Who knew with his close-cropped hair a neutral iron-gray color? And he still looked like somebody you wouldn’t look at twice. Paul Janson still looked thirtysomething, fortysomething, fifty. “I see your testosterone hasn’t passed its sell-by date.” He looked Janson up and down. “How many in total? Shoulds and shouldn’ts.”Ĭase smiled. “Sanctioned serialkillings was more like the truth. That’s why they’re called sanctioned in-field killings.” When you have to kill somebody to do the job you kill him. “For Christ’s sake, Paul! The State Department can’t have covert operators decidingwho to kill. “I woke up one morning remembering all the people I killed for the wrong reasons.”Ĭase laughed. “Top of the talent pool,” was all Janson would reveal. “Where from?” Case asked, wondering who of that caliber Janson had recruited. “I have someone to bring along if I need a sniper.” “You never were one to burn bridges,” Case conceded. Janson said, “You are assuming that I still work for Consular Operations.” “Just do it! Don’t worry I won’t defend myself.” He shifted the pack on his lap. “Kill me and get it over with,” Case told him. He wore lightweight assault boots and wool trousers, a sweater, and a loose black ski shell. Paul Janson sat on an upended grocery cart. His dull gaze flickered occasionally toward four muscular teenage gangbangers who were eyeing them from a Honda parked beside the KFC. He hunched in his chair with a frayed backpack on his lap, stringy hair down to his shoulders, and a week of beard on his face. I’m not asking any favors.”Ĭase’s home was the mouth of an abandoned railroad tunnel with a view of a garbage-littered empty lot, a burned-out Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the snowy Wasatch Mountains. “The place where they have to take you in? Not me. Paul Janson said, “When it all goes to hell, people go home.” How’d you happen to track me down? I wiped my names from the VA computers.” “That’s what I’m doing here, since you ask. Ogden’s a great town if you like hiking and mountain biking and skiing.” Doug Case gripped the broken armrests of his secondhand wheelchair and pretended they were ski poles. He’d have thought you were the cat’s meow. Bob celebrated beauty, hard work, love, and talent.