The Book of Q Read Online Free PDF Page B

anywhere within a six-hundred-mile radius of Slitna.
    “You’d do well to replace them as soon as possible,” the man said, now speaking English, the accent no less disquieting. Pearse thought he saw a glint of self-satisfaction in the eyes, as if the man was quite pleased with himself for displaying such facility. “There are people in this part of the world who would shoot you for such a lapse.”
    “Right. Of course.” Pearse knew he had to placate, avoid confrontation . “My mistake.” Again, the two stared at each other, neither moving, until the man slowly nodded. Even then, Pearse’s eyes remained locked on the pair of steely grays less than eight inches from him. Trying to diffuse the moment, Pearse slowly began to inch his way farther out into the room.
    The man stepped forward to block his path. For just an instant, the humor seemed to slip from his face, then return with added vigor. “Aren’t you going to finish out the night here?” An awkward silence, the smile back on his lips. “Or have I changed those plans?” Before Pearse could answer, the man’s expression shifted again. No more of the goading , no more of the playful back-and-forth. This time, a cold vacancy Pearse had never seen before.
    The man’s head suddenly snapped to the side as a shot rang out, his entire frame collapsing to the ground. The flashlight followed, bouncing along the floor and casting wild shadows before it rolled to a stop. Pearse stood stock-still.
    “He had a knife.” Petra’s voice tore through him as light once again filled the space; slowly, he turned. She was standing, naked, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. He stared at her, unable to focus. “He was going to kill you.”
    Pearse watched as Petra slowly placed the gun on the ground. She looked dazed, only now aware of her own nakedness.
    Bending down, she began to gather her clothes. Her voice distant, she repeated, “He had a knife.” She put on her shirt. “He would have killed you.” Still disoriented, she slid her legs into the pants.
    Pearse could do little more than nod. He had sensed it, but never been so close, never seen the instant of death. After nearly a minute, she moved to the corpse. Before she could kneel down, Pearse pulled her in close. She clutched at him as well, both of them shaking. “I’ve never shotsomeone like that,” she whispered. “Waited, watched.” They continued to hold each other until she suddenly pulled away. It was clear she wanted to say something. When he tried to ask, she shook her head once. She then knelt down and turned the body over, the eyes staring blankly up at her.
    After several seconds, she said, “He’s no refugee.” She continued to pat down his pockets. Finding nothing, she moved on to the satchel. Pearse knelt at her side as she undid the leather straps.
    “Thank you.”
    She stopped, her eyes still on the satchel. After a moment, she flipped open the front and reached inside.
    “His whole face just changed,” said Pearse. “I’d never seen that.”
    “He probably wanted you to know he was going to kill you,” her voice far more animated than only moments before. “Some people find pleasure in that.” She pulled a hard plastic box from inside the satchel and placed it on the ground. While she played with the clasp, he stared at the body.
    The man had an athletic build, powerful arms and hands, his grip still tight around the hasp of the knife. Gazing at the small blade, Pearse realized how close he had come to the same fate. Not that the last three months hadn’t forced him to confront his own mortality, but those occasions had been unspecified, bullets strafing in wild assault. The man lying in front of him was far more personal. A single knife meant for him.
    The question suddenly dawned on him. “Why did he think he had to kill me?”
    Petra was struggling with the box, using her own knife as a wedge. With a final dig, the top snapped open, a strange odor wafting from