freshest cumin. I didn't ask.
After we ordered, I put two photos on the table.
"Joaquin Ruiz and Enrique Hidalgo, I need to know where they
go, who they meet. These came from an associate in Venezuela.
They recently traveled with a so-called enforcer for Maduro,
but they're based here. They're staying in serviced apartments.
I have the address, but I don't know their schedules."
"Two targets and one Pascal. You respect me, Irish. Too
much, huh?"
"They work for Petroleos Venezuela. They probably
spend most of their time together."
"If they don't?"
"Then pick one and tail him. I trust your
instincts."
Pascal shook his head. "Why don't I find someone to
help me? I know a woman. She moves like a ghost."
"Give it a day. If you think you need someone else, I'll
talk to my client."
"Who is it?"
"Can't say, Pascal. Does it make a difference?"
"Do I get paid?"
"Of course."
"Then no, it doesn't."
I gave him the address and room numbers for Ruiz and
Hidalgo. I couldn't give him Bizet's name, but I could give him
his warning. "I don't know exactly where this one's heading,
Pascal. We had all better move like ghosts."
He shrugged and stuck out his lower lip. Then he
smiled and ripped off a bite of tandoori drumstick. "Call me
Casper."
When I got back to Sabine's flat, there was a phone
message from Alexandra. She'd found a consultant for Winchell
& Associates named Richard Atkins who knew Jim
Burroughs and who had contacted him on my behalf. He was
expecting my call. Burroughs lived in Colorado. It was early
afternoon there, but when he answered, he sounded like a bear
I'd spooked out of hibernation.
"This is Mick Sanchez. Richard Atkins..."
"Yeah."
"Said you would be expecting ..."
"Yeah."
I figured it was time to get to the point. He didn't
interrupt while I told him about Trevor Jones and the chart.
"Mr. Atkins suggested you could help."
"I can't see how I'd be any more help than Atkins
himself. Why doesn't he look at it?"
Right. "Actually, someone has already seen it. He said it
predicts the dollar will fall thirteen percent in two weeks."
"It can predict whatever it wants, but a thirteen
percent fall over a year would be notable, two weeks isn't
feasible."
"Two days."
"What?"
"The fall would occur over a two-day period two weeks
from now. The person who saw the chart believes it might be
accurate. He said only a deeply disturbing event could cause it.
He also made us promise not to identify him."
"Yeah, well you already have."
I responded with silence.
"You're in France. There's a Winchell connection. It's
someone who knows me and can understand the data you
described. How many people do you think fit that description?
Don't worry Bizet's identity is safer with me that it was with
you."
"Will you look at the chart?"
"I'm curious enough to fly over there to steal it. Send it
to me. I'll see what I can do."
"The person who gave us your name said you had a
computer system that could verify his reading of the data and
maybe work out scenarios."
"Just built. The PetaGrid ought to be able to model
anything in finance."
"The PetaGrid?"
"Yeah, it's a network of supercomputers that function
as a single machine. Theoretically it's capable of more than a
hundred peta flops."
"Can you say that in layman's language?"
"That's one hundred quadrillion floating point
operations per second."
"More layman."
"Real damn fast. Don't tell anyone, though. It's top
secret."
"I won't. Who would I... I mean why would I—"
"Nah, we've been marketing this sucker for six months,
and we're not even finished testing." Burroughs laughed.
I didn't.
"Joke, Sanchez. What do you do for humor?"
Good question. While I was trying to work that out, it
occurred to me that I should be asking Burroughs for another
favor. "There is something else that might be related. Do you
think your system could break an encryption?"
There was a long silence, before he answered. "What
language is the data in?"
"I assume English."
"Go ahead and
After we ordered, I put two photos on the table.
"Joaquin Ruiz and Enrique Hidalgo, I need to know where they
go, who they meet. These came from an associate in Venezuela.
They recently traveled with a so-called enforcer for Maduro,
but they're based here. They're staying in serviced apartments.
I have the address, but I don't know their schedules."
"Two targets and one Pascal. You respect me, Irish. Too
much, huh?"
"They work for Petroleos Venezuela. They probably
spend most of their time together."
"If they don't?"
"Then pick one and tail him. I trust your
instincts."
Pascal shook his head. "Why don't I find someone to
help me? I know a woman. She moves like a ghost."
"Give it a day. If you think you need someone else, I'll
talk to my client."
"Who is it?"
"Can't say, Pascal. Does it make a difference?"
"Do I get paid?"
"Of course."
"Then no, it doesn't."
I gave him the address and room numbers for Ruiz and
Hidalgo. I couldn't give him Bizet's name, but I could give him
his warning. "I don't know exactly where this one's heading,
Pascal. We had all better move like ghosts."
He shrugged and stuck out his lower lip. Then he
smiled and ripped off a bite of tandoori drumstick. "Call me
Casper."
When I got back to Sabine's flat, there was a phone
message from Alexandra. She'd found a consultant for Winchell
& Associates named Richard Atkins who knew Jim
Burroughs and who had contacted him on my behalf. He was
expecting my call. Burroughs lived in Colorado. It was early
afternoon there, but when he answered, he sounded like a bear
I'd spooked out of hibernation.
"This is Mick Sanchez. Richard Atkins..."
"Yeah."
"Said you would be expecting ..."
"Yeah."
I figured it was time to get to the point. He didn't
interrupt while I told him about Trevor Jones and the chart.
"Mr. Atkins suggested you could help."
"I can't see how I'd be any more help than Atkins
himself. Why doesn't he look at it?"
Right. "Actually, someone has already seen it. He said it
predicts the dollar will fall thirteen percent in two weeks."
"It can predict whatever it wants, but a thirteen
percent fall over a year would be notable, two weeks isn't
feasible."
"Two days."
"What?"
"The fall would occur over a two-day period two weeks
from now. The person who saw the chart believes it might be
accurate. He said only a deeply disturbing event could cause it.
He also made us promise not to identify him."
"Yeah, well you already have."
I responded with silence.
"You're in France. There's a Winchell connection. It's
someone who knows me and can understand the data you
described. How many people do you think fit that description?
Don't worry Bizet's identity is safer with me that it was with
you."
"Will you look at the chart?"
"I'm curious enough to fly over there to steal it. Send it
to me. I'll see what I can do."
"The person who gave us your name said you had a
computer system that could verify his reading of the data and
maybe work out scenarios."
"Just built. The PetaGrid ought to be able to model
anything in finance."
"The PetaGrid?"
"Yeah, it's a network of supercomputers that function
as a single machine. Theoretically it's capable of more than a
hundred peta flops."
"Can you say that in layman's language?"
"That's one hundred quadrillion floating point
operations per second."
"More layman."
"Real damn fast. Don't tell anyone, though. It's top
secret."
"I won't. Who would I... I mean why would I—"
"Nah, we've been marketing this sucker for six months,
and we're not even finished testing." Burroughs laughed.
I didn't.
"Joke, Sanchez. What do you do for humor?"
Good question. While I was trying to work that out, it
occurred to me that I should be asking Burroughs for another
favor. "There is something else that might be related. Do you
think your system could break an encryption?"
There was a long silence, before he answered. "What
language is the data in?"
"I assume English."
"Go ahead and
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