hey were still letting people into the tower. I bought a ticket, paying extra so I could go to the restaurant, and set off across the lawn around the tower. The last fifty meters of the path were covered by a puny sort of canopy. I wondered why they'd put it there. Maybe the old building sometimes shed chunks of concrete?

The canopy ended at a booth where they checked ID. I showed my passport and walked through the horseshoe frame of the metal detector¡ªwhich wasn't working anyway. There were no more checks; that was all the protection this strategic target had.

I was beginning to have serious doubts. I had to admit it was a strange notion to come here. I couldn't sense any concentration of Dark Ones nearby. If they really were here, then they were very well shielded, which meant I'd have to deal with second-and third-grade magicians. And that would be suicide, pure and simple.

The headquarters. The field headquarters of the Day Watch, set up to coordinate the hunt. The hunt for me. Where else could the inexperienced Dark Magician have been expected to report his sighting of the quarry?

But I was walking straight into a setup where there must be at least ten Dark Ones, including experienced guards. I was sticking my own head in the noose, and that was plain stupidity, not heroism¡ªif I still had even the slightest chance of surviving. And I was very much hoping I did.

Seen from down below, under the concrete petals of its supports, the TV tower was far more impressive than it was from a distance. But it was a certainty that most Muscovites had never been up to the observation platform and thought of the tower as just a natural part of the skyline, a utilitarian and symbolic object, but not a place of recreation. The wind felt as strong as if I were standing in the aerodynamic pipe of some complex structure, and right at the very limit of my hearing, I could just catch the low hum that was the voice of the tower.

I stood there for a moment, looking upward at the mesh-covered openings, the shell-shaped hollows corroded into the concrete, the incredibly graceful, flexible silhouette. The tower really is flexible: rings of concrete strung on taut cables. Strength in flexibility.

I went in through the glass doors.

Strange. I'd have expected to find plenty of people wanting to view Moscow by night from a height of three hundred and thirty-seven meters. I was wrong. I even rode up in the elevator all on my own, or rather, with a woman from the tower's service personnel.

"I thought there would be lots of people here," I said, giving her a friendly smile. "Is it always like this in the evening?"

"No, usually it's busy," the woman said. She didn't sound very surprised, but I still caught a slightly puzzled note in her voice. She touched a button and the double doors slid together. My ears instantly popped and my feet were pressed down hard against the floor as the elevator went hurtling upward¡ªfast, but incredibly smoothly. "Everyone just disappeared about two hours ago."

Two hours.

Soon after my escape from the restaurant.

If they set up their field headquarters, then it didn't surprise me that hundreds of people who'd been planning to take a ride up into the restaurant in the sky on this warm, clear spring evening had suddenly changed their plans. Human beings might not be able to see what was going on, but they could sense it.

And even the ones who had nothing to do with this whole business were savvy enough not to go anywhere near the Dark Ones.

Of course, I had the young Dark Magician's appearance to protect me. But I couldn't be sure that kind of disguise would be enough. The security guard would check my appearance against the list implanted in his memory; everything would match up, and he would sense the presence of Power.

But would he dig any deeper than that? Would he check the different kinds of Power, check if I was Dark or Light, what grade I was?

It was fifty-fifty. He was supposed to do all that. But security guards everywhere always skip that kind of thing. Unless they just happen to be dying of boredom or they're new to the job and still very eager.

But a fifty-fifty chance was pretty good, compared to my chances of hiding from the Day Watch on the city streets.

The elevator stopped. I hadn't even had time to think everything through properly; it had taken only about twenty seconds to get up there. That kind of speed in ordinary apartment blocks would really be something.

"Here we are," the woman said, almost cheerfully. It looked pretty much like I was the Ostankino tower's last visitor of the day.

I stepped out onto the observation platform.

This place was usually full of people. You could tell right away who'd just arrived by the uncertain way they moved; how timidly they approached the panoramic window and the reinforced glass windows set in the floor.

But this time it looked to me like there were no more than twenty visitors. There were no children at all¡ªI could just picture to myself the scenes of hysterics that must have taken place as they approached the tower, the parents' anger and confusion. Children are more sensitive to the Dark Ones.

Even the people who were on the platform seemed confused and depressed. They weren't admiring the view of the city spread out below them, with all its lamps glowing brightly¡ªMoscow in its usual festive mood. Maybe it was a feast in a time of plague, but it was a beautiful feast. Right now, though, no one was enjoying it. Everything was dominated by the atmosphere of Darkness. Even I couldn't see it, but I could feel it choking me like carbon monoxide gas, which has no taste, no color, and no smell.

I looked down at my feet, pulled up my shadow, and stepped into it. The guard was standing near me, just two steps away, on one of the glass windows set in the floor. He glared in a friendly sort of way, looking slightly surprised. He obviously wasn't too comfortable hanging around in the Twilight, and I realized the other side hadn't assigned its best men to guard the field headquarters. He was young and well-built, wearing a plain gray suit and a white shirt with a subdued tie¡ªmore like a bank clerk than a servant of the Darkness.

"Ciao, Anton," the magician said.

That took my breath away for a moment.

Had I really been that stupid? So monstrously, incredibly naive?

They were waiting for me; they'd lured me here, tossed another sacrificed pawn into the scales, and even¡ªGod only knew how¡ªdrafted someone who'd departed into the Twilight long, long ago.

"What are you doing here?"

My heart thumped and started beating regularly again. It was all very simple, after all.

The dead Dark Magician had been my namesake.

"Just something I spotted. I need some advice on it."

The guard frowned darkly. Not the right turn of phrase, probably. But he still didn't catch on.

"Spit it out, Anton. Or I won't let you through, you know that."

"You've got to let me through," I blurted out at random. In our Watch anyone who knew the location of a field headquarters could enter it.

"Oh yeah, who says?" He was still smiling, but his left hand was already moving down toward the wand hanging on his belt.

It was charged to full capacity. Made out of a shinbone with intricate carvings and a small ruby crystal on the tip. Even if I dodged or shielded myself, a discharge of Power like that would bring every Other in the area running.

I raised my shadow from the floor and entered the second level of the Twilight.

Cold.

Swirling mist, or rather, clouds. Damp, heavy clouds rushing along high above the ground. There was no Ostankino tower here; this world had shed its final resemblance to the human one. I took a step forward through the damp cotton wool, along an invisible path through the droplets of water. The movement of time had slowed¡ªI was actually falling, but so slowly that it didn't matter yet. High above me the curtain of cloud was pierced by the light of three moons¡ªwhite, yellow, and blood-red. A bolt of lightning appeared ahead of me and grew, sprouting branches that crept slowly through the clouds, burning out a jagged channel.

I moved close to the vague shadow that was reaching for its belt with such painful slowness. I grabbed the arm. It was heavy, unyielding, as cold as ice. I couldn't stop it. I'd have to burst back out into the first level of the Twilight and take him on face to face. At least I'd have a chance.

Light and Darkness, I'm no field operative! I never wanted to end up in the front line! Give me the work I enjoy, the work I'm good at!

But the Light and the Darkness didn't answer. They never do when you call on them. There was only that quiet, mocking voice that speaks sometimes in every heart, whispering: "Who promised you an easy life?"

I looked down at my feet. They were already about ten centimeters below the Dark Magician's. I was falling; there was nothing to support me in this reality; there were no TV towers or anything of the sort here¡ªthere are no cliffs that shape or trees that tall.

How I wished I had clean hands, a passionate heart, and a cool head. But somehow these three qualities don't seem to get along too well. The wolf, the goat, and the cabbage¡ªwhat crazy ferryman would think of sticking them all in the same boat?

And when he'd eaten the goat for starters, what wolf wouldn't like to try the ferryman?

"God only knows," I said. My voice was lost in the clouds. I put my hand down and grabbed hold of the Dark Magician's shadow¡ªa limp rag, a blur in space. I jerked the shadow upward, threw it over his body, and tugged the Dark One into the second level of the Twilight.

He screamed when the world suddenly became completely unrecognizable. He'd probably never been any lower than the first level before. The energy required for his first trip came from me, but all the sensations were quite new to him.

I braced myself on the Dark One's shoulders and pushed him downward, while I crept upward, stamping my feet down hard on his hunched back. I "Great magicians climb their way up over other people's backs."

"You bastard, Anton! You bastard!"

The Dark Magician still hadn't realized who I was. He didn't realize it until the moment he turned over onto his back, still providing support for my feet, and saw my face. Here, on the second level of the Twilight, my crude disguise didn't work, of course. His eyes opened wide; he gave a short gasp and howled, clutching at my leg.

But he still didn't understand what I was doing and why I was doing it. I kicked him over and over again, trampling his i fingers and his face with my heels. It wouldn't really hurt an Other, but I wasn't trying to do him any physical damage. I wanted him lower; I wanted him to fall, move downward on all levels of reality, through the human world and the Twilight, through the shifting fabric of space. I didn't have the time or the skill to fight a full-scale duel with him according to all the laws of the Watches, according to all the rules that had been invented for young Light Ones who still had their faith in Good and Evil, the absolute truth of dogma and the inevitability of retribution.

When I decided I'd trampled the Dark Magician down low enough, I pushed off from the spread-eagled body, leapt up into the cold, damp mist, and jerked myself out of the Twilight.

Straight out into the human world. Straight onto the observation platform.

I appeared squatting on my haunches on a slab of glass, soaking wet from head to foot, choking in an effort to suppress a sudden cough. The rain of that other world smelled of ammonia and ashes.

A faint gasp ran around the room and people staggered back, trying to get away from me.

"It's all right," I croaked. "Do you hear? It's all right."

Their eyes told me they didn't agree. A man in uniform by the wall, a security guard, one of the TV tower's faithful retainers, stared at me stony-faced and reached for his pistol holster.

"It's for your own good," I said, choking in a new fit of coughing. "Do you understand?"

I let my Power break free and touch the people's minds. Their faces started looking more relaxed and calm. They slowly turned away and pressed their faces against the windows. The security guard froze with his hand resting on his unbuttoned holster.

Only then did I look down at my feet. And I froze in amazement.

The Dark Magician was there, under the glass. He was screaming. His eyes had turned into round black patches, forced wide open by his pain and terror. The fingertips of one hand were imbedded in the glass and he was hanging by them, with his body swaying like a pendulum in the gusts of wind. The sleeve of his white shirt was soaked in blood. The wand was still there on the magician's belt, but he'd forgotten about it. I was the only thing that existed for him right now, on the other side of that triple-reinforced glass, inside the dry, warm, bright shell of the observation platform, beyond Good and Evil. A Light Magician, sitting above him and gazing into those eyes crazy with pain and terror.

"Well, did you think we always fight fair?" I asked. Somehow I thought he might be able to hear me, even through the thick glass and the roar of the wind. I stood up and stamped my heel on the glass. Once, twice, three times¡ªit didn't matter that the blow wouldn't reach the fingers fused into the glass.

The Dark Magician jerked, trying to tug his hand out of the way of that crushing heel¡ªa spontaneous, instinctive, irrational reaction.

The flesh gave way.

For a moment the glass was covered with a red film of blood, but then the wind swept it away. And all I could see was the vague outline of the Dark Magician's body, getting smaller and smaller, tumbling over and over in the tower's turbulent slipstream. He was being carried in the direction of The Three Little Pigs, a fashionable establishment at the foot of the tower.

The invisible clock ticking away in my mind gave a loud click and instantly cut the time I had left in half.

I stepped off the glass and walked around the platform in a circle. I wasn't looking at the people; I was gazing into the Twilight. No, there weren't any more guards here. Now I had to find out where their headquarters were. Up on top in the service premises, among all the equipment? I didn't think so. Probably in more comfortable surroundings.

There was another security guard, a human, standing at the top of the stairs leading down into the restaurants. One glance was enough for me to see that he'd been influenced already, and quite recently. It was a good thing they'd only influenced him superficially.

And it was a very good thing they'd decided to influence him at all. That was a trick that cut both ways.

The security guard opened his mouth, getting ready to shout.

"Quiet! Come this way!" I ordered.

The security guard followed me without saying a word.

We went into the restroom¡ªone of the tower's free attractions, the highest urinal and toilet bowls in Moscow. Please feel free to make your mark among the clouds. I waved my hand through the air. A spotty-faced youth came scurrying out of one cubicle, buttoning up his pants; the man at the urinal grunted, broke off, and went wandering out with a glassy look in his eyes.

"Take your clothes off," I ordered the security guard and starting pulling off my wet sweater.

The holster was half-open, and the Desert Eagle was far older than my Makarov, but that didn't particularly bother me. The important thing was that the uniform was almost a perfect fit.

"If you hear shooting," I told the guard, "go down and carry out your duty. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"I turn you toward the Light," I said, intoning the words of the enlistment formula. "Renounce the Darkness, defend the Light. I give you the vision to distinguish Good from Evil. I give you the faith to follow the Light. I give you the courage to fight against the Darkness."

I used to think I'd never get a chance to use my right to enlist volunteers. How could there be free choice in genuine Darkness? How could I involve anybody in our games when the Watches themselves were established to counterattack that practice?

But now I was acting without hesitation, exploiting the loophole that the Dark Ones had left me by getting the security man to guard their headquarters, the way some people keep a small dog in their apartment: It can't bite, but it can yap. What they'd done gave me the right to sway the security man in the opposite direction and get him to follow me. After all, he wasn't either good or bad; he was a perfectly ordinary man with a wife he loved in moderation, elderly parents whom he didn't forget to help, a little daughter, and a son from his first marriage who was almost grown up, a weak faith in God, a tangled set of moral principles, and a few standard dreams¡ªan ordinary, decent man.

A piece of cannon fodder in the war between the armies of Light and Darkness.

"The Light be with you," I said. The pathetic little man nodded and his face lit up. There was adoration in his eyes. A few hours earlier he'd gazed in exactly the same way at the Dark Magician who'd given him a casual command and shown him my photograph.

A moment later the security guard was standing at the top of the stairs in my stinking clothes, and I was walking down the stairs trying to figure out what I was going to do if Zabulon was in the headquarters. Or any other magician of his level, come to that.

In that case my powers wouldn't be enough to maintain my disguise for even a second.

The Bronze Hall. I stepped through the doors and looked at the absurd, ring-shaped "restaurant car." The ring was slowly rotating, together with the tables standing on it.

I'd been certain the Dark ones would set up their headquarters in either the Gold Hall or the Silver Hall. And I was quite surprised by the scene that met my eyes.

The waiters were drifting from table to table like lazy fish, handing out bottles of spirits, which were supposedly forbidden up here. On two tables straight ahead of me computer terminals had been set up, connected to two cell phones. They hadn't bothered to run a cable to any of the tower's countless service outlets, which meant the headquarters had been set up to work only for a short while. Three young guys with short hair were working away intently, with their fingers leaping around all over the keyboards while the lines of type scrolled up the monitor screens and their cigarettes smoked in the ashtrays. I'd never seen Dark programmers before, and these were only simple operators, of course. But they didn't look any different from one of our magicians sitting at a notebook plugged into the network at headquarters. Maybe they even looked a bit more respectable than some I know.

"Sokolniki's completely covered," one of the guys said. His voice wasn't loud, but it rumbled right around the ring of the restaurant, making the waiters shudder and falter in their stride.

"The Tagansko-Krasnopresnenskaya line's under surveillance," said another of them. The young guys glanced at each other and laughed. They probably had a little competition going to see who could report fastest on his sectors.

Go right ahead, keep looking!

I set off around the restaurant, making for the bar. Take no notice of me. I'm a harmless security man who just happened to be given the role of a lowly guard. And now the security man's decided he'd like a beer. Has he completely lost all sense of responsibility? Or has he decided to check that his new bosses are safe? A platoon was sent on night patrol on the orders of the king. Trala-la-la, trala-la-la...

The young woman behind the bar was wiping glasses in a melancholy sort of way. When I stopped, she started pouring me a beer without saying a word. Her eyes were dark and empty; she'd been turned into a puppet, and I had to struggle to suppress an outburst of fury. I couldn't allow it. I had no right to feelings. I was a robot too. Puppets didn't have feelings.

And then I saw the girl sitting on the tall rotating ottoman opposite the bar, and my heart sank again.

Why hadn't I thought about that earlier?

Every field headquarters has to be declared to the other side, and an observer is sent to every field headquarters. It's part of the Treaty; it's one of the rules of the game, in the interest, supposedly, of both sides. If we had a field headquarters, then one of the Dark Ones was sitting in it right now.

The Light One sitting here was Tiger Cub.

At first her glance slid over me with no sign of curiosity, and I was almost certain everything would be okay.

Then her eyes came back to me.

She'd already seen the security man whose appearance I'd assumed. And there was something about me that didn't match the features stored in her memory, something that bothered her. In an instant she was looking at me through the Twilight.

I stood still, without trying to shield myself.

Tiger Cub looked away and turned toward the magician sitting opposite her. He wasn't actually a weak magician¡ªI estimated his age at about a hundred and his powers as at least grade three. He wasn't weak, just complacent.

"The actions you're taking are still a provocation," she told him in an even voice. "Night Watch is certain that the Maverick isn't Anton."

"Who, then?"

"An untrained Light Magician unknown to us. A Light Magician controlled by the Dark Ones."

"But what for, my girl?" the magician asked, genuinely surprised. "Explain it to me. Why would we let our own people be killed, even the ones who are less valuable?"

"Yes, 'less valuable' is the key phrase," Tiger Cub told him in a melancholy tone.

"Maybe, just maybe, if we had a chance to eliminate the head of the Light Ones in Moscow, but, as usual, he's above all suspicion. And sacrifice twenty of our own just for one ordinary, average Light One? No way. Or do you think we're fools?"

"No, I think you're very smart. Probably much smarter than I am." Tiger Cub smiled her dangerous smile. "But I'm only a field operative. The conclusions will be drawn by someone else, and they will be drawn, you can be sure of it!"

"We're not demanding immediate execution!" the Dark One said with a smile. "Even now we don't exclude the possibility of a mistake. A tribunal, a professional, impartial investigation, justice¡ªthat's all we want."

"But isn't it strange that your leader couldn't hit Anton with Shahab's Lash?" said the Tiger Cub, tilting a glass of beer with one finger. "It's amazing. His favorite weapon, one he's been a master of for hundreds of years. Almost as if the Day Watch doesn't want to see Anton caught."

"My dear girl," said the Dark Magician, leaning across the table, "you're flip-flopping! You can't accuse us of pursuing an innocent, law-abiding Light One and at the same time claim we're not trying to catch him!"

"Why not?"

"Such petty sadism." The magician giggled. "I'm genuinely enjoying this conversation. Do you really think we're a band of crazy, bloodthirsty psychopaths?"

"No, we think you're a band of cunning creeps."

"Let's try comparing our methods." I could see the Dark One was mounting his hobbyhorse. "Let's compare the losses the actions of the two Watches have inflicted on ordinary people, our food base."

"It's only for you that human beings are food."

"What about you? Or are Light Ones born to Light Ones now and not picked out of the crowd?"

"For us, human beings are our roots. Our roots."

"Okay, call them roots. What's the point of arguing over words? But in that case they're our roots too, my girl. And it's no secret that the amount of sap they feed us is on the increase."

"It's no secret that our numbers aren't declining, either."

"Of course. Troubled times, all that stress and tension¡ªpeople are living on the edge, and it's easy to fall off. At least we've managed to agree on that!" The magician snickered.

"Yes," Tiger Cub agreed. She didn't look in my direction again, and the conversation wandered off onto an eternal, insoluble question that philosophers on both sides have debated in vain, never mind a pair of bored magicians, one Dark and one Light. I realized that Tiger Cub had told me everything she needed to.

Or everything she felt it was appropriate to tell me.

I picked up the mug of beer standing in front of me and drank it in several deep, measured swallows. I really had been thirsty.

So the hunt was just a front?

Yes, and I'd realized that a long time ago. But it was important for me to know that our side understood that too.

And the Maverick hadn't been caught?

Naturally. Otherwise they would already have contacted me. Either by phone or mentally, that was no problem for the boss. The killer would have been handed over to the Tribunal, Svetlana would no longer be torn between the desire to help and the need to avoid getting drawn into a fight, and I could have laughed in Zabulon's face.

But how, how was it possible to find a single man in an immense city like this, when his powers manifested themselves spontaneously? Just flared up and then faded away again. Lying dormant between one killing and the next, one pointless victory over Evil and the next. And if he really was known to the Dark Ones, it was a secret kept by the very top bosses.

Not by the Dark Ones who were wasting their time up here.

I looked around in disgust.

This wasn't serious!

The guard I'd killed so easily. The third-degree magician debating so keenly with our observer and not bothering to keep his eyes open. Those young guys at the terminals, shouting out:

"Tsvetnoi Boulevard has been checked!"

"Polezhaevskaya Street is under surveillance!"

Yes, this was a field headquarters. And it was about as ludicrously unprofessional as the way the inexperienced Dark Ones were hunting for me right across the city. Yes, the net had been cast, but no one was concerned about gaping holes in it. The longer I could keep on dodging the roundup and the more I thrashed about, the more the Darkness liked it. At the strategic level, of course. Svetlana wouldn't be able to bear it; she'd lose control. She'd try to help, because she could sense the genuine Power developing inside her. None of our people would be able to restrain her¡ªnot directly. And she'd be killed.

"Volgograd Avenue."

I could slit all their throats, or shoot them all right here and now! Every last one of them. They were the Darkness's rejects and the failures, the dunces who had no prospects because they had too many shortcomings. It wasn't simply that the Dark Ones didn't feel sorry for them¡ªthey were a hindrance, they got in the way. The Day Watch was nothing like the almshouse that we sometimes resembled. The Day Watch got rid of anyone who was surplus. In fact, it usually got us to do the job for it, handing them a trump card, the right to respond, to change the balance.

And the Twilight figure that had directed me to the Ostankino tower was another product of the Darkness. An insurance policy, in case I didn't guess where I ought to go to fight my battle.

But the real action was being coordinated by just one Other.

Zabulon.

He didn't feel the slightest resentment against me. Of course not. What use would such complex and petty feelings be in a serious game like this?

He'd eaten dozens like me for breakfast, removing them from the board, sacrificing his own pawns to pay for them.

When would he decide that the match was played out and it was time for the endgame?

"Do you have a light?" I asked, putting down my beer mug and picking up a pack of cigarettes lying on the counter. Someone had forgotten it, maybe one of the restaurant's customers, fleeing in a state of panic, maybe one of the Dark Ones.

Tiger Cub's eyes lit up and she tensed her muscles. I realized the sorceress could start her battle transformation at any moment. She must have assessed the enemy's strength too. She knew we had a serious chance of success.

But there was no need.

The old third-grade Dark Magician casually held out his Ronson lighter. It gave a melodic little click and shot out a tongue of flame, and the Dark Magician carried on talking.

"There's only one reason why you constantly accuse the Darkness of playing a double game and organizing deliberate provocations¡ªin order to disguise the fact that you're not fit to survive. Your failure to understand the world and its laws. When you get right down to it, your failure to understand ordinary people! Once it's accepted that the diagnosis made by the Dark Side is far more accurate, then what becomes of your morality? Of your whole philosophy of life? Eh?"

I lit up, nodded politely, and set out for the exit. Tiger Cub watched me go with a puzzled look in her eyes. Well, you just figure out for yourself why I'm leaving.

I'd found out all I could find out around here.

Or rather¡ªalmost all.

I leaned down toward the short haircut of the young guy in glasses who had his nose stuck in his notebook and asked briskly:

"What districts are we closing off last?"

"Botanical Gardens and the Economic Exhibition," he answered, without even looking up. The cursor continued to slide across the screen. The Dark One was issuing instructions, relishing his power as he moved red dots across the map of Moscow. It would have been harder to prize him away from this process than to drag him away from the girl he loved.

They know how to love too, after all.

"Thanks," I said, dropping my burning cigarette into the full ashtray. "That's very helpful."

"No worries," the terminal operator said casually, without looking around. He stuck his tongue out of his mouth and stuck another dot on the map: one more rank-and-file Dark One moving into the roundup. What are you so delighted about, you stupid fool? The ones with real power will never appear on your map. You'd be better off playing with toy soldiers if power's the way you get your kicks.

I slid across to the spiral staircase. All the fury I'd felt on my way here¡ªthe determination to kill or, more likely, be killed¡ªhad disappeared. I'm sure at some point during a battle a soldier enters a state of icy calm, the same way a surgeon's hands stop trembling when the patient starts dying on the operating table.

What possible variants have you provided for, Zabulon?

I start thrashing about in the nets closing in around me, and the commotion attracts Light Ones and Dark Ones, all of them¡ªand especially Svetlana?

That one's out.

That I give myself up or get caught and then the long, slow, exhausting trial starts, concluding in a frenzied outburst by Svetlana at the Tribunal?

That one's out.

I start a fight with your field headquarters operatives and kill them all, but end up trapped a third of a kilometer above the ground, and Svetlana comes dashing to the tower?

That one's out.

I take a stroll around the field headquarters and figure out that no one there knows anything about the Maverick, and try to play for time?

That's a possibility.

The ring was getting tighter, I knew that. It had been closed off first around the outskirts of the city, along the Moscow Ring Road; then the city had been carved up into districts and the major transport routes had been closed off. It still wasn't too late to take a quick look around nearby districts that weren't under surveillance yet, find a hiding place, and try to lie low. The only advice the boss had been able to give me was to hold out for as long as possible, while the Night Watch was rushing about, trying to find the Maverick.

It's no accident that you're squeezing me into the district where we had our little scuffle last winter, is it, Zabulon? I can't help remembering it, so one way or another the way I act is bound to be affected by my memories.

The observation platform was empty now. Completely empty. The final visitors had fled, and there were no staff¡ªonly the man I'd recruited, standing by the stairs, clutching his pistol in his hand and staring downward with his eyes blazing.

"Now we'll change clothes again," I told him. "The Light thanks you. Afterward you'll forget everything we've talked about. You'll go home. All you'll remember is that it was an ordinary day, like yesterday. Nothing much happened."

"Nothing much happened!" the security man blurted out cheerfully as he took my clothes off. It's so easy to turn people to the Light or the Darkness, but they're happiest of all when they're allowed to be themselves.