“Bulletproof?”

“Russian technology. A bullet may break a rib but won’t penetrate. Wear them. Your locker roommates won’t notice.”

“On the court?”

“Why not? Someone could shoot you during a game. Wear them all the time.”

“So that’s why you wanted to see me?”

“Also, did Ronald act strangely before he was murdered?”

“I don’t recall anything unusual in the days before.”

“And months before?”

“He went to London months earlier to recover from an injury. He returned changed, urgent, needing to resolve philosophical contradictions fast,” Alexandre said, leaving out Ronald’s plan to write a book. “He told me he couldn’t explain the real reason, but he said something strange.”

“What?”

“That he wouldn’t let psychopath rulers who deceived the innocent go unpunished. He said he would destroy them without them seeing it coming.”

“Did he say that?”

“Yes.”

“I read a lot of history. In fact, I am a spy of history,” Boris said. “The mental clarity of one man is worth more than the fog of a thousand corrupt people.” He stood. “I must go. We’ll stay in touch. Anything else about Ronald?”

“No.”

“I’m leaving. See you later.”

“See you later.”

Ronald’s murder, the parachute jumps, the bomb on Mr. Walker’s plane, the stadium attack, all sometimes overwhelmed Alexandre.

Two days later, training was lighter. Saturday’s game was against Wolfang Munich Football Club, the city’s best. They studied the latest rival videos.

Back home, he spoke to Victoria. Before sleep, he opened Ronald’s envelope. The last question, in Spanish, awaited: What should you do? It was a question about ethics.