Bond familiarized himself with Tipton's passport and the contents of Tipton's wallet. He slipped Tipton's watch onto his wrist. He tried on Tipton's jacket. The sleeves were about half an inch too short, but otherwise the fit was good. Bond placed the passport and wallet into Tipton's jacket.

"Tipton's married. Do I need a wedding ring?" Bond wondered.

"Tipton doesn't wear one," Vandenberg answered. "The only jewelry he wears is his watch."

One of Vandenberg's men briefed Bond on the contents of Tipton's suitcase, which seemed to be totally ordinary.

"Are you ready, Bond?" Vandenberg asked. "Ready to meet Stamp?"

"Yes."

Vandenberg extended his hand. "Good luck, then." Bond took Vandenberg's hand and was pleasantly surprised to find his grip to be less vice-like. "We'll be waiting for your call, Bond. Baggage claim is to the left, down the steps."

Bond left the room and walked casually to the baggage claim area. Tipton's green suitcase was waiting for him. Bond picked up the suitcase and headed for the door. Vandenberg had told Bond that Stamp would almost certainly have sent a driver for Tipton, but Bond saw no one who looked like a driver and who seemed to be waiting for him.

Bond exited the door and stepped into the sunlight. He was temporarily blinded.

"Mr. Tipton?"

Shading his eyes with his hand, Bond turned to face a burly man. The man had a face like someone who had spent some time in the boxing ring.

"Yeah?"

"Come with me, Mr. Tipton, I have a car waiting for you."

The burly man abruptly took the suitcase from Bond's hand, and led Bond to a modest sedan. After stowing the suitcase in the trunk, the burly man got in the car behind the wheel, and off they went.

Neither Bond nor the burly driver attempted to make conversation.

The trip was longer than Bond had expected. The driver chose to take residential roads rather than highways, and on a couple of occasions, seemed to drive in circles. Bond surmised the driver was concerned about being followed, and he was taking precautions. One of Vandenberg's men had mentioned that Stamp's men were adept at spotting tails.

The car drove to the northern suburbs, and into a wealthy residential neighborhood. Eventually the car turned onto a private tree-lined road. A minute later, the car pulled up to the front door of a mansion that resembled, of all things, an English castle. Even the front door looked like it belonged on a castle; it was broad and trimmed with iron.

A dog began barking viciously, and although Bond could hear the dog, he could not see it.

An unsmiling bald man stepped from the front door and opened the car door for Bond. Bond got out of the car and stretched his legs. He turned in the direction of the barking and spied the dog, a German shepherd, held in a pen near the front door.

"Go this way," the bald man ordered, directing Bond not to the front door but to a nearby smaller door, without so much as a "please." Bond did as he was told.

Once Bond moved indoors, the barking of the dog became less frequent, then it stopped. The bald man brusquely ordered Bond to hand over his passport and wallet. Bond did so, noticing that his movements were being carefully watched by at least two other men standing in corners of the room. The postures of these other men indicated that they were armed.

As the bald man scrutinized the passport, a smaller man with gray hair came into the room and stood next to the bald man. The bald man handed the gray-haired man the passport, and began scrutinizing the contents of the wallet. He then handed the wallet to the gray-haired man, and faced Bond. The gray-haired man examined the passport carefully.

The bald man barked at Bond, "Turn around!" Bond did. He was frisked.

"Take off your shoes!" Bond complied. The bald man examined the shoes and returned them to Bond, who slipped the shoes on.

"Unbutton your shirt!" Bond once again did as he was told without complaint, and the bald man checked Bond's chest, presumably for any devices that might be used for listening or tracking or recording.

"Okay. Button up."

"Ya want me to drop mah pants next, do ya?" Bond drawled, raising an eyebrow and offering the bald man a contemptuous smirk intended to challenge his masculinity.

The bald man glared at Bond. Bond glared right back, still smirking. The bald man decided to put an end to the glaring contest, and he turned to the gray-haired man. "What do you think, Jerry?"

The gray-hared man hefted the passport and wallet. "I say these look pretty good. But I'd like to take them to my office for a closer look."

The bald man nodded, then turned to Bond. "Come on."

Bond was led out of the room, and into a corridor. He was directed down the corridor to a room with an imposing wooden door. The bald man knocked on the door, and then, without waiting for a response, opened it for Bond. When the bald man made no movement to enter the room, Bond took his cue. Bond entered the room, and the door was promptly closed behind him.

It first seemed as though the room was empty, but for three chairs, a wooden desk, and a sofa. Looks like a sparsely furnished office, Bond thought. Bond's attention was drawn to his right, to the distinct sound of ice clinking in a glass. Bond turned, and there stood a distinguished gentleman, dressed in a charcoal suit and wearing a burgundy tie, fixing himself a drink at a bar in the wall. Bond recognized the man as the man in the photograph Vandenberg had shown to Bond.

Bond decided to make the first move. "Mr. Stamp, Ah presume?"

Stamp responded in kind. "Mr. Tipton, I presume?"

"Ah'm pleased to meechah."

"You want something to drink, Tipton?"

Though it struck Bond as being a little early in the day for a drink, he thought a drink would be welcome. But he knew that the real Tipton did not drink, and possibly Stamp knew that as well. "Thank ya kindleh, no," Bond drawled. "But please, go aheed yuhseff."

Stamp took a sip from his drink and began to sidle away from the bar. He made no effort to approach Bond to shake his hand. Instead, Stamp walked casually to the desk, and seated himself upon it. As Stamp made himself comfortable, he exposed a holster under his jacket. The exposure of the holster was casual, but Bond was certain it was also intentional.

There were a few seconds of silence.

Stamp took another sip from his glass. "Did you have a good flight into Minneapolis?"

Bond jutted out his lower lip, as he had seen Tipton do under questioning. "Not bad."

Another few seconds of silence.

"Was the flight from Europe okay?"

"Also not bad. Couldn't sleep much, though. Some noisy children on the plane."

Stamp smiled politely, a smile that Bond realized was wholly artificial. "You have any kids, Tipton?"

"Nope." He's testing me. I suppose he'll ask me about my bloodhound next.

Another few seconds of silence. Stamp looked as though he were about to make more small talk, when there was a knock at the door, and Jerry, the gray-haired man Bond had seen earlier, strode through the door and up to Stamp. Jerry handed Stamp the passport and wallet and spoke to Stamp in a voice so low that Bond could not make out a single word.

Whatever Jerry is telling Stamp, my life depends upon it.

"All right, Jerry, thanks," Stamp said, dismissing the gray-haired man, who promptly left the room.

Stamp hefted the passport and wallet in one hand, then slid his hindquarters off the desk and walked up to Bond. Bond took the passport and wallet from Stamp and stowed them in his jacket. "Jerreh must be pretteh at good spottin' fakes," Bond remarked.

"He's the best there is." Stamp offered his right hand. "I'm Sig Stamp, Mr. Tipton, and I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."