A cool gust of wind riffled a pad of yellow paper on the secretary-general’s desk: it underscored the odd reality of being windowless on the thirty-eighth floor, with nothing but a low aluminum grille between them and the plaza far below. Sounds of traffic from the FDR Drive mingled with the cawing of gulls that wheeled and soared at eye level. There were darkening clouds overhead; soon it would rain.

Janson looked at Alan Demarest peering around Zinsou, who was obviously struggling to maintain his composure and doing far better than most would. Beneath the black pools of Demarest’s eyes, he saw the bore hole of a Smith & Wesson .45.

“Let the secretary-general go,” Janson said.

“My policy with cat’s paws has always been to amputate,” Demarest replied.

“You have a gun, I have a gun. He doesn’t need to be here.”

“You disappoint me. I thought you’d prove a more formidable antagonist.”

“Zinsou! Walk. Now. Get out of here!” Janson’s instructions were crisp. The secretary-general looked at him for a moment, then moved from between the two blood enemies. To Demarest, Janson said, “Shoot him and I shoot you. I will take the opportunity to shoot you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, Paul, I do.” Demarest spoke simply.

Janson waited, Ruger in position, until he heard the door close.

Demarest’s eyes were hard but not devoid of mirth. “The football coach Woody Hayes was once asked why his teams so seldom threw the forward pass. He replied, ‘If you put the ball up in the air, only three things can happen, and two of them are bad.’”

Incongruously, Janson recalled Phan Nguyen’s obsession with American football. “You sent me to hell,” he said. “I think it’s time I returned the favor.”

“Why so angry, Paul? Why so much hate in your heart?”

“You know.”

“Once things were otherwise. Once there was a connection—something we shared, something deep. Deny it if you want. You know it’s true.”

“I don’t think I know what’s true, anymore. I owe you that.”

“You owe me many things. I shaped you, made you who you are. You haven’t forgotten, have you? I never held back. You were my prize protégé. You were so smart and so brave and so resourceful. You were a fast, fast learner. You were made for great things. The way you turned out …” He shook his head. “I could have made you great, if you had allowed me to. I understood you the way nobody else did. I understood what you were truly capable of. Maybe that’s what really spooked you. Maybe that’s why you rejected me. Rejecting me was a way of rejecting you, rejecting who you truly are.”

“Is that what you believe?” asked Janson, fascinated despite himself.