“Well.” Andros fidgeted uneasily. “They wouldn’t believe you, anyway.”

“Only it wouldn’t come from me. Don’t you think I can still game the system? I’ve spent years in counterintelligence—I know just how to plant information so that it can never be traced back to me and so that it gains credibility with each remove from its source.”

“I believe you’re talking out of your ass.”

“A member of the Greek parliament unburdens himself to another, who, unbeknownst to him, is on the CIA payroll. Through cutaways and filters, the information ends up on a MemCon, a memorandum of conversation, filed with the local station chief. Who, by the way, hasn’t forgotten that the November 17 terrorists assassinated one of his predecessors. Source rating: highly credible. Report rating: highly credible. A question mark goes by your name, in ink. Now your paymasters have quite an unpleasant dilemma. Even the possibility that a 17 Noémvri associate was receiving U.S. funds would create a scandal within the intelligence community. It would be a career-ender for anyone involved. If you’re the case officer, you could order an investigation. But is that an investigation you really want to risk? Because if the result is positive, the intelligence officers will have to cut their own throats. There’ll be an internal paper trail showing that American tax dollars lined the pockets of an anti-American terrorist. So what’s the alternative?” Janson maintained steady eye contact as he spoke. “What’s the safe thing? An accident? Maybe one of those whores you bring home has a special toy, and that night you don’t wake up. ‘Curator, conservator stricken by fatal heart attack’—that’s the news item, and everyone’s breathing a lot easier. Or maybe it’ll look like you’re the victim of a street crime, a mugging gone awry. Or rough trade that got rougher than you’d bargained for.”

“Ridiculous!” Andros said, with little conviction.

“On the other hand, the decision might be made to remove you from the rolls, erase any record of payment, and leave you alone. In fact, that’s entirely possible.” A beat. “Is that a chance you’re willing to bet on?”

Andros clenched and unclenched his jaw for a few moments; a vein visibly throbbed on his forehead. “The word is,” he said, “they want to know why you have sixteen million dollars in your Cayman Islands account. The Bank of Mont Verde. Sixteen million dollars that was not there only a few days ago.”

“More of your lies!” Janson roared.

“No!” Andros pleaded, and the fear in his eyes was real enough. “True or false, it’s what they believe. And that is no lie.”

Janson took a few deep breaths and looked at Andros hard. “Get out of here,” he said. “I’m sick of the sight of you.”