Janson said, “Why don’t we hear Mr. Helms’s version of the truth?”

Helms shrugged. “The truth is, secrecy is bred in the bone in the oil business. Has been from the start. We’re selling a mysterious commodity. How much oil there appears to be at any given time dictates price, from the gas pump all the way back to reserves imagined in the ground.”

“And how much you’ll pay the nation that owns that ground?”

“I see where you’re going with this and you are dead wrong. It’s not like we were hoodwinking Ferdinand Poe.”

“It’s not? Who were you hoodwinking?”

“Our rivals. Other oil companies. But primarily the Chinese. It behooves us when we’re guessing and hoping for a big find to keep it secret until we know for sure. Keep in mind, we are looking for oil where we are not likely to find it. But we never know. The petrological world is full of surprises.”

“You’re not guessingwhat’s in the Isle de Foree deepwater blocks. You know already.”

Helms shook his head. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. I’ll admit—in confidence—we’ve got reason to hope. But nothing is in the bag.”

Paul Janson said, “It was enough in the bag for ASC to support both sides of the Isle de Foree civil war.”

Kingsman Helms did not deny the accusation. Instead, he looked Paul Janson straight in the face and said, “The problem with the supply side of oil is a problem of accessing the resources in the ground. But a purely logistic problem becomes a political problem when governments claim access.”

“That’s a common corporate complaint.”

“Complaining is useless until a corporation admits that governments force us to make choices in order to access the product our customers require.”

“What choices did ASC make to drill for Isle de Foree’s oil?”

“Survival choices,” Helms answered blandly. “We at ASC are on our own in an increasingly competitive and contentious world. Gone are the days that the mere existence of American military might covered our back. We’re a global corporation, but big as we are, we compete with companies that are fronts for the Chinese and Russian governments. They’re not afraid of us anymore.”

Helms fell silent.

Janson asked, “What survival choices did you make?”

“Everywhere we explore, the American Synergy Corporation is whipsawed between anarchistic locals and rapacious Chinese. ASC has no choice but to cover our own back. If our government won’t lead us—and I assure you they won’t—we will lead the government. They don’t mind taxing us, but they won’t protect us. Since our government won’t level the playing field, then ASC must meet the Chinese head-on by doing what we have to do to level the playing field.”

“In other words, if the U.S. government won’t help ASC, ASC will help itself.”

“Without apology!” Helms shot back. “It’s a new world, Janson. It’s passed you by.”

“Dr. Flannigan told me as much.”

Kingsman Helms smiled patiently, as if humoring Janson. “What did the good doctor tell you?”

“He told me that ASC did not know he was aboard the Amber Dawn. That’s why he fled. He thought you sent us to kill him.”

Kingsman Helms just stared. “That is ridiculous. The man was a lunatic.”

“He told me that Amber Dawnwas secretly exploring for oil.”

“I already admitted that to you.”

“Two minutes ago. But since the doctor was killed, I’ve spoken with people who were in the rebel camp. It seems that the FFM fighters who murdered her crew were executed by Ferdinand Poe’s son as punishment for going rogue.”

“The least they deserved.”

“But they swore with their dying breath they had been orderedto murder the crew.”

“That’s as bloody and contradictory a story as daily events in the Niger Delta.”

“But if it is also a true story,” said Paul Janson, “then the question is, if the FFM fighters were tricked into murdering your crew, who set them up?”

“Who’s to know?” Helms shrugged. “Poe’s son died in the final battle and our doctor was assassinated in Australia—on your watch. And now, if you’re done telling dead men’s tales, I’m going to bed. I’ve been flying all night.”

“Sleep tight,” said Doug Case.

Kingsman Helms strolled out of the Union Bar without another word.

Paul Janson said, “Doug, you look surprised.”

“I never heard it laid out quite that way before.”

It struck Janson that the last time he had seen Doug Case genuinely surprised—the only time—was in Ogden, Utah, when he kicked a Glock 34 out of his hand before Doug could shoot him. He studied Doug’s face, trying to read him. “You weren’t surprised that Flannigan no longer worked for ASC.”

“I learned it recently.”

“After you hired CatsPaw?”

“After.”

“What about Amber Dawn’s mission?”

“That came as fucking news.”

“No wonder you don’t look happy.”

Doug stared. Then he said, “Stop me if I’m wrong, but Helms essentially said, ‘No witness, no crime.’ ”

“That’s how I heard it—Hold on; he’s back.”

Helms rushed into the bar. “Almost forgot. Janson, we’re cutting CatsPaw a check for a million dollars. You didn’t exactly rescue the doctor in the end, but you tried hard. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” said Janson.

Again, Doug Case looked surprised. Janson explained, “It will help with expenses.”

Helms grinned. “Good. That way you won’t feel obliged to overcharge next time we hire you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Janson smiled back.

Helms said, “I wouldn’t want you to take what I said about the new world the wrong way.”

“Passing me by?”

“I may have stated it too forcefully. I’m passionate on the subject of the future. I learned when I was seven years old that leadership is not about now, it’s about then. Not about the present, but the future.”

“That’s a big lesson at seven.”

“I observed a failure of leadership when my dad took me to Greenan Oldsmobile to pick up a new car. Remember that little Olds called a Cutlass?”

“Inspired by an oil crisis.” Janson nodded.

“Dad was real excited. He ordered it specially built from all the best options in the brochure, including a powerful new V-six that Oldsmobile had borrowed from the new Cadillac. We get in for a test drive with old Harry Greenan—a cagey New England Yankee. Harry gets all tight-lipped and he grumps, ‘They won’t build any more of these.’

“My dad asked why not: ‘Wonderful car, feel this ride. Quiet, smooth, fast as heck.’

“Old Harry says, ‘But you bought a big car for little-car money.’

“It was like my father had disturbed the social order, the way things had always been done. Instead of selling the blazes out of it, Olds took all the options out of the brochure. To buy such a good car you had to spend more money on a German or Japanese import.

“Oldsmobile Cutlass had been the biggest-selling car in America. Sales plummeted. Now they’re out of business. It taught me that leadership is not about now; it’s about the future. The future was smiling on Oldsmobile and they turned around and looked at the past. I vowed I would never make that mistake.”

He turned on his heel and left.

Janson waited until he was sure Helms wasn’t coming back again and said to Doug Case, “You were listening like you knew the punch line.”

“Last time it was a Pontiac.”

“Tell me, what did you mean, you never heard it laid out that way? Never heard what laid out that way?”

“The global corporation as buccaneer. Don’t you love Helms’s ‘They don’t mind taxing us, but they won’t protect us’?”

“Gives him a lot of latitude.”

“Total.” Case covered his face with his hands. After a while he spread his fingers and stared between them. “A million people work in U.S. intelligence. Right?”

“Give or take.”

“Do you think there’s room for another?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you suppose that with my credentials and your help explaining my checkered past I could go back to government service?”