The first requirement was to be expected, but the second was unusual, and caused Thorakis to frown. “Information? I don’t understand.”

“It’s really quite simple,” the Frenchman replied, as he speared a shrimp. “You sit on the board of directors for an organization known as The Agency. I have a similar relationship with a group you know as the Puissance Treize—or the Power Thirteen. As you are probably aware, the Puissance Treize has begun to challenge The Agency both in terms of market share and gross revenues. Nevertheless, a gap remains, at least for the moment.

“But with certain key information, supplied by you, it might be possible for our brand to dominate the market within months, rather than years.”

Suddenly the freshly baked bread seemed excessively dry, and Thorakis needed a mouthful of wine to wash it down.

His affiliation with The Agency centered around problems related to transport and logistics, and was supposed to be a secret. Yet Douay knew.

Blood pounded in his temples and he felt the sudden need to urinate.

“That’s absurd,” the Greek said weakly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” Douay insisted, as he placed a folder of photographs on the table. “Here, look at these…pictures of you meeting with other members of The Agency’s board in Rio, going aboard one of the organization’s yachts in Cape Town, and exiting their private plane in Dallas.”

Thorakis took the time to compose himself as he removed two of the photos, examined them, and produced a shrug as he tossed them back onto the table.

“I know all sorts of people. If they happen to be associated with this organization of which you speak—this… ‘Agency’—I know nothing about it.”

“Please,” Douay said sadly. “Don’t embarrass yourself. The record is clear. When the cruise ships owned by Señor José Alvarez began to take business away from you, he somehow drowned in his own swimming pool. That, in spite of the fact that he had been a member of Mexico’s Olympic swim team some fifteen years earlier!