Now Janson focused on slowing his heartbeat, and he turned to Lakatos with an impassive expression. “A friend of yours?” Janson asked. The man had not made it clear to whom his remarks were addressed: “Adam Kurzweil” would not have assumed he was their subject.

Lakatos looked bewildered. “I don’t know this man.”

“Don’t you,” Janson said softly, defusing suspicion by placing the arms dealer on the defensive. “Well, no matter. We’ve all had such experiences. Between the drink and the dim lighting, he might have taken you for Nikita Khrushchev himself.”

“Hungary has always been a land densely populated with ghosts,” Lakatos returned.

“Some of your own making.”

Lakatos set his glass down, ignoring the comment. “You’ll forgive me if I’m curious. I have quite a few accounts, as you know. Yours isn’t a name I’d come across.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Janson took a long, savoring sip of the local wine. “Or do I only flatter myself about my discretion? I’ve spent most of my life in southern Africa, where, I must say, your presence is not a noticeable one.”

Lakatos tucked his chin deeper into the pillow of fat that was his neck, signaling assent. “A mature market,” he said. “I cannot say there has been any great call for my offerings down there. Still, I have had occasional dealings with South Africans, and I’ve always found you people exemplary trading partners. You know what you want, and you don’t mind paying what it’s worth.”

“Trust is honored with trust. Fairness with fairness. My clients can be generous, but they are not profligate. They do expect to get what they pay for. Value for money, as you put it. I should be clear, though. The assets they seek are not simply material, or matériel. They are equally interested in the sort of thing doesn’t come on pallets. They seek allies. Human capital, you might say.”

“I do not wish to mistake your meaning,” Lakatos said, his face a mask.

“Put it however you like: they know that there are people, forces on the ground, who share their interests. They wish to enlist the support of such people.”

“Enlist their support …” Lakatos echoed warily.

“Conversely, they wish to offer support to such people.”

A deep swallow. “Assuming such people are in need of additional support.”

“Everybody can use additional support.” Janson smiled smoothly. “There are few certainties in this world. That is one.”

Lakatos reached over and tapped his wrist, smiling. “I think I like you,” he said. “You’re a thinker and a gentleman, Mr. Kurzweil. Not like the Swabian boors I so often have to deal with.”

The waiter presented them with fried goose liver, “compliments of the chef,” and Lakatos speared his portion greedily with his fork.

“But I think you understand where I’m going, yes?” Janson pressed.