The door opened, revealing an elderly Asian man. "Hello," he said, in perfect English.

"Hello, Mr. Cheung," said Theo. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."

"Won't you come in?"

The man, who must have been in his mid-sixties, moved aside to let Theo pass. Theo slipped off his shoes, and stepped into the splendid apartment. Cheung led Theo into the living room. The view faced south. Far away, Theo could see downtown Toronto, with its skyscrapers, the slender needle of the CN Tower and, beyond, Lake Ontario stretching to the horizon.

"I appreciated you emailing me," said Theo. "As you can imagine, this has been very difficult for me."

"I am sure it has," said Cheung. "Would you care for tea? Coffee?"

"No, nothing, thank you."

"Well, then," said the man. "Do have a seat."

Theo sat down on a couch upholstered in orange leather. On the end table sat a painted porcelain vase. "It's beautiful," said Theo.

Cheung nodded agreement. "From the Ming Dynasty, of course; almost five hundred years old. Sculpture is the greatest of the arts. A written text is meaningless once the language has fallen out of use, but a physical object that endures for centuries or millennia — that is something to cherish. Anyone today can appreciate the beauty of ancient Chinese or Egyptian or Aztec artifacts; I collect all three. The individual artisans who made them live on through their work."

Theo made a noncommittal sound, and settled back in the couch. On the opposite wall was an oil painting of Kowloon harbor. Theo nodded at it. "Hong Kong," he said.

"Yes. You know it?"

"In 1996, when I was fourteen, my parents took us there on vacation. They wanted us — me and my brother — to see it before it changed hands back to Communist China."

"Yes, those last couple of years were exceptional for tourism," said Cheung. "But they were also great times for leaving the country; I myself left Hong Kong and came to Canada then. Over two hundred thousand Hong Kong natives moved to Canada before the British handed our country back to the Chinese."

"I imagine I would have gotten out, too," said Theo sympathetically.

"Those of us who could afford it did so. And, according to the visions people have had, things get no better in China during the next twenty-one years, so I am indeed glad I left; I could not stand the idea of losing my freedom." The old man paused. "But you, my young friend, stand to lose even more, do you not? For my part, I would have fully expected to be dead twenty-one years from now; I was delighted to learn that the fact that I had a vision implies that I will still be alive then. Indeed, since I felt reasonably spry, I begin to suspect that I might in fact have much more than twenty-one years left. Still, your time may be cut short — in my vision, as I told you by email, your name was mentioned. I had never heard of you before — forgive me for saying so. But the name was sufficiently musical — Theodosios Procopides — that it stuck in my mind."

"You said that in your vision someone had spoken to you about plans to kill me."

"Ominous, to be sure. But as I also said, I know little more than that."

"I don't doubt you, Mr. Cheung. But if I could locate the person you were speaking to in your vision, obviously that person knows more."

"But, as I said, I do not know who he was."

"If you could describe him?"

"Of course. He was white. White, like a northern European, not olive-skinned like yourself. He was no older than fifty in my vision, meaning he'd be about your age today. We were speaking English, and his accent was American."

"There are many American accents," said Theo.

"Yes, yes," said Cheung. "I mean he spoke like a New Englander — someone from Boston, perhaps."

Lloyd's vision apparently placed him in New England as well; of course, it couldn't be Lloyd that Cheung had been speaking to — at that moment, Lloyd was off boinking that crone…

"What else can you tell me about the man's speech? Did he sound well-educated?"

"Yes, now that you mention it, I suppose he did. He used the word 'apprehensive' — not an overly fancy term, but not one likely to be employed by an illiterate."

"What exactly did he say? Can you recount the conversation?"

"I will try. We were indoors somewhere. It was North America. That much was apparent by the shape of the electrical outlets; I always think they look like surprised babies here. Anyway, this man said to me, 'He killed Theo.' "

"The man you were speaking with killed me?"

"No. No, I was quoting him. He said, 'he' — some other he — 'killed Theo.' "

"You're sure he said 'he'?"

"Yes."

Well, that was something, anyway; in one fell swoop, four billion potential suspects had been eliminated.

Cheung continued. "He said, 'He killed Theo,' and I said, 'Theo who?' And the man replied, 'You know, Theodosios Procopides.' And I said, 'Oh, yeah.' That is precisely how I said it — 'Oh, yeah.' I fear my spontaneous English speech has not yet attained that degree of informality, but, apparently given another twenty-one years, it will. In any event, it was clear I will know you — or at least know of you — in the year 2030."

"Go on."

"Well, then my interlocutor said to me, 'He beat us to him.' "

"I — I beg your pardon?"

"He said, 'He beat us to him.' " Cheung lowered his head. "Yes, I know how that sounds — it sounds as though my associate and I had designs on your life as well." The old man spread his arms. "Dr. Procopides, I am a wealthy man — indeed, a very wealthy man. I will not say to you that people do not reach my level without being ruthless, for we both know that that is untrue. I have dealt very harshly with rivals over the years, and I have perhaps even skirted the edges of the law. But I am not just a businessman; I am also a Christian." He lifted a hand. "Please, do not be alarmed; I will not lecture you — I know that in some Western circles to boldly declare one's faith engenders discomfort, as if one had brought up a topic best never discussed in polite company. I mention it only to establish a salient fact: I may be a hard man, but I am also a God-fearing man — and I would never countenance murder. At my current advanced age, you can well imagine that I am set in my ways; I cannot believe that in the final years of my life, I will break a moral code I have lived by since childhood. I know what you are thinking — the obvious interpretation of the words 'he beat us to him' is that somebody else killed you before my associates could have done the deed. But I say again that I am no murderer. Besides, you are, I know, a physicist, and I do little business in that realm — my principal area of investment, besides real estate, which, of course, everyone should invest in, is biological research: pharmaceuticals, genetic engineering, and so on. I am not a scientist myself, you understand — just a capitalist. But I think you would agree that a physicist would not possibly be an obstacle to the sorts of things I pursue, and, as I say, I am no killer. Still, there are those words, which I report to you verbatim: 'He beat us to him.' "

Theo looked at the man, considering. "If that's the case," he said at last, measuring his words carefully, "why are you telling me this?"

Cheung nodded, as if he'd expected the question. "Naturally, one does not normally discuss plans to commit murder with the intended victim. But, as I said, Dr. Procopides, I am a Christian; I believe, therefore, that not only is your life at stake, but so too is my soul. I have no interest in becoming involved, even peripherally, in such a sinful business as homicide. And since the future can be changed, I wish it to be so. You are on the trail of whomever it was who will kill you; if you do manage to prevent your death at the hands of that person, whomever it might be, well, then, my associates will not be beaten to it. I take you into my confidence in hopes that you will not only avoid being shot — it was death by gunshot, was it not? — by this other person, but also by anyone involved with me. I do not want your — or anyone's — blood on my hands."