Billy removed the gun from his mouth. “Now you may go back to sleep.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Boris managed to ask.

“Why, I thought you knew, Boris—I’m your worst nightmare. Sleep tight.” Billy got up and went into the kitchen. He took a small electronic device from a pocket and laid it on the counter next to the phone. He unscrewed the mouthpiece of the instrument, then connected the device to two wires inside, then he replaced the mouthpiece and left by the front door. He walked up the street to his car, got in, released the brake, and let it roll downhill to the next corner. There he started the engine and drove home.

“That ought to do it,” Billy said aloud to himself.

43

Boris awoke well after dawn in a groggy state. He wriggled his fingers and toes, then sat up. He was a little thick-headed, but apparently unharmed; he thought he had had an especially vivid dream. The young woman who had fallen asleep next to him, after performing her duties, was gone.

He got up and went into the kitchen for coffee, which his men always prepared for him. There was no coffee, just a half-eaten sandwich on the table. Boris felt a little dizzy and sat down until the feeling passed. He noticed that the kitchen door to the back garden stood open, so he got up and closed it. As he did, he noticed a lump on the back lawn. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, then went back to the bedroom, got his glasses and put them on.

The lump on the back lawn moved a little, and Boris went outside to investigate. He prodded it with a toe, and it turned and looked at him. It was Ivan, one of his men.

He sat up and rubbed his face, then got to his feet unsteadily. “Good morning, boss,” he said.

“What is this?” Tirov asked, plucking a dart from the man’s back.

“I don’t know, boss.”

Tirov pointed the dart at another lump. “Is that Sergei? And Chichi?”

Ivan gazed at the lumps. “Yes, boss.”

Tirov walked over to Sergei and plucked a dart from his neck. He examined the dog and could find no darts, but there was a lump of food on the ground. Both Sergei and the dog stirred.

“Get on your feet, Sergei!” he yelled. “You too, Chichi!”

Both of them struggled to stand. Chichi made it, but Sergei collapsed again. Tirov kicked him hard in the buttocks. “Get up, you ox!” he yelled in Russian. Sergei finally made it to his feet.

“What has happened here?” Tirov demanded. He got no answer from anybody, but as he thought about it, he realized that his vivid dream was no dream. He felt his own neck, found another dart, and yanked it out. “Invaded!” he shouted. “My house has been invaded! Where were you?”