| you’re up against. I guess I’m starting to have some sympathy for you.” Belknap shook his head. “Maybe you shouldn’t. You saw some S.A.P. brutes in action, and you were appalled.” “Damn right,” she put in sharply. “Whereas the fact is I’m one of them myself. Just not right now.” “But—” “It’s best that you know exactly what I am. I’ve done what they were doing. I could have been any one of them.” “Which raises an obvious question. If your own colleagues don’t trust you, why the hell should I?” “I never said they didn’t trust me.” His slate eyes appeared almost guileless. “Their job was to hogtie me and put me into a cage. That doesn’t mean they’ve decided I’m untrustworthy. For all they know, maybe it’s because I’m too trustworthy. They’re not the ones who make the decisions. They’re the ones who carry out the decisions. I’ve got no hard feelings toward them. Like I say, I’ve been them. Only difference is, I’d probably have done the tracking solo. Possibly the capture, too. And I’ve have done it right.” “Tracking?” “It’s what I do, Andrea. I find people. Usually people who don’t want to be found.” “You good at it?” “Probably the best,” he said. There was nothing boastful about the way he said it. He could have been reporting his height or date of birth. “Your colleagues share that assessment.” He nodded. “They call me the Hound. Like I say, it’s what I do |
flesh; it compressed the carotid arteries and the internal and external jugular veins, preventing blood from entering and leaving the brain. Done properly, it should be wetwork without wetness. As here: The only fluid released was the urine that now spotted the aging spymaster’s trousers. Rinehart dragged the body downhill, the sound inaudible above the noise of the million buzzing midges and stone flies and the piping of little tree frogs, until he reached a trail of reddish volcanic soil. He removed and folded Garrison’s clothes, placed them in a plastic trash bag, and stowed the bag in his rucksack. He could simply dispose of the corpse in the underbrush, but there were better options. Soon a sulfurous miasma become pungently evident, and the vegetation thinned, gradually giving way to slippery mats of lichens, moss, and grasses. Scattered vents and mud pots released wisps of steam that shone silver in the filtered moonlight. Ten minutes later, walking by the intermittent light of a half-moon in a partly cloudy sky, Rinehart looked past a boulder and saw a milky-looking circle of water mostly obscured by steam. It was the lake. He heaved the body—even in the available light it was obviously an unpleasant specimen, with its withered dugs, varicosities, and dorsal pelt of coarse graying hair—over a ridge of crumbling pumice. It bounced down the steep declivity and plunged into the churning, bubbling waters, After a few hours of simmering amid the harsh sulfur fumes, its flesh would peel |
