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British side.”
    Maddy saw where this was going. “But you have concerns about the deal.”
    Powell headed for a bench at the edge of the path, his cane leaving soft pocks on the ground. “We have our reservations. Mind you, all these oligarchs have dirty hands. But I fear that Tarkovsky’s involvement goes beyond what he has done in the past. He claims to be in favor of corporate transparency, but there are aspects to his financial dealings that make us wonder—”
    He paused. Maddy sensed the reticence there, but she also knew what he was trying to say. “If he’s connected to organized crime.”
    â€œThat’s one way of putting it,” Adam said. “But to find out, we need information outside the public record. And no matter which offer Tarkovsky accepts, the deal is expected to close in less than two weeks.”
    Maddy saw that Powell was gazing off at the trees. “So what do you want me to do?”
    Powell spoke quietly. He still would not meet her eyes. “We want you to go work for him.”
    Without a word, Maddy rose and walked away. Behind her, she heard a set of steps. From the sound, she could tell that they were not Powell’s, and against her better judgment, she halted. “I can’t believe this.”
    â€œI understand,” Adam said from over her shoulder. “I know how hard this must be.”
    Maddy turned to face him. He was standing a few feet away, little more than an overgrown boy, with a lot of brains but not much wisdom. “What exactly do you think you know about me?”
    â€œAs much as anyone else,” Adam said. “You’re a gifted art analyst, but you’ve had a run of bad luck. You worked for a fund manager who conspired with Alexey Lermontov, your former employer, to funnel profits from stolen art to Russian intelligence. Lermontov murdered a colleague of yours who got too close to the truth, then silenced the oligarch Anzor Archvadze before he could expose the plot, using the same poison that led to your breakdown in Philadelphia. And you’ve been dealing with the consequences ever since.”
    Adam related this calmly, as if telling a story that had nothing to do with either of them. He struck her as a familiar type, Ivy League, just out of college, who thought little of sacrificing the best years of his life on the altar of finance. “So what did you think I would say?”
    â€œI told Powell that you would probably refuse,” Adam said. “But I thought we should try anyway. You may not believe this, but I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. If I’d been in your place, I couldn’t have made it this far. I also hoped that you’d hear us out. Please don’t prove me wrong.”
    Maddy glanced over at Powell, who was still waiting, apparently unperturbed. At last, she went back. “You have five minutes. What’s the deal?”
    â€œIt’s very simple,” Powell said calmly, speaking as if nothing had happened. “In addition to his energy interests, Tarkovsky controls a foundation with offices in London. Its mission is to promote civil society in Russia and cultural exchange with the West, but in practice, we just don’t know where the money goes.”
    Although part of her still wanted to pull away, Maddy sat down again. “So what?”
    â€œIn recent years, Tarkovsky has also taken an interest in the repatriation of Russian art from overseas,” Adam said, seating himself beside her. “We’ve recently learned that he’s looking to hire a consultant, preferably an American, to advise on one particular transaction.”
    â€œAnd your background makes you an attractive candidate,” Powell said. “Tarkovsky is familiar with your case. If nothing else, he’ll want to meet you. As I see it, it’s the one job in the world—”
    â€œâ€”where my story actually helps,” Maddy finished.