The dragon sneezed. Once. Twice. Then it yawned, showing even more horrifying lawn-gnome-size teeth and a tongue like a meat Slip ’N Slide, at the far end of which were the boiling guts of a Parisian hell beast. The dragon’s eyes slowly began to close and it relaxed. A few seconds later and it was sound asleep.

“Nicely done,” said Phil. “Too bad the critter’s mouth is shut tight. You think you’re going to Schwarzenegger those choppers open? You don’t have the guns for it.”

“You might have mentioned that before.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“You’re getting old, Phil. It’s making you shaky.”

“Yeah? And you’re getting . . . shut up.”

Coop ignored him and snapped a couple of tools off his belt. He jammed a minijack between the dragon’s jaws, slotted the handle into place, and began to crank the mouth open.

“There you go, sport,” said Phil. “Problem solved.”

“I get tense when you call me clever. I know it’s a trick.”

“This is too nerve-racking. I hope you like Neil Diamond.”

“I don’t like your Neil Diamond.”

Coop took out a flashlight and peered into the dragon’s mouth as Phil hummed “I’m a Believer.” There were lots of goodies scattered around in the monster’s gob—gold coins, piles of cash, jewelry, guns—but Coop looked past all of that junk for something more valuable. Finally, he saw what he had come here for: a green file folder, closed with a red wax seal. Unfortunately, the folder was back by the dragon’s molars, between a pile of Euros and a stolen Picasso. To Coop, it looked like a portrait of a woman after someone dropped a refrigerator on her head. That probably meant it was expensive. Too bad he didn’t have room for it in his suit.

The poltergeist stopped humming. “Please tell me you didn’t cheap out on the jack. I’d hate to see it fail and for those teeth to snap you in half. Actually, it might be kind of funny, but not while I’m in your head.”

“I bought the best money could buy.”

That my money could buy, at least.

They peered around the dragon’s mouth for other traps.

“So you finally admitted it,” Coop said. “You want me dead.”

Coop inched forward on the line until his head was almost touching the dragon’s front fangs. He pulled a collapsible gripper from a pocket sewn into his suit. He tested the trigger a couple of times to make sure the claw on the extendable arm worked.

“Not at all,” Phil said. “I’m just saying that being eaten by a dragon might be karmic payback for being mean earlier. On your right. Near your elbow.”

Coop looked right. A human eye floating in a bubbling potion was attached to a spray gun full of acid. He crawled underneath the eye’s gaze.

“Thanks,” he said.