“Ah, yes. I’ve heard of it. Lord Abaddon will smile on you for this, Carol.”

“You’ve got to get me out of here,” said Tommy, his voice cracking.

“Of course. Listen. When I give the signal, you forget everything and run to us.”

“What’s the signal?”

“‘Marvin Hamlisch banana sandwich.’ You might want to write that down so you don’t forget.”

“No. I’m pretty sure I can remember that.”

“Good girl. We’ll see you tomorrow night. Soon, Lord Abaddon will drown the world, saving only us, his true believers.”

“And me, too.”

“Of course, Carol dear,” said the Magister.

“Okay,” said Tommy, “I’ve got to go. Good night, Dark High One.”

“It’s High Dark One. No, wait. You got it right. How about that?” No one replied. Tommy was gone. The Magister dialed Adept Six.

“How is Fluffy doing?” he said.

“He’s hungry,” said the adept.

“Good. Keep him that way. His first meal will be the Caleximus traitor.”

“Yes, Dark High One.”

The Magister’s stomach rumbled. “Do we have any shrimp left?”

Adept Six shouted something, then came back to the phone. “I’m afraid they went bad and we had to throw them out.”

“Damn. I can’t wait to be done with this awful planet.”

“Should I send up some cod?”

“No,” said the Magister. “My show is coming on.”

“Show, Dark High One?”

Crap, thought the Magister. “Shoes. I’m putting my shoes on.”

“Of course.”

“Send some cod up in an hour,” the Magister said. “Then I’ll come down and pay my respects to Fluffy.”

“Be sure to wash your hands well. Fluffy likes cod.”

“Are you saying I’m unhygienic?”

“No, Dark High One. My apologies. It’s just that being this hungry, Fluffy has a tendency to bite.”

The Magister went across the room and uncovered the TV. His back twinged when he bent over.

“Now I’m annoyed,” said the Magister. “Send up the cod now, but leave it outside the door.” He hung up, not waiting for Adept Six to say good-bye.

He tuned in to The Price Is Right and even turned up the volume a little. It was a special occasion. This might be the last showcase I ever see, he thought. It better be a good one.

“Privyet.”

“It’s me,” said Salzman. “There’s been a complication.”

“What kind of complicated?” said Zavulon.

Salzman had to take a second. The Russian’s dubious accent was really starting to get to him. “The box has fallen into criminal hands. I’m going to need some help to get it back.”

“What kind of help you need?”

“How about some of those armored troglodytes of yours?” Salzman said.

“No problem. I will come, too.”

“That’s not necessary. It might be dangerous.”

“Good. I’m too long away from dangerous,” said Zavulon.