“You maniac! You risked World War Three for a lousy profit,” the Scorpion said, contempt almost choking him.

Harris was indomitable. He grinned with the guilty charm of a small boy with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You have to admit, six million isn’t exactly a lousy profit,” he said.

The Scorpion raised his glass in a silent toast to Harris. He had a certain con man’s style. No wonder Kelly fell for his line, he mused. The thought of her sobered him again.

“That was my final mistake, Bob. Not spotting it when you made that slip about somebody making a fortune in oil futures. That was how you did it, didn’t you?” Harris nodded amiably.

“Once the crisis hit the media, oil futures went sky-high,” he admitted.

“Who staked you? Who put down the cash to buy up six million bucks’ worth of futures?”

Harris leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with impish evil. “Can’t you guess?” he whispered.

The Scorpion sat stunned, scarcely able to believe what his mind was telling him was the obvious truth.

“Max Ormont,” he breathed.

Harris grinned. “The great Max Ormont! Pillar of Society, millionaire, congressman, statesman, friend of presidents, power in the party caucus. He sold his own daughter into slavery to keep her quiet and to make a killing in the market,” he agreed.

The Scorpion picked up his drink and sipped. It had gone flat. So had everything else somehow.

“His own daughter,” he repeated, shaking his head. With a weary sigh, he aimed the gun at Harris. “Is that why you tried to terminate me in Bahrain? To keep me quiet and make a killing in the market?” he asked quietly.

“Don’t get all ‘holier-than-thou’ on me Scorpion. You made a million dollars on this business too,” Harris snapped.

“But not as much as you, Bob. I obviously still have a lot to learn,” the Scorpion said. He cocked the gun to a hair-trigger and moved the muzzle forward until it touched Harris’ sweat-slicked forehead.

“Wait, Scorpion. I did it to save your life and usefulness,” Harris stammered.

“Go on, Bob. Show your hole card. I’ve paid a hell of a lot to see it,” the Scorpion said.

Sweat beaded on Harris’s forehead. The Scorpion watched a drop of sweat trickle down to the tip of his nose and hang there, tempting gravity. Harris took a deep breath and began.

“First of all, the Molotov Plan was always a Russian idea. For centuries it’s what they’ve really wanted. We just deflected it our way because it gave us the chance to remove hardliners like Fyedorenko from power. That’s avoiding nuclear war, not causing it.