered to the table, glancing quickly at Van for clues. She looked at him and then away, her arms folded across her stomach and her face stiff, as if she had suddenly become catatonic, paralyzed by either fear or indecision. He grudgingly shook the Frenchman’s hand. “The merchant of aromas. The seller of smells. Are you staying rich?”

“Of course I am staying rich!” Petain glanced mischievously to the others at the table, as if sharing a secret. “People will pay millions just to smell a certain way. Amazing, yes? But true. It’s like Coca-Cola. Why does anyone need to drink fizzy brown water with sugar in it? And yet they are happy to pay billions. A few drops of perfume and my customers feel like royalty.”

“What a service you’re providing!”

“Yes, I know,” said Petain with a false sigh. “I think I am the Mother Teresa of the upper classes, saving countless lives from emptiness and ennui.” He examined Condley’s dampened clothes. “You are well-dressed, as always.” The entire table chuckled, as if on cue.

“Just my little way of showing how much I respect you, Francois. But I can always change my clothes. And you will never stop being a jackass.”

Petain smiled, raising his eyebrows as if enjoying the exchange. “As I said before, it is a pity that you become so emotional.” He gave a little shrug, looking at the others at the table as if Condley were hopeless. “Please,” he said, motioning to a nearby waitress. “Have a seat and join us.”

“I’ll stand.”

“And you are finding not so many bones in Russia, I hear?”

Condley glanced quickly again at Van. She looked away, as if dismissing his unspoken allegation. “No bones in Russia,” he said. “Only Colonel Pham’s little family reunion.”