Or was his overheated imagination conjuring things into existence, seeing threats in shadows, the way children turned their bedposts into the talons of a monster? The bruise on the side of his head throbbed painfully. Was he jumping at ghosts?

Then one of the small square panes exploded, and he heard the harsh splitting of wood as a bullet buried itself somewhere in the parquet floor. Another pane exploded, and then another, shooting splinters of glass through the air, showering the conference table.

Jagged cracks appeared in the plaster of the wall opposite the window. Another pane exploded, another bullet shattered the plaster, this one cracking inches above his head. He sank to the floor, and began to roll toward the door.

Gunshots without shots: they had come from a silenced rifle. He should have been used to it by now.

Then a loud gun blast came from outdoors, an odd counterpoint to the silenced firing. Other sounds ensued: The screeching of tires. The noise of a car door opening and closing.

And from elsewhere in the mansion, panicked screams.

Madness!

A quiet fusillade was loosed, as deadly projectiles snapped through the air, some hitting glass, some traveling uninterrupted through already broken panes. They buried themselves in the walls, ceilings, floors. They pinged off the brass chandelier, ricocheted in unpredictable ways.

The throbbing of his temple had grown so forceful that it required a conscious exertion simply to focus his eyes.

Think! He had to think! Something had changed. What made sense of the assault, the contrast in weaponry and approach?

Two teams were attacking. Two teams that were not coordinated.

Mrs. Novak must have reported him. Yes, he was certain of it now. She had been on to him the whole time, playing along, playing him. Hence the mischievous look. She was one of Them.

The only place of refuge from the fusillade was deep in the mansion, in one of the inner chambers: yet surely they were counting on him seeking it out, which meant that this refuge was the most dangerous place he could be.

He phoned Barry on his Ericsson.

Cooper was uncharacteristically flustered. “Jeepers, Paul! What the hell’s going on? It’s like the Battle of Midway out here.”

“Can you make visual on anyone?”

“Um, you mean, can I see ’em? A glimpse, once in a while. There’s a couple of them in military drab. They look mean. The arms-are-for-hugging message hasn’t reached these guys, Paul.”

“Listen, Barry, we specified that the limo have bulletproof windows when we ordered it. You’ll be safest there. But be ready to haul ass at my signal.”

Now Janson bolted for the door and raced down the stairs to the first floor. When he reached the landing, he saw the security guard unholster his weapon and approach the front window. Then the gun clattered to the floor.