Ed Julian arranged the newspapers more carefully on the coffee table and stepped back to take a critical look at the arrangement. Casual, yet organized. Plenty of coffee, plenty of cream and sugars, plenty of croissants. He wondered if he ought to order a better assortment of jams, but no, everything looked just fine. Pity he had to use a hotel room, even this spacious suite. It was so—impersonal. He always liked to make a strong personal statement to potential buyers.

Still, he could hardly have this kind of meeting in his own office.

He checked his reflection in the big floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the fully stocked bar, smiled winningly, straightened his Jerry Garcia tie. Was the tie too much, or just the right touch of devil-may-care?

Too late to worry about it. Three strong knocks shook the door.

Showtime. Ed took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders, then grasped the knob and swung the door open.

“Gentlemen,” he said warmly. “And lady, of course.”

They stared at him with identical expressions of distrust, four men and one woman. The Nordic blond man wore a tailored suit. The greasy-looking darkhaired man wore blue jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and a worn green jacket with tweed patches on the elbows.

“Let’s get to it,” the dark-haired one said as Ed tried to introduce himself. Ed held on to his smile and closed the door behind them as they entered.

The sole African-American man shoved past the others and, very practically, poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down in one of the comfortable pastel chairs arranged near the coffee table. The other men silently followed suit, except for the last one, an Arab with cinnamon brown skin and warm dark eyes. A smiler, that one. He gave the woman a little bow and let her go first to the coffee server. She—a small, thin, dark-haired woman—seemed to neither notice nor care.

Ed made sure everyone had been served before he took his seat and made the meeting informal by loosening his tie. The unsmiling faces on the other side of the table failed to take the cue.

“Well, wonderful that you all made it. Anyone visit here before? Always something new to see, every time I come to town.”

“Let’s get to it,” the brunette repeated, with a little more menace. No one else spoke. Ed cleared his throat and smiled.

“Of course. Busy people, I understand. Now, we’ve agreed to go by neutral names here, so you can call me Mr. Zero.”

“How about calling me a cab,” said the blond man, rising. “I haven’t got time for these games.”

“Please, sit down, sir. Please.” Thankfully, the man did, though he kept glaring. “You can call me anything you like. Now, I’ll call you numbers, all right? You, sir, you’re One—sir, you’re Two—ma’am, you’re Three—Four—and Five.