Sooooo…if they don’t give a good fucking goddamn, does it mean I’ll be safe? Or does it mean that, unlike Nina, I am easily dispensable? What in hell am I doing here? Where precisely are Blumenthal and Cilia? Why did I agree to—

“Let us return to the subject at hand, Lucy Ryuan. Tell me why and how you can be of service to me.”

“But you just said that you have no interest in my offer,” I say. “I don’t feel like wasting breath.”

He ignores what I’ve just said. He forges ahead. He’s in charge.

“Let us play a game. Let us pretend that I know nothing about you. Let’s say I’m a businessman and you have come to sell me your goods and services. Let’s call your service The Baby Snatchers. There. That’s a name. A good name. You can use it. Free of charge. I’m a little pussycat when it comes to business. You could eat me for lunch. So there, let’s get going. We’re in the boardroom.”

Now he doesn’t stop smiling. The grim and sleazy smile is practically pasted on his handsome face. The forced pleasantness in his voice makes him sound like the sickest bully in the classroom.

Then Nina steps right into the sick drama. She is as obedient as a ventriloquist’s dummy. She speaks with a phony American business-professional accent: “This is our last presentation, Mr. Orlov. Please yourself to meet Lucy Ryuan. She represents The Baby Snatchers, Inc. You have five minutes, Lucy Ryuan.”

This is insane. No, wait. This is beyond insane.

“Please begin,” says Orlov. “You have only five minutes.”

The plan with Blumenthal was that they would jump in only if the meeting turned dangerous. So we had a plan for dangerous. We had no plan for crazy.

Nina suddenly screams out in anger. “Mr. Orlov has told you to begin. So begin. Begin. Begin.”

In an unexpectedly calm voice—colorless but conversational—I begin. “Myself and my carefully chosen colleagues will be able to help you in a variety of ways. Those of us who work daily in the Gramatan Hospital midwifery unit have access to probable and predictable delivery dates of many pregnant women. Many of those newborns are going to be placed in foster care or put up for adoption. I can facilitate for you and your organization—”

Orlov lets out the kind of laugh—a cackle really—that I associate with childhood nightmares of witches and warlocks. He seethes with a diabolical anger. And he has no problem showing that anger. “This idea is stupid, stupid beyond my comprehension, clearly stupid beyond your comprehension.”