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set of dumbbells and began doing a military press.
    “Enough weight for you?” asked Zen.
    He hated that he was reduced to ridiculous comments, but he couldn’t think of much else to say. Stoner worked in silence, pushing the weights up with steady, flawless efficiency. These were the heaviest set of weights in the room, and he knocked off thirty reps without a problem. He was sweating, but that might have been due to the heat—the place felt like a sauna.
    “I can stay for breakfast if you want,” said Zen. “Give me an excuse to blow off a committee meeting.”
    No answer. Stoner put down the weights, then went back to the bench and started on a set of sitting curls. His face remained the same: no sign of stress.
    “Nationals are doing well. They won last night,” said Zen. “They’ll be back home soon. Maybe we can take in a game.”
    “Baseball?” asked Stoner.
    “Yeah. You want to go to a game?”
    Instead of responding, Stoner went back to his workout. During his treatment in Eastern Europe, he had been essentially brainwashed, his personality and memory replaced with an almost robotic consciousness. His old self or at least some semblance of it remained, but exactly how much, no one could say.
    Zen had managed only a handful of conversations with him since he’d been here. Stoner hadn’t said more than a dozen words in each. But that was more than he’d said to anyone else.
    Stoner did two more circuits, pumping the iron without visible fatigue. As he finished a set of standing presses, he glanced over at Zen.
    The look in his eye frightened Zen. For a split second he thought Stoner was going to toss one of the dumbbells at his head.
    He didn’t. He just glared at him, then pumped through another twenty reps.
    “Man, you’re in good shape,” said Zen as Stoner racked the weights.
    Stoner turned to him. “Need heavier weights. Too easy.”
    “Did you ask the doctors?”
    Stoner pulled his hood over his head.
    “I can try and get more for you,” said Zen. “What weight?”
    “Big disks,” said Stoner. “I need more.”
    He started walking toward the door next to the rack.
    “Feel like having breakfast?” Zen asked.
    “No,” said Stoner. “Gonna shower.”
    “OK,” said Zen. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, maybe.”
    Stoner said nothing. Zen watched him walk down the hall, turning right into his room.
    “I’ve already ordered more weights,” said Esrang when Zen met him outside. “We didn’t want to give him too much at first, in case he decided to use them as weapons.”
    “You still think he’s dangerous?”
    Esrang pitched his head to one side, gesturing with his shoulders. He was one of the world’s experts on the effects of steroids and other drugs on the human brain, but he often pointed out that this meant he knew that he didn’t know enough.
    Zen glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
    Zen smiled. It was a nice thing for the doctor to say, but they both knew it wasn’t necessarily true.

Chapter 13
    Southeastern Sudan
    L i Han watched as the aircraft was lifted into the back of the pickup truck. It was a lot lighter than he’d expected; three men could easily handle it.
    It would fetch a decent amount of money. The design was unique, the materials, even the onboard flight control computer, which had considerably more processing and memory chips than Li Han expected—the right buyer would pay a good price.
    The question was finding the right buyer. The best price would come from his former countrymen, though there was no way he could deal with them.
    The Russians were one possibility. The French were another. The Iranians, but his last dealings with them had turned sour.
    The biggest payday might actually come from the Americans, who would want their equipment back.
    Maybe they could make a deal.
    He needed to find a place to examine it more carefully, and think. That meant going north,