"Dewayne is very strong, Jonathan. He used to be a world's champion."

"Didn't they all."

"I'll send Dewayne away, if he makes you nervous."

"He doesn't look like much of a threat."

"Don't depend on that. He's very well paid, and he's totally devoted to me." Miles's movie smile displayed his perfect teeth as he pushed the mash of ice around in his glass with a swizzle stick. Then he began rather tentatively, "It must seem odd to you that I have sought you out, instead of waiting for you to step up to me someday and relieve me of the burden of existence."

"Your phrasing answered any questions I might have had."

"Yes, I'vegrown weary of ice in my stomach every time I see a man who resembles you." He smiled. "You have no idea how damaging it's been to my cool."

"It will soon be over."

"One way or another. And I think I'm in a good bargaining position."

"Forget it."

"Not even curious?"

"About one thing. How did you know I was here?"

"Oh, you remember what we used to say: CII secrets and common knowledge differ only in that common knowledge..."

"...is harder to come by. Yes, I remember."

Miles rested his large, soft eyes on Jonathan. "I didn't actually kill Henri, you know."

"You set him up. You were his friend and you set him up."

"But I didn't actually kill him."

"I probably won't actually kill you."

"But I'd rather be dead than like the Greek you gave Datura to."

Jonathan smiled with the bland, gentle look he donned before combat. "I didn't actually prepare the Datura. I paid someone else to do it."

Miles sighed and looked down, his long lashes covering his eyes. "I see your point." Then he looked up and tried a new tact. "Did you know that Henri was a double agent?"

In fact, Jonathan had discovered this several months after Henri's death. But it did not matter. "He was your friend. And mine."

"It was only a matter of time, for God's sake, Jonathan! Both sides wanted him dead."

"You were his friend."

Miles's voice became crisp. "I hope you'll understand if I find this harping on ethics a little presumptuous in a killer!"

"I was holding him when he died."

Miles's tone softened instantly. "I know. And I'm truly sorry about that."

"You remember how he always joked about going out with a clever line? At the last minute he couldn't think of one, and he died feeling foolish." Jonathan's control was flaking off.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan."

"Oh, that's fine. You are really and truly sorry! That fixes everything!"

"I did what I could! I arranged a small income for Marie and the children. What did you do? You rammed your rod up her that very night!"

Jonathan's hand flashed over the table, and Miles was snapped sideways in his chair with a backhand across the face. Instantly, the blond wrestler left his barstool and started toward the table. Miles stared hate at Jonathan, tears smarting in his eyes, then, after a struggle with his self-control, he raised his hand, and the wrestler stopped where he was. Miles smiled sadly at Jonathan and gestured the bodyguard away with the backs of his fingers. Angry at being denied his prey, the wrestler glared for a moment before returning to the bar.

Jonathan realized at that moment the first thing he would have to do would be to discourage the blond bodyguard.

"My fault probably, Jonathan. Shouldn't have baited you. I imagine my cheek is red and unsightly?"

Jonathan was angry with himself for allowing Miles to taunt him into premature action. He finished his Laphroaig and gestured to the waiter.

Until the waiter left the table, neither Jonathan nor Miles spoke, nor did they look at each other until the cerebral toxic of adrenalin had drained off. Miles had turned away, not wanting the Indian waiter to see his glowing cheek.

Miles smiled forgiveness at Jonathan. He had not wiped the tears from his eyes, imagining they might help his case. "I tender you a bit of information as a propitiatory offering."

Jonathan did not respond.

"The man who made the fiscal arrangements with me for Henri's death was Clement Pope—Dragon's boy."

"That's good to know."

"Jonathan—tell me. What if Henri had set meup?"

"He would never have done that to a friend."

"But if he had. Would you have gone after him like you've come after me?"

"Yes."

Miles nodded. "I thought so." He smiled wanly "And that vitiates my case considerably. But I still don't intend to allow myself to die, a sacrifice to your peculiar reverence for the epic traditions of friendship. Neither heaven nor reincarnation attracts me. The one seems dull, the other undesirable. So I feel bound to protect this fleeting life of mine with all my energies. Even if it means killing you, dear Jonathan."

"What are your other choices?"

"I would hardly have come to the marketplace if I were not in a position to bargain."

Big Ben entered the lounge. With his habitual broad smile, he started to join Jonathan, then he saw Miles, and sat at the bar instead, eyeing the blond wrestler with flagrant disdain.

"You might at least give me your attention, Jonathan."

"A friend just walked in."

"Does he realize the possible cost of that privilege?"

"You're wasting my time, Miles."

"I may be saving your life."

Jonathan retreated into his gentle combat smile.

"When I left CII, Jonathan, I went into business in San Francisco. I'm in transportation. I move things from one point to another point and distribute them. All sorts of things. It's amazingly profitable. But life has not been comfortable for me, with the specter of you lurking in every shadow."

"Distressing."

"Then, early this month, I received an assignment to transport a bit of information from Montreal to... somewhere else. Gaining the information necessitated the killing of an agent. I didn't participate in the assassination because, unlike you, I am not a predator." He glanced to see the reaction. There was none. "But I know who did the killing. You got one of them shortly later. And now you're after the other. Dragon has told you that he will have the identity of this other person by the time of the sanction. Maybe. Maybe not. I know who it is, Jonathan. And until you have that information, you're in great danger."

"How so?"

"If I tell this person who and what you are, the hunted will become the hunter."

"But you're willing to sell this man out to me?"

"In return for your promise to stop stalking me. Don't let this bargain pass you by."

Jonathan looked out the window at a circle of girls near the pool laughing and screeching as they playfully teased the neurotic Pomeranian, which danced frantically in one spot, its claws clicking on the tile, urine dribbling from beneath it. Jonathan turned and looked at the wrestler still sitting at the bar, keeping him under observation. "I'll think about it, Miles."

Miles smiled with patient fatigue. "Please don't play me like an amateur. I can't remain inactive and unprotected while you 'think about it.' I believe it was you who first advised me never to con a con."

"You'll know my decision within five minutes. How's that?"

Then Jonathan's voice mellowed. "Whichever way it goes, Miles. We were once friends... so..." He held out his hand. Miles was surprised, but pleased. They shook hands firmly before Jonathan left for the bar where only Ben and the blond bodyguard sat. The latter leaned back on two legs of his stool, his back to the bar and his elbows hooked over it, eyeing Jonathan with a snide superior expression. Jonathan approached him, his whole bearing diffident and apologetic. "Well, as you saw, Miles and I have made up," Jonathan said with a weak, uncertain smile. "May I buy you a drink?"

The wrestler scratched his ear in disdainful silence and leaned further back on his stool to create more distance between himself and this fawning nobody who had dared to slap Mr. Mellough.