George, the part-owner of an investment bank funded by black money, is on his way to the former Soviet Republic of Lithuania to conclude what his Lithuanian contacts think is a big deal, but which he knows is a scam.
His Armani suit, Gucci cuff-links and Prada shoes disguise a man who is losing his touch. It is his ex-wife? Is it his boss? Is it his bank? He is not sure, but he can sense the knives are out.
George thinks he is going to line his bank’s pockets at the expense of his Lithuanian victims, saving face in the process, but the Baltic crew prove to be much more savvy than he had thought.
George, a firm believer in mixing business with pleasure, goes in search of female company in Vilnius. He finds more than he bargained for at a local nightclub in the shape of the magnificent Zoya, who wrecks both his bed and his head before taking off into the dark, Baltic night, leaving George with a monumental hangover or something worse.
He suspects he has been on the wrong side of a Mickey Fin, but there is no apparent reason, because nothing seems to be missing, not least the bank codes which are the key to his scam. Feeling rough, he attends the hospital where another surprise awaits him, he encounters the night doctor….Zoya.
Is there a connection between this apparent angel of the former KGB wards and the woman of the night who left him with such a devastating headache? Is he imagining things?
Obsessed now with what happened to him and why, George gets back to business only to find that his lost evening was a warning and the doctor doesn’t prescribe twice.