This man is preposterous, Jean-Michel thought. He had heard enough. "You will excuse me," he said.

"No," Richter said quietly. "I will not. You do not walk out when I am facing you."

The Frenchman glared at him for a moment, then turned anyway. He ran into the doorman. The big man grabbed Jean-Michel's neck and turned him around so he was facing Richter.

"Richter, are you insane?" Jean-Michel cried.

"Irrelevant," Richter replied. "I'm in command."

"Don't you know that M. Dominique will hear of this? Do you think he will approve? We--"

"We!" Richter interrupted. The German looked into Jean-Michel's eyes. "All of this 'We understand…' and 'We have heard…" Richter raged. "We, monsieur? What are you?"

Richter's arm moved then, just as it did when they met. Only this time there was a knife in his hand. It stopped less than a quarter inch from Jean-Michel's left eye. Then he raised the knife so it was pointing straight toward the Frenchman's eyeball.

"I'll tell you what you are," Richter said. "You're a lapdog."

Despite his anger, the Frenchman felt his insides weaken and liquify. This is madness, he thought. He felt as if he were in a time warp. The Gestapo couldn't exist here, in an age of video cameras and immediate international outrage. But here it was, threatening him with torture.

Richter glared at him, his eyes all too clear, his voice level. "You speak to me as if you were my equal. What have you done in your life other than to ride a visionary's rocket?"

There was a lump of something in Jean-Michel's throat and he tried hard to swallow. He succeeded, but said nothing. Each time he blinked, the blade made a fine laceration in his eyelid. He tried not to moan but did, in spite of himself.

"I was wrong," Richter said. "You're not even a lapdog. You're the lamb the shepherd has sent in his stead. To make me an offer, but also to see what kind of teeth I have. And if I bite you?" he asked. "Then Dominique has learned something about me. He's learned that I am not awed by his functionaries. He's learned that in the future, he will have to treat me differently. As for you"-- Richter gave a little shrug-- "if I bite too hard, he simply replaces you."

"No!" Jean-Michel, said. Indignation momentarily overcame his fear. "You don't understand."

"I do. I reviewed your credentials on my computer when you walked in the door. You joined Dominique's organization twenty-one years, eleven months ago and you rose because of your scientific knowledge. You received a patent for a four-bit video game chip which enabled Demain to sell highly advanced games at a time when other games were one or two bits. There was a bit of a row in the Unites States over that, because a California company said that your chip resembled one they were getting ready to market."