“What?” he said, sucking as if he had a candy in his mouth.

“I don’t know who has the key.”

He nodded, and hit the cage again with the cane.

“Do you bite?”

She looked at him. He was grinning, and if she’d thought he couldn’t get any uglier, she was wrong.

“Woof, woof,” he said.

She pictured what she’d do to him if she ever got out of that cage. He hit her again, harder, as if testing the cage’s strength.

“You know what we do with bitches in Russia?”

She didn’t answer.

“We beat them,” he said, grinning again.

He pushed the tip of the cane through the wire mesh and poked her with it. He poked her hard, where she was wounded, and she reached for the cane and grabbed it.

She couldn’t hold onto it though.

“Feisty bitch,” he said.

She wondered how long this would last. If he was all they’d sent, she wouldn’t be getting out of the cold any time soon.

“You’re shivering,” he said.

He bent down to get a closer look at her. They were face to face.

“Pretty, pretty,” he said, and her blood shivered at the look in his watery eyes.

He blew cigar smoke into her face.

“My name is Evgraf Davidov,” he said. He said his name clearly, enunciating each syllable, as if it was very important she remember it. “Maybe you’ve heard of me? Your predecessor certainly did.”

Laurel hadn’t heard of him, but wouldn’t have told him if she had. She wondered what he meant about her predecessor. Was he referring to Clarice?

“And you are Laurel Everlane,” he continued. “One of Levi Roth’s little cunts.”

Laurel was surprised. He seemed to know everything about her. It meant the group had been infiltrated.

“That’s right,” he said. “Your reputation precedes you. In fact, in the circles I move in, you’re quite well known.”

Laurel said nothing.

“Don’t be shy,” Davidov said. “What you did, changing yourself like that.” He leaned in closer to her, so close she could smell his rancid breath. “Look at you. Remarkable.”

He brought his cigar to the cage. Laurel’s face was so close she could feel the heat of it. “After all that work, it would be a shame if someone were to spoil it.”

She tried to back away from the cigar.

“Your dedication set the bar to new heights for my handlers,” Davidov said. “But I wonder. Did they reconstruct the pussy too? Or just the face?”

She wanted to spit at him. The cigar was so close.

“If the pussy doesn’t match, what good is the face?” he said.

He laughed, amused at his own joke. He was toying with her.

If they knew who she was, there was no question what would happen. They’d torture her mercilessly. They’d torture her to death.