Gradually, Kazimi’s vision came into focus. He crawled out from the canopy and found himself in a richly appointed room adorned with magnificent oriental carpeting, laid on an exquisite fieldstone floor. The same stone covered the lower half of the walls, leading him to think of a medieval castle. The upper half was an ornate fleur-de-lis design done in crimson velvet.

The air was scented from three massive bouquets of fresh-cut flowers arranged in crystal vases. Directly across from him stood a black lacquer bureau, inlaid with mother of pearl, and above it hung an ultra-modern plasma television, currently powered off, but with a remote attached to it by Velcro strips. In addition to a well-volumed bookcase, there were five beautifully framed and lit paintings that Kazimi, hardly an expert at such things, believed were a Degas, a Picasso, a Monet, and possibly two of the Dutch masters—almost certainly all original.

Kazimi took a few tentative steps. He was wobbly and weak at first, but gradually regained his balance. Standing in the center of the room, he made a more extensive survey of his posh accommodations, and was both amazed and repulsed by the decadence surrounding him. He had always been a man of simple values, for whom material possessions had meant nothing. Perhaps, he mused, knowledge of that philosophy is why his captors elected to imprison him inside such opulence.

Moving to the corner of the room next to the bookcase, Kazimi scanned the bar, stocked with the finest spirits and bottles of wine, most likely from the very best vintages. Though alcohol would never pass his lips, he knew the value of wine bottled decades ago. In front of the bar was a glistening ebony table with four Louis XIV chairs, also most likely not reproductions. As a frequent guest of international conferences on bacteriology, he had been put up in hotel suites before. This room made even the most luxurious of those look like some of the concrete homes of his native Pakistan.

Automatic lights came on as he stepped into a cavernous bathroom tiled in spectacular white marble flecked with gold, and featuring a shower, steam room, and Jacuzzi tub cast in what appeared to be pure copper.

Glancing at his reflection in the oversized mirror, he winced at his raccoon eyes and sickly pallor. Again, the questions:

What drug did Burke give me?

Where am I?

What do they want with me?

How can I fight them?

How can I escape?

He rested his hands on the granite countertop until he felt steadier on his feet. Then he left the bathroom and crossed to the shuttered, black-lacquered double doors, which he assumed exited the garish room.

Locked.

He examined the walls and even under the carpet, searching for another way out. Only then did it register that the space had no windows. A velvet and silk dungeon.

At that instant, a sharp knock on the door startled him.