"I only hope the night view along the way did not disappoint you."
"The night view is beautiful, yet the humour Mr Milverton put into his newspaper column is far superior."
Mary sat elegantly in the chair Russell had drawn out for her. Clad in a deep-red evening dress, her skin looked frost-pale and delicate. She raised her eyelids and fixed her emerald-green gaze steadily upon his ash-green eyes.
Milverton's smile vanished for the briefest, almost imperceptible moment, then deepened still further.
He resumed his seat and signalled the sommelier to pour a superb vintage Burgundy into the guests' glasses.
Four zeros.
He took up his glass and gently swirled the deep-red liquid within.
"A childish prank, yet astonishingly effective. I must admit that when I saw today's Guardian I felt genuine surprise for the first time in a long while. You are far cleverer and more insightful than I had imagined."
"Using an unlucky outsourced bookseller as bait to conceal the truth—how thoroughly outdated a method."
Charlotte did not touch the wine glass before her. She folded both hands on the edge of the white tablecloth and directed a sharp gaze at him.
"In the real Appled there is no unified public channel for transmitting security codes, is there? That would not only increase the risk of exposure; it would also violate the core principle of a Dead Hand system—'distributed and unpredictable'."
Milverton looked at Charlotte; faint admiration appeared in the eyes behind his glasses.
"Miss Holmes's method of deduction is truly excellent. Yes, the newspapers were merely toys, carelessly tossed aside. Yet I can guarantee that every second of their existence is enough to freeze the spines of high-ranking power-holders at midnight."
He set down the wine glass, leaned forward slightly, and rested both arms on the table. His gaze traced the three faces and finally settled on Russell's habitual, slightly smile.
"Nevertheless, while I appreciate the compliments, I remain extremely dissatisfied with your behaviour."
Mr Milverton stated.
"It was only a harmless joke, yet for me it was the sole means of remembering my mother. To be honest, I am very unhappy. And when I myself am unhappy, I cannot bear to see others looking happy."
He raised a silver knife; its blade gleamed coldly in the golden light of the restaurant.
"What a coincidence—I feel the same."
Russell accepted the silver knife and fork from the waiter and, with fluid movements, began carving the fragrant Wellington steak before him. Even in the face of a formidable enemy he showed not the slightest trace of tension.
"When I myself am unhappy, I often cannot stand to see others looking happy either."
He placed a piece of soft, juicy beef in his mouth, chewed a few times, and nodded in satisfaction.
"The meat is excellent and the degree of doneness perfect. Mr Milverton appears to be quite the gourmet."
"Being able to enjoy nature is the best of all."
Milverton smiled faintly.
"If it is still not enough, more can be ordered. Tonight's expenses are entirely on me."
As he spoke he conveyed a small piece of the carved Wellington steak to his mouth; the silver knife struck the white porcelain plate with a crisp, elegant sound. Rich meat juices spread through his mouth, yet not the slightest trace of anger appeared on his refined face—as though the bloody threat he had uttered a moment earlier had been nothing more than trivial table talk.
Then he took up his wine glass, moistened his throat, and, passing over the sharp-tongued Mary and Charlotte, directed his ash-green gaze straight at Russell, who had maintained an indifferent attitude throughout.
To this King of Blackmail the two young and beautiful girls were certainly troublesome, yet what truly interested him was the soul hidden beneath the skin of this orphaned university student.
"Compared with those two charming ladies, I have always been drawn to you, Mr Watson."
Milverton crossed his arms, rested his elbows lightly on the table, and in the eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses there resided a certain enthusiasm and admiration.
"I'm sorry—I don't like men."
Russell regarded him with contemptuous eyes.
"A thoroughly English and humorous reply, Mr Watson."
Milverton showed no concern for Russell's contempt; rather, his smile deepened, carrying a faintly condescending tolerance.
"I mean your very existence."
He stretched out, leaned comfortably against the back of the wine-red velvet chair, and tapped the table rhythmically with slender fingers. The pleasant waltz music playing in the restaurant and the whispered conversations of the surrounding celebrities seemed to serve as background sound for the undercurrent of tension.
"A thief who strolls freely beneath London's night sky, paying no attention whatever to Scotland Yard or Buckingham Palace…"
Milverton did not hesitate to use, in public, words that might make some people uneasy, yet the tone of his voice was perfectly controlled so that only those at his table could hear.
"Yet according to the information I have obtained, you were an entirely ordinary university student. You possess neither a distinguished family background, nor enormous wealth, nor even an outstanding career record. This completely defies common sense."
He leaned forward slightly and directed a sharp gaze.
"To hold such great power and financial resources yet lack ambition commensurate with them would be an enormous waste. Yet you have voluntarily remained at this girl's side…"
Milverton paused, as though searching for a gentler adjective.
"…in the position of a guardian of flowers, and feel great perplexity and regret."
"Guardian of flowers?"
Russell raised one eyebrow, set down the knife and fork, took up the wine glass, and gently swirled it.
"I don't dislike that nickname. Or rather, I call it that purely out of interest."
"That is precisely the problem."
Milverton gave a tiny sigh, as though gazing at a priceless treasure covered in dust.
"Interest? That is the cheapest form of motivation. It is like a bubble—ready to burst at the slightest change. Once one truly understands the workings of this world, one realises that only self-interest and absolute control over the fates of others are eternal."
He turned his gaze toward Mary; in his eyes appeared an expression mixing the tolerance and contempt of an elder watching a mischievous child.
"Just like my cousin. She used every means to climb to that position and convinced herself she had become the head of the Morstan family. Yet she had no way of knowing that in a true power struggle she had merely obtained a ticket."
Milverton turned back to Russell and spoke in a seductive tone.
"And you, Mr Watson, possess the power to decide the rules of this game. If you so desire, you can obtain far more than what you currently hold. The so-called throne of the Morstan family is, before Appled, nothing more than a mere pedestal that can be toppled at any time. When she falls from the seat of power, what will you gain?"
"After all that talk, in the end you came only to poach our staff."
Charlotte gave a cold snort and interrupted Milverton's self-righteous long speech.
"Your preachy face is exactly like that of my boring elder brother. Unfortunately, the so-called secrets you hold are merely the dirty secrets of politicians and aristocrats."
Her ash-blue eyes brimmed with mockery.
Milverton did not grow angry at Charlotte's foul. Through years of self-cultivation he had acquired the familiar ability to maintain absolute elegance and composure in the world. He turned his face and directed a mild gaze at Charlotte through the gold-rimmed glasses.
"Miss Holmes's view of humanity still seems unable to escape the stage of black-and-white fairy tales. Those dirty secrets lurking within are precisely the foundation stones that maintain the superficial splendour of the Empire. I do not need their respect; what I need is only their fear."
He gently waved a finger.
"The value of money declines; logic is overturned by more clever lies. In this vast and hypocritical empire there is only one truly eternal currency: fear. Miss Holmes, your elder brother who commands from Whitehall should know this better than anyone. That is why, no matter how desperately the MI6 agents longed to thrash me thoroughly, they could only bark like hunting dogs on patrol in front of my gate and never possessed the courage to actually step into the courtyard."
Milverton's words drifted through the luxurious restaurant, mingling with the waltz played by the violin and creating a strange harmony. He tilted his head slightly and looked at Charlotte's mocking face, yet was not in the least angered by the young detective's sharp tongue. Rather, his eyes held a condescending pity, as though watching a child trying to stop a flood with a stick.
"What do you take me for? Do you think we are the sort of despicable fellows who hide in a dark corner and earn a few coins in exchange for a couple of love letters?"
Milverton took up his wine glass and swirled the expensive Burgundy within it; the deep-red liquid traced a perfect arc on the glass.
"Miss Holmes, since you have an elder brother who issues orders from Whitehall, you ought to know the true face of this empire better than anyone. It is built upon hypocrisy, pretence, and ugliness that is tacitly acknowledged. Members of Parliament must maintain high ethical standards in order to win votes; aristocrats require an unblemished bloodline in order to inherit their estates. These are their lifelines."
He took a sip of the red wine and, through the slender gold-rimmed glasses, slowly surveyed the three people seated opposite him.
"I did not create the ugliness. I merely collected the ugliness they themselves created. Appled is neither a vault packed with documents nor a physical space that your clever brain can track down and reach."
Milverton spoke quietly, yet each of his words weighed heavily upon the negotiation table, carrying a suffocating heaviness.
"It is a guillotine suspended in the shadows. Solving the newspaper crossword was excellent, yet that was merely a bell I hung on a tree. The real fuse is already buried deep in the soil of this city, in the mud of the Thames, or under the counter of the bakery you pass every day. The moment I draw my last breath, those hypocritical bigwigs will be stripped naked and nailed to the pillar of shame. At that time the desperate elite will not hesitate to drag the entire City of London down with them."
A brief silence fell over the reception table. The clinking of glasses and whispered laughter of the surrounding celebrities continued, yet it was as though they had severed their own table from them and created a separate world.
Mary set down her silver fork. The exquisite French foie gras before her remained almost untouched. She sat deeply in the velvet chair and quietly regarded the man opposite her with emerald eyes.
"Is this the moat the King of Blackmail boasts of? Securing your own safety by taking power-holders and influential figures hostage?"
A mocking smile appeared at the girl's lips.
"You sound like a pitiful creature imprisoned by your own greed. Because you constantly worry that your complex and dangerous body will malfunction, you cannot even sleep soundly."
"Game of Thrones never permits a good night's sleep, cousin."
Milverton smiled and accepted the sarcasm without the slightest doubt.
"You now occupy the position of head of the Morstan family. Are you not also spending sleepless nights?"
He did not dwell on Mary's matter; such meaningless arguments could not change the fact that he held absolute superiority. He had merely been displaying his power and attempting to dismantle the opponent's psychological defences.
Milverton once again directed his gaze at Russell.
Russell was concentrating on finishing the last of the steak on his plate. He slowly cut the meat, dipped it in the rich black-pepper sauce, and then put it into his mouth—as though he had not understood the terrifying declaration that had shaken the lifeline of the British Empire.
I don't care about this or that.
Eating, eating, and still eating!
"Mr Watson, you appear completely unconcerned."
Milverton regarded him with great interest.
"Why should I need to worry?"
Russell took a clean white napkin, wiped his mouth, then rinsed it with the lemon water beside him.
"That speech was truly excellent. If it had been performed at a West End theatre I would certainly have bought a standing ticket in the front row. But returning to reality—what does your grand plan concerning the survival of the nation have to do with an orphaned university student like me?"
Russell raised his eyes; the dazzling light of the crystal chandelier reflected in those deep black pupils, radiating an innate nonchalance and indifference.
"Exactly. Who works at Whitehall, or which countess is pregnant with her groom's child—none of that matters to me. Even if Pandora's box is detonated, the sky will fall and strike the heads of big shots like Mycroft and Buckingham Palace first. Frankly speaking, in the worst case the ones who will be held responsible are the officers of Scotland Yard."
"But all of this began because of you—because of all of you. Can you really feel so at ease and simply throw everything away?"
"Why not?"
Russell blinked. "Do I look as though I possess very high ethical standards? My companion system is constantly making me do bad things, yet you're telling me this? If the bomb explodes, thanks to the enormous amount of malice points I might become a god on the spot."
This obstinate answer only deepened Milverton's interest further. He could not believe that a master thief capable of manipulating the entire Metropolitan Police single-handedly was as lacking in ambition as he appeared on the surface. This merely indicated that the opponent's psychological defences were stronger than he had anticipated, or that the opponent was concealing a deeper purpose.
But it was all right.
In Milverton's view, time was on his side.
"Youth is something to be envied. One always thinks that by hiding under the eaves any storm can be avoided."
Milverton gave a small sigh and took from his inner pocket a silver pocket-watch that carried the scent of cigars. He snapped open the watch cover and checked the time.
"The pointer has begun to move. Fourteen days from yesterday. Two weeks is enough time for a person to reach many conclusions, and also enough time for beautiful porcelain to develop cracks."
He closed the pocket-watch and returned it to his pocket, then slowly rose and straightened his wrinkle-free tailcoat.
"This dinner has been most enjoyable. I hope that on Christmas two weeks from now, cousin Mary will once again share this delicious meal with me, and share with me the things I desire and Mr Watson's sincere consideration."
Milverton looked down at the three people who remained seated upright and wore the smile of a self-proclaimed perfect gentleman.
"During this period I look forward to your providing me with still more entertainment. Of course, if you attempt to seek out the hiding place of Appled, I sincerely wish you luck."
Without waiting for the three to reply, and without so much as a glance at the expensive dishes left on the table, he said,
"Tonight's bill has already been settled. Please, the three of you, enjoy your meal."
With that he nodded lightly, turned, and, to the rhythm of the Strauss waltz and under the respectful gazes of the waiters, quietly left the restaurant.