It was dark as the Vuksans drove into Vienna, a city Radovan had always loved. Here, he believed, they would be safe for a while. He trusted Anton Frend, even if the two men would be unable to meet while the Vuksans bided their time. Too many individuals were aware of Radovan’s professional relationship with Frend, even if they did not – or so Radovan hoped – realize the depth of the personal connection. It was too risky for Radovan and Frend to be seen together in public, so most of their communication would have to be conducted via dropboxes, temporary email addresses, and burner phones. If necessary, Zivco Ilić would act as a personal intermediary, because he was very good at seeing without being seen. Ilić would have some help in this, as he and the Other were close.

And the Other had gifts beyond all understanding.

Chapter XXX

The man sitting at the bar of the Conservatorium was staring at an iPad showing coverage of a news conference by a floundering senior US politician railing against his enemies, both real and imaginary. The man had a single earbud in his left ear, and a hearing aid behind his right. Louis guessed that he was in his sixties, with the patrician air of one who didn’t like any money that wasn’t old. Generations of good breeding had left him with all his hair, a body that was refusing to succumb to senescence, and – judging by his eyes as he glanced at Louis – a mind that was likewise raging against the dying of the light. He was wearing a gray suit and a black knit-silk tie, with a polka dot pocket square to offer a hint of levity.

‘As soon as paranoia sets in every politician begins sounding like Nixon on the final White House tapes,’ said the man, gesturing at the screen as Louis appeared beside him, ‘and that’s never a good image. Take a seat. Would you like a drink?’

Louis sat. ‘What are you having?’ he said.

‘A Dutch Negroni, made with oude genever. You know genever?’

‘I know it.’

‘Of course. You’ve been here before – and left your mark, by all accounts. So: a Negroni?’

‘Sure.’

The man raised a finger, and a bartender was pulled toward them.

‘A Negroni for my friend, and a fresh one for me.’

‘Are we friends?’ said Louis.

‘The alternative is less pleasant to contemplate, and harder to explain to bartenders.’

‘You could start with a name.’

‘You can call me Hermes.’

‘Get the fuck out of here,’ said Louis. ‘I’m not calling you Hermes.’

‘The patron of travelers and thieves. You could do worse.’

‘Not a whole lot worse.’

‘A pity,’ said the man. ‘Those cloak-and-dagger aliases always remind me of more innocent times. Then Harris will do, I suppose.’

The feed across the bottom of the iPad showed the politician inveighing against plotters and turncoats, and the anti-democratic maneuvers of the Deep State.