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brilliant blue eyes. He was gripping a Remington 12-gauge with a practiced hand.
    “Fine afternoon for a walk, isn’t it, Sergeant? Name’s Gideon Crew.”
    Dajkovic stared.
    “That’s right. I know a fair amount about you, Dajkovic. What sort of story did Tucker tell you to get you out here, looking for me?”
    Dajkovic said nothing, his mind still working furiously. He was mortified the man had gotten the drop on him. But all was not lost—he still had the knife. And though Crew was a good fifteen years younger than he was, the fellow looked thin, weak—not a good physical specimen.
    Crew gave him a smile. “Actually, I can probably guess what the good general told you.”
    Dajkovic didn’t answer.
    “It must have been quite a story, to turn you into a hired assassin like this. You’re not normally the kind of person to shoot someone in the back. He probably told you I was a traitor. In league with al-Qaeda, maybe—that would be the treason du jour, I guess. No doubt I’m abusing my position at Los Alamos, betraying my country. That would push all your buttons.”
    Dajkovic stared at him. How the hell did he know that?
    “He probably told you about my traitor father, what he did getting those agents killed.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Maybe he said traitorousness was a family tradition.”
    Dajkovic’s mind was clearing. He had fucked up, but all he had to do was get his hands—one hand—on that knife in his boot and Crew was a dead man, even if he did manage to get off a shotgun blast.
    “May I sit up?” Dajkovic asked.
    “Slow and easy.”
    Dajkovic sat up. The pain was mostly gone. Broken ribs were like that. Stopped hurting for a while and then the pain came back, twice as bad. He flushed at the thought of this weenie knocking him down with a load of rubber.
    “I’ve got a question for you,” Crew said. “How do you know old man Tucker told you the truth?”
    Dajkovic didn’t answer. He noticed for the first time that Crew’s right hand was missing the last joint of the ring finger.
    “I was pretty sure Tucker would send an underling after me, because he’s not the kind to put himself on the front lines. I knew it would be someone he trusted, who’d served under him. I looked over his employees and figured you’d be the one. You led a marine SOF team in the Grenada invasion, securing the American medical school in advance of the main landing. Did a good job, too—not one student was hurt.”
    Dajkovic remained poker-faced, waiting his opportunity.
    “So: is your mind made up about me? Or are you willing to open your ears to a few facts that might not quite jibe with what General Tucker told you?”
    He didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to give the scumbag an inch of satisfaction.
    “Since I’m the one with the loaded shotgun, I guess you’re going to have to listen anyway. You like fairy tales, Sergeant? Here’s one for you, only nobody lives happily ever after. Once upon a time, back in August of 1988, there was a twelve-year-old boy…”
    Dajkovic listened to the story. He knew it was bullshit, but he paid attention because a good soldier knew the value of information—even false information.
    It only took five minutes. It was a pretty good story, well told. These types of people were always amazing liars.
    When he was done, Crew pulled an envelope out of his pocket and tossed it at Dajkovic’s feet. “There’s the memo my father wrote Tucker. The reason why he was murdered.”
    Dajkovic didn’t bother to pick it up. For a moment, the two just remained where they were, staring at each other.
    “Well,” said Crew at last, shaking his head. “I guess I was naive to think I could convince an old soldier like you that his beloved commanding officer is a liar, coward, and murderer.” He thought for a moment. “I want you to bring Tucker a message. From me.”
    Dajkovic remained grim-jawed.
    “Tell him I’m going to destroy him like he destroyed my father. It’s going to