Alex moved into the room. “A fake identity as a reporter would give her an excuse to travel around the world.”

Harrison nodded. He’d also found several dozen horse-themed articles written by Julia Nash, a scientific paper by a professor of the same name, a Julia Nash on the board of directors of Qantas Communications Company, and a couple of genealogy charts naming long-deceased Julia Nashes.

His quick search hadn’t come up with anything that either convicted or exonerated her. It might mean she was an innocent reporter or it might mean she was simply a competent covert operative-since none of them would have their real profession splashed all over the Internet, either.

Alex glanced over Harrison’s shoulder. “You want me to make a couple of calls to my military contacts?”

As an American ex-naval officer, Alex could still call in favors in most countries in the world.

“All that will do is send up one mother of a red flag in the secretary-general’s office,” said Harrison.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Might as well cancel the reception outright as do that.”

Harrison pushed back in his chair. “And we won’t be canceling the reception.”

Alex nodded his agreement. As Harrison’s right-hand man, he knew full well the real reason behind the reception. It would facilitate under-the-radar consultations on an international oil pipeline.

“You hear anything more on the negotiations?” asked Alex.

“Uzbekistan’s on board, of course. But Kazakhstan can’t move without a Russian security guarantee. That means Turkmenistan has the French over a barrel on financing.”

“No French, no financing.”

“No port access and no pipeline.” Harrison finished what they both knew.

“If it all goes to hell, what kind of a loss are you looking at?” asked Alex.

“Sunk capital or net present value.”

“I don’t even want to think about net present value.”