Chernayev smiled very thinly. “I can imagine. You want to know why, perhaps, I attacked the compound.”

“I was going to start with if,” said Middleton, “but I am happy to move along to why.”

“The why is simple enough. You have some very important information and I need it to get out into the world. The men who held you did not care about such things.”

“Who were they?”

“They call themselves the Group. A name very preposterous in its simplicity, in my opinion, but its vagueness suits them. Their predecessors were formed in the late years of the Second World War, a gathering of scientists and academics and politicians who gathered together the leavings of the Nazi nuclear program. Mostly Germans and Russians. But they are not weapons traders, not exclusively. They do hope to exert their pressure upon world events.”

The cult that his friend Ruslan was telling him about, the outfit that wanted to resurrect the copper-bracelet technology.

“You say that with such contempt,” said Middleton. “You don’t approve.”

“I disapprove of how they do so, not that they do so at all. I would be a hypocrite to take issue with them, for I am guilty of such things myself. I take you into my confidence now, Colonel Middleton, and I hope you understand I would not do so were events not so dire. You see, I too try to shape world events, but for nobler reasons, I hope. In that capacity, I go by a code name—”

“The Scorpion.”

“You know that?” he asked, surprised.

Middleton nodded.

Chernayev held up a hand as if to ward something off. “I know, I know. It is absurd. I absolutely need my anonymity, you understand that. The name ‘Scorpion’ was given to me against my will, but that is another story. There are so many other stories and there will be time for all of them later, but for now I know you must be tired and in need of a shower, so this meeting will be short. There is but one thing I require of you, Colonel Middleton.”

“And what is that?”

“The American secretary of state will be paying an unannounced visit to the dedication of the Baglihar dam in a few days’ time. It’s important for you to be present on that visit.”

“Where is that?” he asked.

“On the Chenab River in northern Kashmir. The nearest town is a resettlement of people displaced when the dam was built. I don’t recall the Indian name but everyone knows it as the ‘Village.’”

In her Paris hotel suite, Leonora Tesla was now fully dressed, though her hotel towel turned makeshift bandage had soaked through and was staining her dark blouse. Charley Middleton stood over Jana, Grover’s daughter. She sat on the floor, her hands tied behind her back with telephone cord, her feet tied together with an electrical cord ripped from a lamp. Her mouth was gagged with a torn shirt.