The elevator brought them to a massive room that seemed to be very much like a lobby, though why a person should need a lobby in their own home was beyond him. The theme was baroque and everywhere were gilt statues and 18th century paintings in gilt frames and baroque settees along the walls. The body builder led Middleton to a hallway, with the same rococo theme, and then into a sitting room that was starkly modern, with chairs and tables with hard lines and sharp angles. On the walls were relatively contemporary portraits, but Middleton did not recognize who they were.

The body builder excused himself and Middleton found himself standing alone in the spacious room. He was not particularly cold, but he walked over to the fireplace and rubbed his hands before the fire, mostly because it was something to do and doing something distracted him from his own stench, hunger, fatigue and discomfort. Besides, his hands were filthy and bloody and he was hesitant to touch anything.

After no more than a minute, one of the doors opened and a pretty serving girl set down a tray upon one of the tables. It contained, much to Middleton’s amusement, a hamburger, French fries and a glass of cola. Perhaps the body builder thought Americans were incapable of eating anything else. It would not have been Middleton’s first choice, but it would do fine for now. He cleaned his hands with the warm towel to one side of the tray and then devoured the food within minutes.

Shortly after he was done, the door opened again. Middleton had been hoping for the pretty serving girl, as he’d been hoping for a refill of his soda, but it was not her.

The man standing before him was easily recognizable from the intelligence reports and press photos.

Arkady Chernayev.

And the pieces fell into place. Chernayev was the Scorpion.

The man was tall and elegantly handsome, a man who appeared in the vaguely ageless realm of men in their fifties or sixties who were in excellent physical shape and who dressed in impeccable clothes. Chernayev wore a dark suit with a perfectly knotted red tie and a high-collared white shirt. He appeared very much like a politician about to give a televised address.

“Colonel Middleton, I am pleased you are well. You have had enough to eat and drink, I hope,” said Arkady Chernayev.

Middleton held up his glass. “I could use some more cola.”

“Yes,” said Chernayev, “being rescued from a burning complex is a thirsty business.”

At once the serving girl appeared with a fresh glass. She took Middleton’s old one and departed. Chernayev now gestured for Middleton to sit on one of the chairs near the fire. He did so. The Russian joined him.

“So,” said Chernayev, “I understand you wish to ask me some questions.”

“I do. And I have some that have just occurred to me.”