‘Probably more than you imagine.’ The ombudsman made a dismissive gesture. ‘But that isn’t really the issue—‘

‘No,’ snapped Chris. ‘The issue is, you’re fucking with me.’

Vasvik smiled faintly. ‘I don’t believe a time-frame was mentioned at any point. What did you think? I would come here and magic you out with one sweep of my UN wand? These things take time, Chris. You have to wait your turn. For a change.’

Pushing. The realisation seeped into Chris’s consciousness, damping down the instinctive anger to an irritated curiosity. Why’s he pushing me?

The previous meeting in the workshop at Mel’s. Vasvik’s face, hard with distaste.

Personally, Faulkner, I don’t give a shit what happens to you. I think you’re scum. The ethical commerce guys would like to hear what you have, that’s why I’m here, but I’m not a salesman. I don’t have to reel you in to get my name up on some commission board somewhere, and frankly, I have a lot of better things to—

But the ethical commerce guys have sent you back here, haven’t they, Vasvik? Chris felt the answer light up in his head like an arcade game. You warned them not to bite, but they overruled you and they sent you back for me, and now you’ve got to swallow that shit whole.

Unless, that is, you can trip me into blowing out the offer of my own accord.

He felt a grin building. The manoeuvring room was immense. And at the back of it all he had Notley’s avuncular indulgence spread like dark, protecting wings. He could run Vasvik ragged, grind his bony nose up against his own controllers’ orders to acquire Chris Faulkner at asking price, and even if he pushed the ombudsman over the edge and blew it, he could walk away from the wreckage of the deal. Fuck ‘em if they couldn’t take a joke. He’d stay at Shorn.

‘Alright.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s talk about Cambodia then.’

The tension in the room eased. Carla seemed to sag slightly with it, and Chris saw how her hand fell on her father’s shoulder. Erik reached up and clasped it without looking back from the drink he was building. Neither of them looked at Chris.

‘Good,’ said Vasvik. ‘So. The way we see it at the moment, you’ve got Khieu Sary on the customary long-leash arrangement, nominally acting in line with the accords you all signed up to, but in actual fact pretty much doing what he feels like. Recruiting from the villages that’ll listen to him, burning the ones that won’t. Standard terror tactics. My question is, what are you going to do about the enterprise zones?’

Chris shrugged. ‘We’ve got an understanding with him about that whole area. Gentleman’s agreement, nothing on paper.’

‘I see. Any reason why he should stick to that any more than he’s stuck to the Geneva Convention stuff so far?’

‘Yeah. If he doesn’t, we pull the plug on his mobile cover. Ever tried coordinating a guerrilla war by landline?’

Erik Nyquist leaned over and handed Vasvik a tall glass. There was a conspicuous lack of a drink in his other hand as he turned to look at Chris, and a familiar anger rising on his face.

‘Very neat,’ said Vasvik thoughtfully.

‘Yeah, because that kind of thing matters, doesn’t it, Chris. Can’t have some first-world sportswear manufacturer losing productivity, can we.’

Chris sighed.

‘Erik, you still got any of that Ardbeg non-chill filtered I bought you for your birthday?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Can I get some of that cheap blended stuff you like, then?’

Erik’s right arm twitched at his side. Chris saw the fist knot up. Then Vasvik murmured something in Norwegian, and the older man stopped himself.

‘Get your own fucking drink,’ he said, and stalked across to the lounge window. The police lights outside pricked the blue in his eyes as he stared downward. Chris shrugged, pulled a face at Vasvik and rose to follow his father in law’s advice. Carla turned away from him as he got there. She disappeared into the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself. Chris shrugged again. It was a view he was getting used to. He selected a clean glass and a bottle from the table, poured four inches of something apparently called Clan Scott.

‘I don’t see where you’re going with this, Vasvik,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘It’s standard CI operating procedure. Protect the foreign capital base at all costs. Sary understands that, like all the rest of these toy revolutionaries.’

‘And presumably you have informed those with interests in the EZs that this is the state of play.’

‘Yeah, sure. Most of them are buying their protection through our reinsurance arm anyway.’ Chris sniffed dubiously at the Scotch and took it back to his armchair. ‘Why?’

‘Did you know that Nakamura are modelling for a military coup against the Cambodian government?’

‘No.’ Chris swallowed some of his drink and grimaced. Next door the shouting seemed to be starting up again. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me. With Acropolitic still holding the official advisory angle, it’d be their only chance of carving themselves a slice of the action. Our indesp guys should bring it in before they make any substantial moves.’

‘Industrial espionage might give you backroom detail on the models, but it won’t help you on the ground. What are you going to do if it looks like Nakamura can get the Cambodian army to do what they want?’

Chris shrugged. ‘Call Langley, I suppose. Have the relevant uniforms capped at home.’

At the window, Erik Nyquist made a noise in his throat. Chris glanced across at him.

‘Hey, I’m sorry if that upsets your sensibilities, Erik. But this is the way the world is run.’

‘Yes. I know that.’

fucking bastard screamed the woman next door. The baby was crying again. Chris frowned into his drink.

‘Well, Erik, maybe you’d prefer it if we left these generals with their skulls intact, and then they could roll their tanks out to play in the streets of Phnom Penh and slaughter a few thousand people.’

‘The way Khieu Sary is going to, you mean?’

‘That’s not the way we’ve modelled it.’

‘Oh, good:

Again, Vasvik said something in Norwegian, and Erik looked back out at the night. He seemed to see something of interest down below.

‘Your friends are leaving,’ he said flatly. ‘That’s obviously enough law enforcement for this month. We must have used up our credit.’

‘Hey, not my friends, Erik.’ Chris grinned at the older man. ‘I just paid them off, that’s all. Just because I give someone money, doesn’t mean I like them. You should know that.’

‘The point,’ said Vasvik sharply, ‘is that we would like you to remain in position until the Nakamura move is completed one way or another. The Cambodian EZs are under investigation—‘

Chris hissed through his teeth. ‘Yeah, so what else is new. Don’t tell me you’re actually getting ready to take someone to that joke court of yours.’

Something smashed against the wall in the next flat. The male voice was back, competing for air time with the woman. The baby’s crying scaled up a couple of notches, maybe in an attempt to be heard over all the yelling. Chris raised an eyebrow and drank some more Clan Scott.

‘We need inside information from after any move by the Cambodian military.’ For all the change in Vasvik’s voice, the fight going on next door could have been on TV. ‘I don’t want to disclose details but if we don’t have clear data then a number of the people we’ve got our eye on will be able to use the confusion of the coup to muddy the waters over their own actions. They’ll get through the reasonable doubt loophole and they’ll walk. We’ll lose the whole case.’

‘Don’t you usually?’

cunt, cunt, cunt screamed the guy next door. Fucking CUNT

A blow, and someone falling. A broken shriek.

The baby, wailing.

Carla came out of the kitchen, as if fired from a gun.

‘Dad, what the fuck is he doing to—‘

‘I know.’ Erik came to take his daughter’s hands. He looked suddenly very old. ‘It’s, he’s. It happens a lot. There’s nothing you can—‘