Salzman leaned back, crossing his legs. “You should understand something: mooks are made by magic, but we’re not magic ourselves.”

Zavulon leaned forward and his chair creaked a little. “But box is magic.”

“I don’t have the box with me.”

“I notice. Where is it?”

“Technically, not on this Earth,” said Salzman. “So if anything should happen to me it will never be seen by anyone again.”

Zavulon opened his arms wide. “Who would do that? Who would hurt you? Besides, to kill a dead man. I would have no notion how.”

Salzman put a deeply sarcastic hand over his heart. “I don’t believe you, but it’s a comfort to have you say it.”

Zavulon took hold of the bottle between them. “Let’s have champagne. Government has already paid, so let’s not go to waste.”

“Good idea.”

Zavulon poured two glasses and the men toasted each other.

“You like?” said Zavulon, slurping his.

“Very much. I’ll have to get the name before I leave.”

“Don’t bother yourself. Give me address and I will send you case.”

“That’s very kind.”

The big man finished his champagne and poured himself another glass, but he didn’t drink it right away. He set it on the table with the bottle. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “I like to cross all i’s and dot all t’s on such deals as this.”

“You have it backward,” said Salzman.

“Excuse me?”

“You dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”

Zavulon laughed. “Spasibo. Now, to be clear on deal. You will supply us with DOPS mook tekhnologiya . . .”

Salzman held up a finger. “Not the technology. Just the plans.”

“Of course. Plans for mook creation. And also, the little box. One with power to reverse the process.”

“Exactly. You’ll be the only people in the world capable of both making mooks and unmaking them.”

Zavulon picked up his champagne, took a sip, and rested it on the arm of his chair. “Explain to me. You are a mook, yes? You don’t age. You don’t get sick. You don’t get poison. Many—what is it?—flavors of magic don’t hinder you. Who knows what else? With that, why do you so much want to be alive?”

Salzman poured himself more champagne. “You try being dead and then ask me that question.”

“That I understand. No translator required.” Zavulon smiled.

Salzman wondered how much one of the armored guards could hurt him. Antimagic armor wouldn’t protect any of them from a broken neck. Still. This wasn’t the time or place to contemplate such pleasantries. There would be time for that later. He said, “You have your experts in place who know how to use the box?”