“Unconscious, boss,” Ivan said. “You too?”

“Go inside and make coffee,” Tirov said. “We all need it, Chichi, too.”

—

Billy Barnett arrived at work at the studio bungalow half an hour early, as usual, and made coffee in the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, all the staff were at their desks, most of them drinking his coffee. It was an Italian roast, espresso, and made very strong. Anyone who was not quite awake would be soon.

Billy’s direct line rang. “Billy Barnett.”

“Good morning, Billy, it’s Stone Barrington.”

“Good morning, Stone.”

“I’ve had second thoughts about our conversation the other night, Billy, and I don’t want you to take that chance.”

“Please hold for a moment, Stone.” He set down the phone, walked around his desk, and closed his office door, then came back and picked up the phone. “It’s done,” he said.

“What’s done?”

“I visited the gentleman late last night and had a word with him.”

“How did you do that?”

“I thought we decided it was better if you didn’t know.”

“Well, I didn’t want to know before you did it, so I guess it’s better if I don’t know afterward.”

“I think that’s best, too. I believe I delivered the correct message. I don’t think he will annoy you again. In fact, I don’t think he will annoy anyone again. I couched my request in general terms—no names were mentioned.”

“I see.”

“Perhaps not really, but we’ve already agreed it’s best if you don’t.”

“Yes, we have.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Stone?”

Stone thought about that. “Do you have any experience dealing with bears, Billy?”

“Russians?”

“No, not Russians—real bears.”

“None whatever, I’m afraid. Why do you ask?”

“Never mind, I’m just rambling. Thank you, Billy, hope to see you again soon.”

“Same here, Stone.” They both hung up.

—

Boris Tirov was tearing into a huge breakfast; he had never been so hungry. His two minions were hungry, too. Only Chichi seemed uninterested in food or drink. He had stared disconsolately at his bowl of strong coffee, which normally held water, then he had curled up in his kitchen bed and gone to sleep.

“What happened here last night?” Tirov demanded of nobody in particular.

“We were all shot with darts, drugged, and made unconscious,” Ivan said.

“Obviously,” Sergei agreed.

“I know that, you imbeciles, but who did this?”

“Probably someone hired for his expertise,” Ivan said.

“But who hired him? Who would do this to me?”

“Boss,” Ivan said, “the list is long.”

“My ex-wife? Would Gala do this?”

“No, boss, not Gala,” Ivan said. “She’s too nice a person.”

“She’s not a nice person, she just doesn’t have the guts.”

“How about the lawyer?” Sergei posited.