"—to adhere to your rules." Growing wings and flying would have been easier than mustering up a smile, but Conor managed to produce one. "Yes, sir. I remember."
"Rules are the basis of a civilized society, Conor. I tried to teach you that."
"That's one of the reasons I'm here today, because someone's breaking those rules." Go for it, O'Neil, even if it hurts. "And I'm hoping you can help me stop him." He paused. "I'm on an assignment, Dad. An important one."
"My son, James Bond," John O'Neil said, and snorted.
Conor started to speak, then thought better of it. He sat down instead and folded his hands on the table.
"I'm trying to get information on somebody. A man named Moratelli."
"Yes?" his father said, politely.
"My sources haven't been able to come up with anything."
"Wonderful. My tax dollar at work."
"I thought you might have heard of him," Conor said, refusing to be baited.
"Why? Do I look as if I have more resources than your pals in Washington?"
"Moratelli grew up in the Seventh."
"So?"
Was he going to have to beg?
"So," Conor said, fighting to keep his tone even, "I figured maybe you knew him."
John O'Neil took a drink of tea.
"Moratelli... I can't say that the name rings any bells."
"It's important," Conor said carefully.
"Well, I'm sure it is, if you had to come to me."
Conor studied his father's stern face for a moment. Then he got to his feet, walked to the window and sat down on the sill.
"I met a woman during my current assignment. She's become very special to me."
"A mistake. A man should keep a professional distance."
"I agree. And I tried to keep it that way, but it didn't work."
"So?"
"So, I've reason to believe that this man's going to try and hurt her."
His father looked at him. "Stop him, then."
Conor's smile was mirthless. "I've thought about it. I'd love to kill the bastard. But it isn't that simple. I'm convinced he's just the muscle in this deal."
"You don't know who he's working for?"
"No. And until I do, the woman would still be at risk."
His father nodded. "That's probably true."