The Infiltrators Read Online Free PDF Page A

little night-light burning steadily in a private chamber in your mind, just knowing that he’s out there somewhere and you’ll have him back soon. Or maybe not so soon, but he’ll surely come back to you. But that night the light went out. There was nothing left in the world—my world—but darkness. So I knew he was dead and it was his scream I’d heard and he was never coming back.” Abruptly she shook her head in an angry way, glaring at me. “Hey, you’re good, aren’t you, you crummy confidence man! How the hell did you get me talking all this mystic bullshit, anyway? Forget it! It’s all a lot of stinking crap and we both know it!”
    I looked at her sitting beside me, now staring straight ahead through the windshield; and despite the prison-ravaged flesh of her face I could see the sensitive profile of the girl I’d known for a day so many years ago—years that should have brought her success and happiness and instead had crushed and demolished her. Or had they?
    It occurred to me that a woman who, after years of harsh imprisonment, could still speak earnestly of love lighting up the world might not be as badly damaged as she looked.

3
    In that open, rolling, midwestern terrain we could see the big interstate ahead a couple of miles before we came to it. I drove through the underpass, made my turn, and accelerated hard up the sweeping on-ramp, liking the smooth thrust of the rotary engine and the way the low little car clung to the curve. We hit the four-lane highway above at a good clip and I took us up to seventy, since I’d learned on my way here from where I’d picked up my car—the R-and-R establishment in Arizona we call the Ranch, which is also our training center—that nobody took the limit too seriously in this part of the world. After a little I became aware of the tenseness of the woman beside me.
    “Something wrong?” I asked.
    “It’s very silly,” she said, “but the limit is still fifty-five, isn’t it? I do like driving fast after not having been in a car for so long, but…”
    I was ashamed of my lack of consideration. “But you’re not in the mood to associate with policemen on your first day of freedom, right? Sorry, I’ll hold it down. I wasn’t thinking.”
    “Thank you.” After a little, she asked, “Where are you taking me?”
    “Santa Fe, New Mexico,” I said. “You said you wanted to see your folks’ lawyer, didn’t you? And there are other reasons for going there—I told you we needed your help. But we can talk about that later.”
    She was startled. “But that’s hundreds of miles!”
    “Actually, something over a thousand,” I said. “We should get there the day after tomorrow, even taking it easy.” I glanced at her. “You still don’t really believe me, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t be expecting me to dump you at the nearest bus station and wave goodbye as you ride off into the sunset trailing a cloud of diesel smoke and a covey of hired killers behind you.”
    “It’s still rather hard to grasp, although after everything else that’s happened to me I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.” She hesitated. “Please tell me the truth, Mr. Helm. You’re being very nice, and I have no complaints about my treatment, but… am I under arrest or aren’t I?”
    I looked at her, shocked. “Oh, Jesus, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”
    “Well, you do have a badge of sorts; you showed it to me once, remember? You don’t seem to wave it around as much as some, but it’s there and, well, my experiences with men with badges haven’t been reassuring. Or women with badges, ugh!” She studied my face gravely and seemed to find her answer there. “Then… then I am free, really free?”
    “Yes,” I said, “and when we get out of the car I’ll ask you to kick me for not making it absolutely clear. You’ve served your time, all of it, without parole, as your sentence stipulated, and nobody’s got any strings on you—not I, not