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was of particular use in countries where guns were not available due to the annoyance of certain customs regulations.
    Much like my early days as a soldier … bullets are not always available. It does not matter; I am an expert with a knife — or even a pickaxe.
    Da Khlot never questioned The Shaman’s orders or why someone was chosen to enter the spirit world. Khlot lived by a motto from his days with the Khmer Rouge: To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss.
    Da Khlot wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He was seated facing the cockpit at the rear of the plane. Despite his unwavering faith in The Shaman, he was never comfortable in the air. After all, it is I who is mortal …
    “Feel better?” asked Sayomi. A stifled smile betraying her amusement.
    Da Khlot stared passively at Sayomi, who was sitting in another overstuffed lamb’s leather seat facing him. She is like an annoying mosquito in the jungle who finds a hole in the net over where I sleep. Why does this spoiled young Japanese woman take such delight in my discomfort?
    “Ignoring me, are you?” she chided, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head.
    She is beautiful … when she is quiet. Does she think she is better than me? Yes, she has a third degree black belt in kick-boxing … capable, she says, of breaking a man’s neck. But even she admits she has never killed. Who is she fooling? Herself? Her being a bodyguard is only polite address for her real function. That of being The Shaman’s mistress. Any whore could fill that role —
    “Perhaps your ears don’t work so well anymore,” suggested Sayomi. “I asked if you were no longer afraid?”
    “I am not afraid,” replied Khlot, staring back, his face without expression. You grow older every day. Your beauty fades with the knowledge of who you become. Perhaps soon, another young woman will catch The Shaman’s eye and he will decide that to keep you is no benefit …
    Da Khlot abruptly turned his attention to The Shaman, who glanced back from his seat near the front of the plane. A slight nod from The Shaman commanded his presence.
    “Don’t forget to bow,” teased Sayomi. “Otherwise the next person you may be ordered to kill for not showing respect could be yourself.”
    Da Khlot ignored her as he quickly made his way forward, bowed respectfully, and took a seat across from The Shaman.
    The Shaman, eyes focused on his laptop, finished reviewing the latest news posted on the Internet by Canadian newspapers; including the Vancouver Sun . Keeping up to date on the latest news from the countries he visited had become a ritual. Any articles of interest, such as pending court decisions regarding the legality of criminal proceedings or sentencing practices, were kept for reference. Over the last few years, he was constantly encouraged by what he read concerning British Columbia.
    The Shaman looked gravely at Da Khlot and said, “This mission is of the utmost importance.”
    Da Khlot remained stoic. Are not all of The Shaman’s missions important?
    “Your duty as an observer on this mission does not mean that I have lost faith in you. Quite the opposite. Loyalty is what it is all about. Do you understand?”
    Da Khlot nodded, although he didn’t really understand.
    “I expect that tomorrow night you will need to wear your new suit,” said The Shaman. “Make sure you do not lose a button on the suit jacket,” he added, with a smile.
    Da Khlot did not question why his new suit was equipped with a hidden video camera and a lens that looked like a button. I am but a soldier. I obey. Tomorrow night someone will die. It does not matter why.
    ***
    Natasha awoke at the sound of Jack’s key unlocking the front door to their apartment. She leaned over and turned on a bedside light, before quickly brushing her shoulder-length black hair with her fingertips.
    “You’re awake,” said Jack, sounding pleased, as he entered the room.
    “Couldn’t sleep,”