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predictive value. After all, they were out of date and more accurately reflected what the economy was like three to six months ago, but the markets had taken them to be predictive and that was that. In any event, it didn’t matter a monkey’s butt what the US jobs numbers were tomorrow. Greek news, if there was Greek news, would dominate and any asset price linked to a bullish, optimistic view of the world, would in an inkling turn crimson red.
    â€œToby, are you still awake?” JJ eventually piped up.
    â€œYes, chief. Do we have a plan?”
    â€œKind of. Can you make sure that Yves-Jacques gets out of his pit now, or whoever’s pit he’s in, and gets himself into the office. I’m assuming he’s got a twenty-four hour pass?”
    â€œI’ll send him a message right now and if I don’t get a reply in five minutes I’ll hound his Gallic ass till I do,” responded Toby, now feeling somewhat more upbeat as JJ might have a plan, kind of.
    â€œTell him we’ll meet there in half an hour. The Asian markets are already open but equities are up so far in China and the Nikkei is having a good start, something to do with the weaker yen and plans for more infrastructure public spending by the Abe government. That means there’s been no whisper of Greek drama as yet.”
    Both men finished up their Macallans and JJ texted Gil to see if she could come over and just be there when Cyrus awoke. She was on her way. He popped upstairs and quickly got changed into his work gear; a dark Zegna suit and shirt, black socks and a pair of shiny black leather size ten brogues were the order of the day. No time for a shower, so a quick squirt of Knize Ten. If things went well he might try to pop over to the RAC club in Pall Mall where he was a decade-long member and have a shower later. Same watch as yesterday, the IWC Top Gun Miramar pilot’s watch. Time would be of the essence tomorrow, actually today, but whatever watch he wore wasn’t going to make any difference. Nevertheless it was big and bold and that’s exactly what JJ and his team needed to be for the next few hours. JJ picked up his leather back pack and he was ready. By the time he came back downstairs, Toby had contacted Yves-Jacques and had a response in return. The young Frenchman was in his own bed with his own girlfriend so that worked out well. Toby had Hailo-ed a cab which was now ticking over outside JJ’s house. Yves-Jacques would be at MAM’s offices before them, computer fired up and hot to trot. Game on.

    * * *
    On arrival at the office, JJ and Toby went straight to the third floor where Yves-Jacques’s open plan desk was situated. The night security guard on reception didn’t really recognise any of them, why would he, none of the band of three had ever before been to the office shortly after midnight. They all had their swipe ID passes with photographs so there was no delay.
    â€œHi Yves-Jacques,” called JJ as he and Toby marched towards the Frenchman’s dark mop of hair. He didn’t look in too bad a way given that he’d been summoned out of his REM time without as much as a by your leave. His shirt wasn’t fully tucked into his pants, not quite Fathead style but close enough for JJ to hope that this particular style virus wasn’t contagious. JJ’s thought processes often wandered off into the irrelevant when he was under pressure, but he swiftly realised that the time for daydreaming was not now, get back to the point he told himself.
    â€œThanks for coming in, in the middle of the night, Yves-Jacques,” said JJ. “We’re in a mega bind and over the next few hours the three of us had better prove our worth or we’ll all likely be seeking new employment,” he continued.
    â€œNo problem, Mr Darke… I mean JJ. Hi Toby.” The French analyst tried his best to appear normal but inwardly he was startled by JJ’s reference to