The diagram proved Alfonso Ramirez’s contention that, for all Saint Martin’s corporate piety, he was remorseless in pursuit of profit. There was a textile mill in Thailand that had been cited repeatedly for using slave labor, a chemical complex in Vietnam that had destroyed a nearby river, and a cargo vessel recycling center in Bangladesh that was regarded as one of the most fouled parcels of land on the planet. GVI also controlled a Brazilian agribusiness that was destroying several hundred acres of the Amazon rain forest on a daily basis, an African mining company that was turning a corner of Chad into a dust bowl, and a Korean offshore-drilling firm that had caused the worst environmental disaster in the history of the Sea of Japan. Even Yaakov, who had seen mankind at its worst, was stunned by the vast chasm between Landesmann’s words and his deeds. “The word that leaps to mind is compartmentalized,” said Yaakov. “Our Saint Martin makes Ari Shamron look one-dimensional.”

If Landesmann were troubled by the contradictions in his business affairs, it was not visible on the face he showed in public. For on the opposite wall of Room 456C there emerged a portrait of a righteous, enlightened man who had achieved much in life and was eager to give much in return. There was Martin the philanthropist, and Martin the mystic of corporate responsibility. Martin who gave medicine to the sick, Martin who brought water to the thirsty, and Martin who built shelter for the homeless, sometimes with his own hands. Martin at the side of prime ministers and presidents, and Martin cavorting in the company of famous actors and musicians. Martin discussing sustainable agriculture with the Prince of Wales, and Martin fretting about the threat of global warming with a former senator from America. There was Martin with his photogenic family: Monique, his beautiful French-born wife, and Alexander and Charlotte, their teenage children. Finally, there was Martin making his annual pilgrimage to the World Economic Forum at Davos, the one time each year when the oracle spoke for attribution. Were it not for Davos, Saint Martin’s legion of devoted followers might have been forgiven for assuming that its prophet had taken a vow of silence.

It would not have been possible to assemble so complete a picture of Martin in so short a period of time if not for the help of someone who had never even set foot in Room 456C. His name was Rafael Bloch, and his contribution was the treasure trove of files gathered during his long and ultimately fatal investigation into Martin Landesmann. Bloch had left behind many pieces of the puzzle. But it was Eli Lavon who unearthed the true prize, and Rimona Stern who helped decode it.