Starlitz met with Khoklov at two A.M. The midnight sun had given up its doomedattempt to sink and was now rising again in refulgent splendor. The two of themwere strolling the spectrally abandoned streets of Helsinki, not too far fromKhoklov's posh suite at the Arctia.

As European capitals went, Helsinki was a very young town. Most of it had beenbuilt since 1900, and quite a lot of that had been leveled by Russian bombers inthe 1940s. Nevertheless the waterfront streets looked like stage-sets for thePied Piper of Hamelin, all copper-gabled roofs and leaded glass and quaintwindow turrets.

"I miss my boys," Khoklov grumbled. "Why did they have to ice my boystStupidbastards."

"Lot of Russian Jews in Israel now. Israel's very hip to the Russian mafiascene. Maybe it was a message."'

"No. They're just out of practice. They thought my boys were guarding Raf. Theythought that poor fat Finn was Raf. Raf makes them nervous. He's been on theirhit-list since the Munich Olympics."

"How'd they know Raf was here?"

"It's those hackers at the bank. They've been talking too much. Three of ourdepositors are big Israeli arms dealers." Khoklov was tired. He'd been up allnight explaining developments by phone to an anxious cabal of millionaireex-Chekists in Petersburg.

"Since the word is out, we've got to move this into high gear, ace."

"I know that only too well." Khoklov opened a gunmetal pillbox and dry-swalloweda pink tab. "The Higher Circles in Organizatsiya-- they love the idea of blackelectronic cash, but they're old-fashioned and skeptical. They say they wantquick results, and yet they give me trouble about financing."

"I never expected those nomenklatura cats to come through for us," Starlitzsaid. "They're all ex-KGB bureaucrats, as slow as hell. If the Japaneseshakedown works, we'll have the capital all right. You say they want results?