“What can you tell me about Kosigin?”

“It’s all there in his file.”

Reeve read it through.

“You’ve been following him,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I want him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want him for my… collection.” Allerdyce looked around the room.

Reeve nodded. “You’re a blackmailer? That’s your hobby?”

“Not at all, I just like to collect people, people who may be useful to me.”

“I get it.” Reeve kept reading. Then he came to the other photographs. One of them showed two men on a marina, sail-boat masts sticking up behind them. One of the men was Kosigin.

The other was Jay.

“Housey-housey,” Reeve said. He got up and took the picture over to the sofa. “You know this man?”

“Kosigin has hired him to do some work. I think he’s called Jay.”

“That’s right. Jay.”

“I don’t know much more. He’s rumored at one time to have been in the SAS.” Allerdyce’s eyes seemed to focus for a moment. “You were in the SAS, too, Mr. Reeve.”

Reeve breathed in. “How do you know that?”

“Dulwater broke into your house. He found some magazines.”

“Mars and Minerva?”

“Yes, that’s the name.”

“Did your man plant any bugs?”

“No, but he found some.”

“Who do you think was bugging me?”

“I presume Kosigin.”

Reeve went back to the desk and sat down. “Is Dulwater still watching my house?”

“No, he knew it was empty. Your wife and son are elsewhere.”

Reeve sucked in breath again. “Do you know where?”

Allerdyce shook his head. “They’re of little concern to me. My concern in all this is Kosigin.”

“Well then, we’re on the same side… as far as that goes.” Reeve checked his watch. “What about you, Mr. Allerdyce?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have any secrets? Any skeletons?”

Allerdyce shook his head slowly but firmly.

“Where’s Dulwater now?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“You’re not?”

“No. He’s just returned from the UK. He’s probably at home asleep.”

Reeve checked his watch again. “Mr. Allerdyce, I’d like you to do something for me.”

“Surely.”

“Could you switch on your photocopier and copy this file for me?”

Allerdyce got up from the sofa and went to switch on the machine. “It takes a moment to warm up.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Reeve went out onto the landing and looked down on Mr. Blue Öyster Cult, who was wriggling his way across the hall. He stopped when he saw Reeve looking at him. Reeve smiled and started down the stairs. The man was moving with more urgency now, trying to get to the door. Reeve walked beside him for a foot or two, then swept a leg back and kicked him on the side of the head with the meat of his stockinged heel. He dragged the unconscious figure back into the room, used more tape to bind him to the heaviest-looking table, and picked up the dagger.

Outside, he pulled his boots on and went and found the drugged dog. It was lying in front of some bushes near the gates. Anyone walking past could have seen it, but then nobody walked around here. Reeve dragged it deep into the shadows and taped its legs together, then wound more tape around its mouth. It was breathing deeply throughout, almost snoring.

Around the back of the house again, the guard in the gazebo looked like he’d been struggling for a while. It was good tape; the U.S. Postal Service used it for taping parcels. It had nylon crosspieces-you could cut it, or tear it with your teeth, but no way could you snap it. This hadn’t stopped the guard from trying.

Reeve walked up to the man and punched him unconscious again.

Back in Allerdyce’s den, the old man had nearly finished the copying. Reeve found an empty folder and put the warm copies into it.

“Mr. Allerdyce,” he said, “I think you’d better get dressed.”

They went to the old man’s bedroom. It was the smallest room Reeve had seen so far, smaller even than the bathroom which adjoined it.

“You’re a sad old bastard really, aren’t you?” Reeve was talking to himself, but Allerdyce heard a question.

“I never consider sadness,” he said. “Nor loneliness. Keep them out of your vocabulary and you keep them out of your heart.”

“What about love?”

“Love? I loved as a young man. It was very time-consuming and not very productive.”

Reeve smiled. “No need to bother with a tie, Mr. Allerdyce.”

Allerdyce hung the tie back up.

“How do the gates open?”

“Electronically.”

“We’re walking out of the gates. Do we need a remote?”

“There’s one in the drawer downstairs.”

“Where downstairs?”

“The Chinese table near the front door. In a drawer.”

“Fine. Tie your shoelaces.”

Allerdyce was like a child. He sat on the bed and worked on the laces of his five-hundred-dollar shoes.

“Okay? Let me look at you. You look fine, let’s go.”

True to his word, Duhart had come back. The car was parked outside, blocking the gates. His jaw dropped when he saw the gates open and Reeve come walking out, dressed like something from a Rambo film, with Jeffrey Allerdyce following at his heels.

“Get in the back, Mr. Allerdyce,” Reeve ordered.

“Jesus Christ, Reeve! You can’t kidnap him! What the fuck is this?”

Reeve got into the passenger seat. “I’ve not kidnapped him. Mr. Allerdyce, will you please tell my friend that you’ve come with me of your own volition.”

“Own volition,” Allerdyce mumbled.

Duhart still looked like a man in the middle of a particularly bad dream. “What the fuck is he on, man?”

“Just drive,” said Reeve.

Reeve cleaned up a bit in the car. They went to Duhart’s apartment, where he cleaned up some more and put on fresh clothes. Allerdyce sat on a chair in a living room probably smaller and less tidy than anywhere he’d ever been in his adult life. Duhart wasn’t comfortable with any of this: here was his idol, his god, sitting in his goddamned apartment-and Reeve kept swearing Allerdyce wouldn’t remember any of it.

“Just go get the stuff,” Reeve said.

Duhart giggled nervously, rubbed his hands over his face.

“Just go get the stuff.” Reeve was beginning to wish he’d given Duhart a dose of birdy, too.

“Okay,” Duhart said at last, but he turned at the door and had another look at the scene within: Reeve in his tourist duds, and old man Allerdyce just sitting there, hands on knees, like a ventriloquist’s dummy waiting for the hand up the back.

While Duhart was away, Reeve asked Allerdyce a few more questions, and tried to work out where they went from here, or rather, how they went from here. Allerdyce wouldn’t remember anything, but the two guards would. Then there was the corpse of the dog to explain. Reeve didn’t reckon Mr. Blue Öyster Cult had heard much, if anything, of his short dialogue with Allerdyce. So all they’d know was that there’d been an intruder-an intruder who’d fucked with Allerdyce’s mind. They’d be wondering what else he’d fucked with.

Duhart was back within the hour, carrying a shoe box. Reeve opened it. Smothered in cotton wool, like a schoolboy’s collection of bird eggs, were listening devices of various shapes, sizes, and ranges.

“They all work?”

“Last time I used them,” Duhart said.

Reeve rooted to the base of the shoe box. “Have you got the recorders to go with these?”

“In the car,” Duhart said. “So what about Dulwater?”

“I want you to keep tabs on him.”

Duhart shook his head. “What am I into here?”

“Eddie, by the time you’ve finished, you’ll have so much dirt on our pal here he’ll have to give you a senior partnership. Swear to God.”

“God, huh?” Duhart said, staring at Allerdyce.

Duhart brought his car to a stop beside the entry / exit ramp of the Alliance Investigative building. Reeve told Eddie Duhart to stay in the car, but not to leave the engine idling. They didn’t want him stopped by nosy cops. It was four in the morning: he’d have some explaining to do.