Bingo, Middleton thought. Remaining poker-faced, he said, “Would it be too much to have your name?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” The smile remained rigidly in place. “No names. We’re prepared to protect you, Mr. Middleton, from those who would gladly pay for the privilege of your company. People who would, I’m afraid, most definitely make things very difficult for you. But in return for this protection we are offering, we expect something in return.”

The Man with No Name’s voice trailed off into the void. He extended his hands in either direction, to suggest the vast store of knowledge—the information—he expected to receive.

“Several groups,” Middleton said. “I can think of just two who might be interested.”

“You underestimate your worth.”

“This interest is current?”

“No. Some of it appears to go back a ways. You have made your share of enemies, Mr. Middleton. I find that admirable, incidentally. But yes, two groups originally found their way to a back channel, contacted us, inquired. Then a third came forward—same realm of interest, let’s say. The others seem to bear old grudges, but once they learned there was a bidding war, they were spectacularly obliging.”

Three, Middleton thought. Sikari, the Scorpion and who else? Chernayev? But why would he bid against Sikari? And how could he know that Middleton was interested in him? “It appears I have little choice.”

The impish smile lingered, even as the man shrugged. “As Sartre says, one always has a choice, if only in how to die.”

Middleton considered it. He could hand himself over to his enemies, but why? They would suffer no hesitation. They would most certainly make things difficult. They would inconvenience him. He shuddered, picturing it. He knew he had his virtues, knew himself to be selfless and moderately brave, but he lacked certainty on the issue of withstanding torture hour after hour, day after day, week upon week. Perhaps he would have the spine to lie, buy time. But when there was no more time to purchase, what then?

And it wasn’t just his own torture to consider. The old KGB apparatchiks had taken both of his cell phones, the encrypted one and his regular one. All it would take is one call to Wiki, Leonora, Felicia, Charley—the signal would pinpoint their locations.

Middleton chafed his hands together to warm them. “How shall we do this?”

You would have thought he’d just praised the man’s taste in lovers: The smile turned gracious, his sad eyes shone. “Well, don’t laugh, but I prefer the dialectic approach.”

Who is this character, Middleton wondered. “Fire away.”

“Let’s start simply. You are interested in Devras Sikari. Correct?”

Middleton didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Very good. And why did you come here in that quest? To Russia?”