A small green light winked on above the double doors. ‘You can go through,’ said the pilot.

Joseph pushed the doors inwards and his feet clacked off linoleum on to soft carpet.

Daylight flooded into a circular room from all sides. Joseph found himself squinting back at the glare. He could just about make out a head and a pair of shoulders silhouetted against one of the large floor-to-ceiling panels of glass that made up the walls of the penthouse.

Joseph shaded his eyes with a hand as he walked slowly over. ‘Mr Walds-s-stein?’

The room was large. Forty, perhaps fifty feet in diameter. His eyes beginning to adjust, Joseph noted a bed on one side, a desk, several cardboard boxes full of papers, but nothing else. A very empty space.

Closer now he could see a little more detail: the distinctive shock of wavy, wiry, uncontrollable hair, the narrow shoulders.

‘It is an honour … to meet you, Mr Waldstein.’

The silhouette shifted and turned. He’d been gazing out of the window at New York.

‘They say Lady Liberty walks on water now.’

Joseph had no idea at all what he meant by that. His dumbfounded shrug gave him away.

Waldstein chuckled. ‘Sorry … I confused you. I’m referring to the Statue of Liberty. Liberty Island and the plinth she stands on are all below sea level.’ He spread his hands. ‘So … it looks like she’s actually walking on water.’

‘Ahhh,’ Joseph nodded. ‘I unders-s-s … s … s …’ Joseph struggled with the infernal word. He felt his cheeks burn hot as he wrestled with the ‘s’ and shook his head angrily.

The word was left unfinished. ‘I am s-s … I apologize. I have a … problem with —’

‘Stammering?’ Waldstein gestured to a chair. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not important. Take a seat.’

Joseph sat down. Waldstein flipped open a folder and flicked through some pages of printed paper. ‘Dr José Olivera …’