‘I don’t have to tell you how bad this is for Conquer,’ he said as they sat at a boardroom table. He lifted his spectacles and read a private intelligence report, which was set out on light blue A4 paper. ‘There will be fines. You’ll lose your triple A rating. The share price …’ Bleulance put down the paper and picked up the Financial Times. ‘The shares have dropped twenty-five per cent in one day.’

He looked up again and stared at a large painting by Picasso on the wall as if more predictions were somehow etched there.

‘You’ll have to set aside a lot for class actions.’ He returned his gaze to the others, and winced as he added: ‘A lot.’

The others knew what all this meant for their own shares in Conquer, but nothing like that of Bleulance himself. A quick estimate would be that his investment company would have seen about twenty billion pounds wiped from its portfolio.

He seemed unperturbed. But they also knew that his hidden passion, his true love, was for energy. The blow to Conquer was personal. He looked up over his glasses at the three silent executives.

‘The entire board will have to retire,’ he said. ‘Conquer will have a clean-out.’ He put on his glasses again and returned his gaze to the private blue paper. ‘You’ll all have to leave also, I’m afraid. Have your offices cleared and be out of the building—’ Bleulance glanced at his silver Bulgari watch, ‘—by three o’clock this afternoon.’

*

Haut had flown to Los Angeles, where Pinkerton took him up as a client again.

‘You’re still our biggest risk,’ the security boss told him, ‘but for some reason your adversaries have gone very quiet for the moment. We’re not clear why. However, the upshot is we can take you on again while you’re in the US.’

They moved Haut from safe house to safe house in Los Angeles, starting in Pasadena, until it was decided he’d be better monitored in New York. Haut took temporary residence at Manhattan’s Roosevelt Hotel on East 45th Street. At first glance, Haut was happy with his new luxury home, however temporary it might be. His suite was as big as an average apartment. The hotel had impressive eateries, which suited Haut’s need for plenty of ‘brain food’ to keep his alleged five orbits whirring efficiently. The most famous was the Roosevelt Grill, which served American food and was open all day for meals. There was also the Nixon Club Lounge, which featured a twelve-metre mahogany bar, two fire-places and stained-glass windows that gave it an ethereal feel; not quite a church, yet otherworldly.

*