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thought, but I’ll be goddamned if I can figure out how he thinks.
    Both Harry and Sonja were uncommonly bright and beautiful, but they lived in a world completely shut off from his own, a drawback of the intelligence business, but one that he’d always thought he could work around. Recently the Colonel discovered just how wrong he’d been about a lot of things.
    When he thought back on his lifetime of warfare, personal combat and fistfights, his memories danced across a lighted backdrop, softened by distance and time. He remembered that job in the bulb fields, the last of his petty fights that a small-town judge would allow. He was given a choice that was a favorite of judges of that time: military service or jail.
    Couldn’t get much further from embassy work than that, the Colonel thought.
    Three years before Boss fell into that bulb digger blade and they’d tried to blame it on him, Rico had fought for his life for the first time.
    Late summer, and little Rico Toledo teetered on the verge of seventh grade. At twelve, and in spite of his spectacles, Rico Toledo was a fighter with a no-holds-barred reputation.
    I sure don’t miss wearing glasses.
    He smiled at the memory of those antique lenses, those relics of the machine age. Rico Toledo did not like to rely on machines, not at all.
    The Agency’s gift of radial keratotomy had perfected his vision years ago, as it had his son’s, and age hadn’t caught up with him yet.
    Chuck had been a big tenth-grader who just walked up to Rico and hit him. Rico didn’t remember feeling the punch, but he remembered the burst of blood in his nose, and being surprised that he was sitting on the sidewalk. The bridge of his nose hurt where his glasses had rested, and, before he could react, Chuck was astraddle his chest.
    Rico remembered the blurred silhouette of Chuck, holding a rock high over his head, ready to strike. He hefted the rock high for leverage, and Rico twisted to the left, curling up as tight as he could. The heavy rock threw Chuck off balance, so when he tried to catch himself Rico lifted both legs and tipped Chuck over. All he heard was their breathing, wet and popping, and the scrabble of gravel underneath them.
    Rico’s shin caught Chuck a good shot in the crotch as he tipped over. Rico grabbed him by the hair with his left hand while he punched Chuck’s face with the right, as hard and fast as he could. Rico quit when Chuck stopped moving. He left him there in the driveway. Rico’s right hand was useless for a week and he didn’t get a good night’s sleep for months. Of course, there had been hell to pay, starting with his father.
    Now his wife motioned for him to bring the car around. The Colonel nodded, mumbled a private prayer for whatever soul Red Bartlett might have remaining and signaled the embassy driver. He glanced up at the biplane again, but no more sign of Red Bartlett glittered on the wind. The Colonel sighed and straightened his tie.
    There’s a shitload of work to do, he thought.
    Getting even for Red wouldn’t be easy. He knew, without a doubt, he would be doing it alone.

Chapter 7

    Marte Chang knew that she would be observed, constantly and closely, and she tried not to resent it. Resentment would get in her way, and anything that got in her way meant she would have to stay that much longer. She would confront Casey when the time came. Meanwhile, she vowed to work day and night to get herself out of this box.
    She watched the light on his Sidekick behind him, winking its collusion with her as it transmitted her first message to Mariposa. She would know within moments whether their system worked. If it didn’t, if Casey could detect her piggyback message, then she would be through, her project would be through, and there was an excellent chance she would be dead.
    Marte anticipated the first morning of switchover, less than a month away, when the most superficial portion of topside operations would be transferred to her Sunspots for a