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He checked the shot from the surveillance camera and saw Ingrid hunched over her laptop. “Time remaining?”
“Five minutes,” she answered.
“There’s no way Christopher can keep him occupied for that long.”
“I’m sure he’ll think of something. He strikes me as the resourceful type.”
A moment passed.
“Time remaining?” inquired Gabriel.
“Four minutes and seven seconds. But who’s counting?”
“I am.”
“Rest assured,” said Ingrid, “so am I.”
***
He claimed that he was an independent wealth manager who had come to Monaco to meet with a client, a fabulously rich British expat who dwelled in the Odeon Tower, the principality’s tallest building. Professional discretion did not allow him to identify the client, and Trevor Robinson, who was clearly anxious to be on his way, did not pursue the matter.
“Forgive me,” said Christopher, hoping to prolong the encounter a moment or two longer, “but I can’t seem to recall the name of your firm.”
“Harris Weber & Company.”
“Yes, of course. Offshore financial services, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not.”
“Have a card, by any chance?”
Robinson reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and handed one over. Christopher scrutinized it at considerable length by the yellow light of a streetlamp.
“I have a client who requires a firm with your particular expertise.”
“We’d be happy to be of assistance, if we can.”
“I’d love to discuss it further. Is there any chance you’re free for a drink tomorrow?”
“I’m not, actually.”
“Next time I’m in town?”
“By all means.” Robinson turned to leave, then hesitated. “Tell me something, Mr. Marlowe. What was the name of your client who introduced us?”
“I believe it was George Anderson.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.”
“Could’ve been Martin Elliott,” suggested Christopher.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” said Robinson, and set off down the boulevard. Christopher waited until he had disappeared from view, then descended the steps to the Avenue de Grande Bretagne. He was relieved to find Ingrid and René Monjean waiting for him in the Place du Casino.
“I hope it was worth it,” he said.
“It was,” replied Ingrid.
“All of it?”
