She gripped her umbrella tighter, seemingly unsure what to say. “We still don’t know what happened, Mr. Dresner. I suppose we never will.”

He held out a business card, blank except a single phone number centered on it. “This comes directly to me. If there’s anything you need—anything I can help you with—please call.”

She accepted the card and this time seemed a bit more relaxed when they embraced. Dresner stood by respectfully as she retreated to the fold of her family and then started up the slope toward the house. A limousine appeared along the muddy road and glided to a stop in front of him.

Dresner pulled the door open, freezing for a moment when he saw a figure sitting next to the heavily tinted window on the opposite side.

“Hello, Christian.”

The voice was immediately recognizable and Dresner slipped inside, dropping his dripping umbrella on the floor in front of him. “Very dramatic, James. I’ve always admired a good entrance.”

“You said you wanted to talk and that it was important. I thought I’d take advantage of your rare presence in our country.”

The limousine weaved through the people still gathered in front of Bailer’s house and Dresner took a seat opposite the man. He had retired years ago as a major in an area of U.S. military intelligence where rank was not necessarily well correlated with power. Now he was in his early seventies, with gray hair still cut in an efficient military style and a gaunt, sun-damaged face that meshed perfectly with a body that was a product of a lifetime in the Marine Corps. The scar that ran from the edge of his starched collar to the underside of his chin completed the image but, ironically, was not a souvenir from combat. According to Dresner’s investigators, it was actually the result of a childhood accident.

“Sorry to hear about your CEO. Can I assume that it won’t affect the production of military-specific Merges?”

“Your concern is heartwarming.”

“Everyone dies, Christian. Even you and me one day.”

Dresner looked at the glass separating them from the driver and security man in the passenger seat. It was soundproof, but he still would prefer to have this conversation elsewhere.

“We’ve run into some cash-flow problems that need to be dealt with in order to keep manufacturing at capacity.”

“Cash-flow problems? What kind of cash-flow problems?”

“Nothing that fifty billion dollars won’t resolve.”

Major James Whitfield sat in silence, nothing registering on his face. It never did.

“It’s a temporary shortfall,” Dresner continued. “The rollout is actually ahead of projections.”

“Whether it’s temporary or not is irrelevant. The amount isn’t though. We’ve already given more than a hundred billion to this project.”