“You could,” the man said. “But I don’t think you will.”

“Are you the sort of person who remembers his friends?” Suvorov asked.

The man said, “I am.”

“Then the papers will be here tomorrow. Where do you want to go?”

“Off earth. Beyond that is of no importance.”

Suvorov sipped his watered wine. “You remember your friends?” he said again.

“Yes,” the man said. “Nor do I forget my enemies.”

“I would not have thought you did. The deal is arranged. Be here tomorrow at this time. Alas, there are no more funds in the fellow’s account.”

“I understand.” The man with the bandaged face pushed the untouched glass of whiskey away from him and stood to leave.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you,” he said.

With that, he walked out through the foyer and into the night.