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though you haven’t been in the field since forever. What I’m worried about is how small town yokels are going to react to a special agent with HIV.”
    Mickey shifted in his seat. “They’re not going to know, Kyle. That’s not the first thing I share with people. It’s a private matter that I didn’t even need to share with the Bureau. I did that out of courtesy. And you stuck me in the basement for it.”
    “That was for the scandal and all the bull—”
    “I’m not stupid, Kyle. The Ricks shooting was the justification you needed, so I couldn’t sue if I wanted to. Even though I told you I wouldn’t if you guys decided to let me go.”
    Kyle tapped the pen against the desk. “Why do you want to go? Most agents can’t wait to get taken out of the field.”
    “Personal reasons.”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know if I’m going to make retirement, Kyle. I was thinking of leaving the Bureau early next winter. I just want to be out one more time.”
    He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll clear it with the SAC.”
    “Thanks.”
    He rose and turned to leave. Before he was out the door, Kyle said, “And, Mickey?”
    “Yeah?”
    “This is it. This is the last time I’m letting you in the field.”
     

10
     
     
     
     
     
     
    The flight was more nerve -racking than Mickey thought it would have been. He was sweating, and his heart pounded like a hammer. He had never enjoyed flying, and now, after his diagnosis and the daily loss of strength, it was even worse.
    An insurance salesman sat next to him . He tried to strike up a conversation about the dangers of flying, and then brought up life insurance. Mickey sipped a cup of beer and kept his eyes forward. His watch buzzed, and the man asked what that was.
    “It’s time to pray. I’m Muslim.”
    The man didn’t say anything else to him the entire flight.
    When Mickey stepped off the plane , he walked into the terminal at Ted Stevens International Airport and had to sit down. He watched several planes land and take off before pulling out a Valium and breaking it in half. He washed down half the pill with water and counted to thirty in his head before checking on his bag. He had a connecting flight on a puddle-jumper scheduled to Fairbanks County Airport in two and a half hours.
    At a café near the gates, Mickey ate a salad with grilled steak and drank two cups of coffee. He waited until the effects of the Valium had dimmed somewhat, then he went to his gate and boarded the little private plane.
    The flight was short, less than fifteen minutes, and he stepped onto the tarmac of the airport at about eight p.m. He had wondered why the Bureau wasted money on a flight until the plane flew over several lakes and mountain ranges where the roads just disappeared. Driving there would have taken several hours, if it were possible at all.
    He stopped at the only car rental booth and rented a Ford truck, one of only nine vehicles in stock. The air was warm as he pulled out of airport parking and drove up the road onto the Interstate, heading east toward Kodiak Basin. He looped around and entered the freeway that led him to the city.
    The breezy, light smell up there was something between a park after a rain and a cave untouched by people. He rolled down both windows and let the air wash over him.
    The moon barely illuminated t he mountains, giant, ominous shadows off in the distance. Plains stretched out for miles. They disappeared on hills with houses built over them like pebbles on a sand dune, their lights twinkling.
    H e glanced at the exits as they passed by. After taking the exit he was looking for, the terrain turned to thick forest separated by lakes and reservoirs. The moon reflected in a dull glow that reminded him of a nightlight.
    He drove another half hour before dipping down past a mountain and coming up into a valley. The city was just beyond that.
    The lights clustered together like candles on a birthday cake , surrounded by a blackness that stretched to