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the dossier to your mobile. But I have to warn you, there isn’t much.”
    “There rarely is.” Redbird’s lips were curled into a permanent smile he did not feel. The smile was a quirk of genetics, as was his white hair, which he wore in a clipped military brush. He was at once slim and powerful, his energy coming from his lower belly, the spot sensei had taught him where ki , the life-force energy, began.
    “This commission is different. You are to find one man, but as you’ll see, the commission could turn out to be a complex one.”
    There was a pale scar in the sky cut, moments before, by the stubby wings of the military plane. He turned away from the window, admiring as much as surveying the careful mayhem he had wrought. As always, there seemed to be a second heart beating deep inside him.
    “All the better.” Now Redbird did smile. It was a sight to chill the blood.
    *   *   *
    “Face the wall,” the voice said from behind Jack, “hands and legs spread. Lean in.”
    Standard law enforcement officer procedure, Jack thought, as opposed to a fed. But what kind of a cop?
    The leo began to pat Jack down, looking for concealed weapons. “Thought you were so clever lying on the top of that truck.” One hand ran up the inside of Jack’s left leg and down the right. “You’d have made it, too. Except for the fact that I was looking out my fourth floor window, taking a break from my monitors, and saw you spread-eagled atop that truck and thought what the fuck is that fuck up to?” The hand made a circuit of Jack’s right and left sides, up into his armpits. “So I came down to have a look at the clever boy.”
    He grunted. “So you’re clean. Turn around.”
    “Listen.”
    “Shut the fuck up!”
    Jack had a momentary impression of a long, lean face atop a wiry body clad in the uniform of airport security just before his right hand lifted, drawing the leo’s attention. Instantly, Jack’s left arm swung up, his fist smashing into the leo’s jaw. As the man staggered back, Jack immobilized his gun hand, wrapping the wrist in a fierce grip. But the leo jabbed out his left hand, grabbing Jack by the throat.
    “You fucker!” the leo whispered. “You’re not going to get away from me that easily.”
    “You’re making a mistake that’ll cost you your job,” Jack said in a half-strangled voice.
    The leo’s eyes narrowed. “Let go of my hand or I’ll rip out your throat.”
    Jack unwound his fingers from the leo’s right wrist, and, released, the gun was pointed at Jack again.
    “How’s that?” the leo said.
    “I’m Interpol.”
    The leo snickered. “Sure you are, pal.”
    “Check my ID,” Jack said. “You’ll see.”
    “When we get back to my office. Let’s go.”
    “I don’t have time; I’m following a lead,” Jack persisted. “You want to check my creds, do it here.”
    The leo hesitated, then, relinquishing his grip on Jack’s throat, said, “Stand the fuck back.”
    When Jack complied, he said, “Okay, hotshot. Hand ’em over—slowly.”
    Jack put his hand inside his jacket, drew out the folder, and dropped it open. The leo’s eyes flicked to the Interpol ID, then back to Jack’s face to check it against the photo. Then he put his gun up.
    “Okay. Sorry. No hard feelings.”
    Jack slammed his fist into the point of the leo’s chin with such force, the officer’s head slammed back against the corrugated steel wall of the warehouse.
    Turning away as the body slid down the wall, he was about to emerge from the shadow thrown by the corner of the warehouse when he saw two suits standing between him and the now fully loaded InterGlobal Logistics aircraft.
    *   *   *
    When his hands weren’t steeped in blood, Redbird was a meditative and studious individual. He read assiduously, his knowledge both deep and wide-ranging. He loved Carlos Fuentes and Amitav Ghosh, but his heart and soul belonged to the Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke. Often, when he read Rilke,