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Duvall’s Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore explains how they’re going to attack a Viet Cong village as helicopters fly in low out of the rising sun with massive speakers blasting The Ride of the Valkyries. Over the years Richter had collected all of Wagner’s work.
    Richter studied Susan’s face. The minute lines under her eyes showed her age, but he appreciated her maturity. The bloodshot eyes were always a problem, though. Ocular petechia. It happened every time, an inescapable result of oxygen deprivation. Fortunately, you can pretty much find anything you need on the Internet, even dealers in old medical supplies.
    He was pleased to see that the music had relaxed her, and the cold table didn’t seem to bother her much. He anticipated spending some good time with Susan after her transformation, but he didn’t want her to be uncomfortable in the meantime. The news reports told about how generous and loving a person she was, how she was admired as much for her character as for her mind. He’d made an excellent decision in selecting her.
    Her face looked angelic in repose, her naked body somehow innocent. Richter began gently washing her skin with antiseptic soap. Now it was time for the real work. With great care he made an incision in her neck exposing her carotid artery. Raising the artery with an aneurism hook, he made another small incision and placed a tube inside the artery, securing it with string. He followed the same procedure with the other carotid artery as well as both femoral and axillary arteries.
    The tubes were connected to a gravity tank suspended four feet above Susan’s head. The ten-gallon tank was filled with straight thirty-index arterial fluid, the strongest solution on the market. He had “acquired” the embalming materials from the same funeral home where he had bought the table. They had a full stock of fluids and powders, although they weren’t for sale legally. A late-night visit with bolt cutters and the discipline to take only what he needed before he replaced the padlock with his own assured him that the theft would never be detected.
    Before removing the clamps on the tubes, allowing the arterial fluid to flow through her arteries and return the color to her skin, Richter inserted drainage tubes in the corresponding veins that allowed the remaining blood to flow out of her body.
    But first he had the messy job of removing her organs and filling her abdominal and thoracic cavities with embalming powder and cotton. Unfortunately, there was no real way to preserve the organs and prevent decomposition. So this was a necessary step.
    Tomorrow, once her body had absorbed all of the fluid it could take and he had stitched her up again, he’d dress her in the blue suit he had taken from her closet. Then she could join the others in the next room. He had a feeling Susan McCarthy was going to fit in just fine.

 
    CHAPTER 11
    W ayne Mooney parked his car at the bottom of Prospect Hill. He knew from experience that the best time to go through a neighborhood undetected was between two and four in the morning. Breaking-and-entering artists did their best work during those hours.
    Mooney was wearing dark sweats. It would be easier to cut through the yards without a suit. He walked up the driveway of the nearest house, into the shadows of the backyard, away from the glow of the streetlights. He stood at the base of the hill looking at the rear of the houses on Prospect Hill Road.
    Mooney didn’t walk up the hill. He cut across the yards at the foot of the hill until he got closer to the McCarthy house. Then he made his way through a half dozen yards and over a couple of chain-link fences before the house came into view.
    Navigating his way through a minefield of toys scattered in one yard, he found himself behind the house adjacent to McCarthy’s. Looking up toward the house, he had a perfect vantage point from which to watch Susan McCarthy’s bedroom. The view would be even better when he got