Billy took a day to scout Tirov’s property and confirm all his suppositions, then he prepared. He visited the arsenal of Centurion Studios, where hundreds of weapons were housed, waiting to be used in shoot-’em-up films of all descriptions. There he found a dart gun, which he had designed and made for a film some years before. He paid a nighttime visit to the studio’s pharmacy, part of the clinic the company maintained for its employees, and there chose a surgical tranquilizer, which allowed patients to remain conscious but immobilized and pain-free during minor procedures, so as to be able to answer the doctor’s questions during surgery.

Thus armed, he stopped on the way home from work and purchased a Scotch egg, a snack preferred by the British members of the film community.

He went home, had dinner with his wife, and went to bed. He awoke at two AM, dressed in black clothing, and went to his car. He drove into the Hollywood Hills and found Tirov’s house, then parked, facing downhill, two doors up the street. As he approached the target house, he heard a loud bark from the rear of the property. He leaned against the fence and gave a low whistle, then he heard the dog running toward him. He removed the wrapping from the Scotch egg, which was simply a boiled egg, packed in sausage and injected with a bit of tranquilizer, and tossed it over the fence. The dog, with its hypersensitive sense of smell, located it immediately, and Billy could hear him devouring it. Soon, he became quiet.

Billy chinned the fence and looked over. Perhaps twenty feet away was the lump of a sleeping Alsatian. He placed both hands on the fence top, vaulted it, and knelt at the base of the hedge inside the fence. There he removed the dart gun from his bag and waited. Soon, a large bald man came out of the house, looked around and knelt by the dog, murmuring to it in Russian. Billy shot him with the dart and watched him crumple next to the sleeping dog. Two down, one to go.

He went to the sleeping man, found a semiautomatic pistol on his belt, removed it, and threw it into the hedge. He went to the rear of the house and peered into a kitchen, where another large man was making a sandwich. He sat down at a table, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully; then he put down the sandwich and came out the back door. “Sergei?” he called. “Sergei?”

Billy shot him with another dart. He fell to his knees, groping at his back to find what had bitten him. Billy walked over and struck him once at the back of the neck, and he fell forward, out.