“Apparently that company relies on mineral rights granted by the president-for-life, and the CEO of said company just happens to be his own daughter. One of those marvelous Central Asian coincidences.”

“The mineral reserves are substantial. Demand is growing in China and India. The stock is undervalued.”

“No doubt. But so is the regime. Protests, torture, critics disappearing. Negative news runs. Compliance won’t like it. Reputational risk.”

“Ours or theirs?”

“Ours, of course. The Holborn Bank—clean and pristine.”

“Not that pristine. We’re in the other ’Stans. Including that one where the president boiled his enemies in oil.”

“Yes,” Barnstable said, “but this would be a ’Stan too far. Compliance has warned us. There was a memo.”

“But have they even seen this yet? Have you put it to them?”

“I’d love to,” he said. “I really would. But we have to pick our battles.”

We. Not I. Their special bond, both of them being Americans—and bipeds. With genitals.

Catherine looked around the office at all the identical desks, mostly devoid of personal mementoes, of any character at all. If her colleagues had children, there was no sign of them, no photos or handmade cards or inept art projects. One desk a row over had a coffee mug with the inscription, “Kiss Me, I’m an Arbitrager.” Most of the traders had gone home for the day. Orders to be executed in New York, where it was still prime time, would be handled by the bank’s office there. Individual bank offices had some autonomy. Catherine knew that.

“Why not just put the order in?” she said. “See what happens.”

Barnstable considered for a microsecond, then shook his head. “It’s just not worth it. I’m sorry.”

Jesus, Catherine thought, the son of bitch is running scared. What bonehead deals did he send up before? Is he on probation?

She smiled sweetly. “What if we made a case in writing, laid out the numbers . . .?” We. Not I.

For once he was curt. “It’s not the right time,” he said. Case closed. But he didn’t walk away. “There’s another thing I’ve been meaning to ask you about—a mismatch in your paperwork from last month. One side of a straddle on the DAX seems to be missing. Could you take a look and straighten things out?”

“Sure,” she said. “It’s just a missed opportunity with those warrants . . .”

“Let it go. Look for other opportunities. It’s not like you need this one. Your P and L is excellent. I see the Kemper Media deal went through. Your client must be pleased. Mister Pulaski . . .”

“Pleski,” she said. “Yes. He was pretty much counting on it.” Then, casually, a random thought, since they were on the subject anyway, “Did Compliance ever raise any issues about him?”

“About Pleski? Not that I know. Should they? Has anything come up?”