As the man at the podium finished his remarks, the audience rose in a standing ovation. What his address lacked in style of delivery, it made up for in rhetorical appeal. Besides, on such an occasion, who could begrudge the great man his proper due? Janson, stonefaced, walked out of the hall, and the noise of the resounding applause quieted only when the door closed behind him.

If Demarest wasn’t at the United Nations, where was he?

The secretary-general had walked off the dais together with the clamorously applauded speaker, and now, as a twenty-minute recess began, both would repair to the carpeted chamber behind the hall.

Janson realized that his earpiece had been dislodged by his recent struggle; he repositioned it and, crackling, heard snippets of dialogue. He remembered the hidden microphone on Mathieu Zinsou’s collar bar; it was transmitting.

“No, I thank you. But I would like to have that tête-à-tête you mentioned after all.” The voice was fuzzy but audible.

“Certainly,” Zinsou answered. His voice was nearer to the microphone and clearer.

“Why don’t we go to your office, in the Secretariat ?”

“You mean now?”

“I’m rather pressed for time, I’m afraid. It’ll have to be now.”

Zinsou paused. “Then follow me. The thirty-eighth floor.” Janson wondered if the secretary-general had added the specification for his sake.

Something was up. But what?

Janson made a dash for the eastern ramp of the General Assembly Building, and then lumbered toward the looming Secretariat Building. His right knee twinged with every step he took, and the bruises on his body were starting to swell and smart—the Anuran’s blows had been not only forceful but well aimed. Yet he had to put all of it out of his mind.

Inside the Secretariat lobby, he flashed the ID card that had been prepared for him, and a guard waved him through. He pressed the button for the thirty-eighth floor, and rode up. Mathieu Zinsou and Alan Demarest’s agent, whoever he was, would be following him within minutes.

As he rode up to the top of the skyscraper, the transmission to his earpiece fuzzed out. The metal of the elevator shaft was blocking off the signal.

A minute later, the elevator stopped at the thirty-eighth floor. Janson remembered the floor plan: The elevator banks were in the midpoint of the long, rectangular floor. The offices of the undersecretaries and special deputies were lined against the west-facing wall; to the north were two large, windowless conference rooms; to the south, a narrow, windowless library. The secretary-general’s teak-lined office was along the east wall. Because of the special meeting, the floor was almost entirely vacant; every staff member was doing duty attending to the visiting delegations.