He could move only his head, and he craned his neck to see as much as he could. He was in a long, narrow room; the walls and ceiling were covered in white tiles, aged and cracking. Two overhead bulbs were protected with steel screens. The tabletop was made of metal and sloped from head to foot. There was a faint chemical smell, something he couldn’t identify.

He craned his neck farther. Near the other end of the room, just at the edge of his vision, was a vertical object, but he could not swivel his head and eyes far enough to make it out. He tried the bonds again, trying at least to stretch them enough to allow the flow of blood to return to his hands. No luck.

Minutes passed, and he wracked his brain for some other means of escape. He found that by manipulating his shoulders he could creep sideways on the table, but it became apparent to him that, since his feet were elevated, if he slipped over the edge, his head would strike the floor very hard. He stopped moving and waited.

Perhaps twenty minutes passed before he heard a scraping noise somewhere behind him, followed by hollow footsteps striking the cement floor. The chauffeur appeared, upside-down, the collar of his uniform hanging open. He reached up and ripped the mustache from his upper lip.

“There, thatsa better,” he said in his Italian accent. Then he laughed.

“Herbert?” Stone said.

Van Fleet laughed again. “Didn’t recognize me, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. Listen, Herb, could you loosen whatever you’ve got around my wrists? The circulation has stopped.”

“Sure,” Van Fleet said. He grabbed Stone under the arms, lifted him, and flipped him over on his stomach. He fiddled with the bonds.

Stone’s ankles hurt now, but he could feel the blood flowing back into his hands. “Thank you,” he said. “Now, could you turn me back over, please?”

Van Fleet turned him over on his back again. “Are you cold?” he asked solicitously.

“No, it’s quite warm in here. Where am I, exactly?”

“You are in what used to be part of a kosher meat-processing plant. It runs along one side of my loft, and it is accessed by moving the refrigerator in my kitchen, then removing a panel from the wall.” He laughed again. “Neither you nor the FBI were able to figure it out.”

“It’s very clever, Herb. Now, can we talk about what’s going on here?”

Van Fleet stepped forward and began feeling around Stone’s neck.

“Don’t do that,” Stone said, irritably. He didn’t like the man’s hands on him.

Van Fleet took his time at whatever he was doing. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “Just to rest your mind, I have no sexual interest in you. I don’t like men that way.”

Stone was relieved to hear that, but not much.