Green considered this for a moment and with a shake of his head said, “Follow me.”

Speyer sighed and said, “I’m afraid I’m short on time.”

Green kept walking. “Nonsense. We have important things to discuss. Plus I do not want to miss the show.” He disappeared down the hallway and then a few seconds later his head popped back around the corner. “By the way, I just opened a bottle of ninety-two Screaming Eagle. Even a French wine snob like you can’t say no to that.”

A smile formed at the corners of Speyer ’s mouth and then his feet started to move. Green was right. Screaming Eagle was very rare and very hard to resist. He followed him down the hall to the master bedroom suite.

“Close the door behind you,” Green commanded.

They walked through a wood-paneled library with a big screen TV and a sitting area. The heavy beat of Euro techno music could be heard beyond the double doors that led to the actual bedroom. Green thrust open the doors. Straight ahead was a turned-down king-size bed with black silk sheets. Speyer looked to his right knowing full well that was where the action would be. The large window that looked out over Lake Geneva was obscured by heavy black drapes that acted as a backdrop to the sex show that was taking place in the alcove of the window. Green had designed the small stage himself. The alcove was ten feet wide by four feet deep. On both sides were narrow doors that when opened revealed a series of hooks, chains, and ropes. Standing in the middle of the stage was a young blond wearing pigtails, clogs, and a short summer dress. Behind her stood a tall dominatrix covered, literally, in black latex from head to her spike heeled boots. The only openings were for her mouth, eyes, breasts, and crotch. The woman had a riding crop in one hand and an impossibly large dildo in the other.

“Sit,” Green ordered.

Two chairs were already set up. Green brought over the bottle of wine and poured a second glass. Speyer, even though he was gay, had been titillated the first time he’d attended one of these private shows. Green mistook his excitement as proof that he was actually bisexual. Speyer had experimented with a lot of things over the years, but he was simply gay. Nothing really too complicated about it. He’d figured it out when he was eleven and then spent the next ten years or so trying to repress it. He knew now that the aspect of the sex show that had originally excited him was the corruption of youth. The fall from grace of a young heterosexual woman. After that one show, though, Speyer couldn’t get past the fact that the women were simply Russian prostitutes whose fall from grace had taken place long before. Woo a duchess or other high society type, or even a straitlaced colleague over to the forbidden side, and that would be worth watching. These were just two hungry young women trying to earn some money by exciting a perverted billionaire.

“What do you think?” Green asked without taking his eyes off the women.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Since when did you get shy about this type of stuff?”

“I mean the wine.” Speyer took a sip, savoring the California wine.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Very, but I’m serious. You must not tell anyone.”

“Relax.” Green grinned. “Now, what is the message you’ve been sent to deliver?”

“I received a call this afternoon from Mr. Garret.”

“Don’t tell me that little fucker is trying to wiggle out of the deal?”

“It’s interesting you should put it that way, because if I didn’t know better, I would say that is exactly what he is trying to do.”

Green’s tanned face slowly turned toward Speyer. His eyes narrowed and he asked, “What in the hell did he say? I want to hear it word for word.”

“Supposedly, the person who was hired to do the job has been captured.”

“What?”

“The man who Vasili hired was caught. The Americans have him in custody. There was a press conference this afternoon.” Speyer knew that Green was hearing this for the first time. The man never watched TV and left the Internet up to his assistants.

“How is that possible? Vasili told me himself that it was being taken care of.”

“Obviously he was premature in his promise.”

Green stood and began waving his hands. “Stop…stop. Girls, take a break. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He grabbed the bottle of wine and said to Speyer, “Follow me.”

They went out into the library and closed the double doors. Green set the bottle of Screaming Eagle on the fireplace mantle next to the pool table. A large portrait of none other than Green himself dominated the wall above the mantel.

Speyer stood on the other side of the pool table and looked at Green next to his portrait. The double image spoke volumes of the man and his ego. “As I’m sure you can imagine, Mr. Garret was extremely upset.”

“When isn’t that little fucker upset? Have you ever met a more irritating person in all your life?”

Speyer decided it was better to not answer the question. “He has a point this time.”

“I’m beginning to question your wisdom. You were the one who advised me to do this. That’s what I pay you to do. You said it would be a good return on my investment.”

It was almost impossible for his clients to surprise him. He’d seen it all. Their selective memory, their ability to rationalize or simply forget every bad decision or deed they’d ever committed, was endless, while their capacity to fixate or create blame elsewhere was eternal. “Cy, before we go any further, I want to make it very clear that you brought this proposal to my attention. You expressed your desire to proceed from the very beginning and you never vacillated. You wanted to do this. I merely supported you.”

Green stared at him for a moment and decided to change the subject. “I’ll tell you what pisses me off. I’ve already spent millions of dollars on this. I’ve leveraged some of my most important contacts, I’ve risked a lot…and what have they done?”

Speyer shrugged.

“They haven’t done shit. Where’s my fucking pardon?”

“They always said it wouldn’t happen until the last minute.”

“What are they waiting for? There isn’t much time left.”

“I’ve told you it would likely take place this Saturday.”

Green began pacing in front of the fireplace. “Are we sure the Americans have the right guy?”

“I have no way of knowing. Plus I have no idea who the right guy is.”

“Yeah,” Green said as if he had figured something out. “Vasili is the only one who knows. Have you called Vasili?”

“No.” Speyer did not like dealing with the Russian mobster directly. Not if he could avoid it.

“I’ll call him and find out what’s going on, and in the meantime you call that little prick Garret and tell him I said I want my pardon.”

Speyer nodded, took a large gulp of wine, and questioned once again the wisdom of working with men like Green and Garret.