said. âIâll buy you a drink.â
As they headed for the door, Cornwall approached. She looked tired, as she often did these days. âWolfe, they had no right to be so hard on you. Everyone at the agency respects what youâve done.â
âI appreciate that,â Wolfe said, meaning it, although much was also being left unspoken. Cornwall, she knew, had hoped to be promoted to director general, only to find herself tainted by association with the Garber scandal. Wolfe wanted to say something more, but she contented herself with a nod goodbye as Asthana took her arm and led her gently away.
An hour later, Wolfe found herself at a crowded pub in Vauxhall, staring at the few amber inches remaining in her pint glass. In recent months, she had begun to drink more than before, which reminded her of the old joke about why you should always take two Mormons on a fishing trip. Bring only one, the punch line said, and heâll drink all your beer.
Next to her, Asthana was halfway through another monologue about her wedding table cards when she trailed off, sensing that Wolfe wasnât listening. âCheer up. They were bound to knock you down a little. It doesnât look great for the agency when its star officer isnât even British.â
Wolfe managed to smile. âSometimes I wish Powell were still here. He knew how to ignore the political side.â
Finishing her beer, Wolfe ordered another. Asthana was watching her with a mixture of amusement and friendly concern. âI havenât talked to Powell in a long time. You still see him?â
âOccasionally,â Wolfe said. âHe knows more about the ties between intelligence and organized crime than I ever will, and we sometimes trade ideas over the phone, but weâve fallen out of touch since he joined Cheshire.â
Asthana shook her head. âI still think he was a fool to leave, especially given the timing. It looked like they were buying him off.â
âI know.â Wolfe accepted her fresh pint with a nod. âI understand why he did it, but he refused to see what people would think. Heâs always been like this, but it got worse after the crash. You wouldnât believe some of the things Iâve heard.â She looked glumly into her glass. âMaybe itâs better that heâs gone.â
Asthana lifted her daiquiri. âThatâs doesnât seem fair. Whatâs he really done, then?â
Wolfe was about to avoid the question, then heard herself speak before she could help it. âYou know Vasily Tarkovsky?â
Her partner frowned. âThe oligarch. Heâs negotiating for some kind of oil venture?â
Wolfe nodded. âCheshire is advising on the deal. Powell has been looking into Tarkovskyâs activities. Most of it is the standard background check. But heâs also planted a source on Tarkovskyâs staff.â
Asthana set down her glass. âWhat kind of source are we talking about?â
âSomeone passing him files under the table. Powell told me yesterday. He wanted my advice about how far to trust her. His source, I mean.â Wolfe took another big sip. After the farce of the hearing, which had left her feeling more isolated than ever, she was suddenly eager to share the misgivings she had been bottling up inside. âYou see, itâs someone we both know. Someone with no business being involved. I told him this, but I donât think he agrees.â
Asthana had absorbed this information with what looked like mounting dismay. âRachel, listen to me. If this comes out, forget the business angle. Weâre talking about a major diplomatic scandal. Whoâs his source, anyway?â
Wolfe belatedly realized that sheâd had too much to drink, but it was too late to backpedal now. âItâs the girl from the Archvadze case. Iâve told you about her before. Maddy Blumeââ
She was about to say more when her
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