Incredible as the windows were in both size and scope, it was the view outside that held Kazimi spellbound. He was gazing out from the edge of a cliff, easily a hundred feet high, at a steel-gray ocean capped this day by frothy waves. No land. His sense told him East Coast and north. The cliff was daunting. The gravel path and strip of grass was all that separated the spectacular windows from the sea. Any attempt to escape from here could well end in a plunge to his death.

“After we talk I’ll take you outside so you can see the waves crashing against the shoreline. It’s truly a marvelous sight.”

Bacon, speaking from behind a huge leather easy chair, was dressed in crisply pressed gray slacks, a double-breasted blue suit, and a white oxford shirt accented by a silk paisley ascot. His right hand was clasped around his lion’s head cane, and his left cradled his ubiquitous half-filled crystal tumbler.

“North Atlantic?” Kazimi offered.

“Maine, actually. I’m glad you’ve requested this meeting. As I have said, time is of the essence, and people are dying.”

“I refuse to succumb to your guilt ploy. Any deaths are your fault, not mine.”

The overcast skies and stone walls kept the room cool, although the blaze in a fieldstone fireplace big enough to park a car took away much of the chill. There were leather armchairs, couches, and marble-topped tables spaced throughout, and a mélange of wondrous oriental rugs.

A castle in Maine.

Bacon led Kazimi to a sitting area for two in front of the windows. The breathtaking view, like the opulence of the place, only strengthened Kazimi’s discomfort. There was either an elevator or a kitchen, because after just a few minutes, Harris appeared, wheeling a cart carrying covered platters of food. The aroma, even with covers in place, was exquisite.

“Goat cooked in desi pickle curry, or perhaps you’d prefer to try the chicken nihari?”

Kazimi glared at Bacon.

“My appetite for company may return with my freedom,” he said. “Until then, I prefer to dine alone.”

Bacon took a contemplative sip of his drink.

“Your choice.”

He nodded toward his butler, and Harris bowed, swung the cart around, and wheeled the food away. Kazimi shifted his gaze back to the mesmerizing vista.

“What is this place?” he asked, making no attempt at eye contact.

“My home,” Bacon said.

“I assumed that.”