“You’ve got mail, by the way,” said Pif. “Two thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven messages. Since when were you so popular?”

“I’ve been mail-bombed. Everywhere. I don’t know who’s doing it.”

“I’ll take a look.”

“Don’t open the reader! Everything will be loaded with viruses, worms, the works.”

“I opened the reader, Sam.”

“Close it! Close it!”

“It’s all marked up as spam, except the first two. Know anyone called Sonja? She sent you a couple of seriously fat files.”

Petrovitch’s fists were white with frustration. “Yobany stos, Pif! Close the reader down.”

“I’ve opened the first file. Video. She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?”

He screeched in frustration, imagining the havoc being unleashed on his precious work. “Close. It. Down.”

“You’ll want to listen to this,” said Pif, and held the earpiece close to the loudspeaker on her computer.

“I don’t want to listen to anything. I want you to stop it.” It was too late. Pif couldn’t hear him anymore. What he got instead was:

“… don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to go, I don’t know anyone who can help me. Except you. You have to save me, Sam, because there’s no one else.”

In the quiet that followed, there was nothing but static on the line.

“Pif?”

“Sam?”

“Play it again.”

“I thought you said…”

“Just play it. And get the phone in position before you do.”

A series of clunks, followed by a click. A prelude to: “I hope this is you, Sam. I really hope it’s you. They’ve killed my father. They dragged him away and they shot him. I heard it even though I wasn’t supposed to. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to go, I don’t know anyone who can help me. Except you. You have to save me, Sam, because there’s no one else.”

“Sic sukam sim. Pif, is this for real?”

“I can check the header for the xref and routing, but she looks scared, Sam. Who is she?”

He peeled his glasses off his face and rubbed his hand across his forehead. He was thirsty, hungry, and getting a headache. “Remember that yakuza kid I mentioned? That’s her.”

“Why does she think you can help her?”

“Because, by night, I dress up in skin-tight spandex and fight crime as the Slavic Avenger.” Petrovitch squeezed his temples between thumb and forefinger. “It’s because she’s desperate.”

“Do you want me to play the second message?”

“Only if it says something like ‘Oops, my mistake, everything’s fine and my very-much-alive father’s not coming to kill you.’ ” He stopped abruptly, almost choking on his words. “Raspizdyai! How stupid can I get? Play the other one. Do it, Pif. Play it.”