It was a beautiful summer night, and the illuminated Seattle landmark stood out against the starry sky, but Gary was not thinking about the beauty of the moment. He was daydreaming about the carnage that would result if the Space Needle were toppled by a set of carefully placed explosives. The Russian drug dealer groaned. Gary sighed, displeased that his reverie had been interrupted. Mikhailov was naked and secured to an uncomfortable wooden chair by duct tape in such a way that all of the places where Gary might wish to inflict pain were exposed. Gary waited patiently as Mikhailov became conscious and slowly figured out his predicament. Good evening, Gary said. How are you feeling? Mikhailov stared stupidly for a moment before his features hardened into an icy stare. Do you know who I am? he asked in a voice that would have turned Gary's blood cold if their positions had been reversed but which he found merely amusing considering that the Russian was naked and helpless. You' re Bob Smith of Omaha, Nebraska, aren't you?
