Just as there had been a piece of paper taped near each victim we had found, each time with a single word on it, the letters crossed out one at a time. HONOR. LOYALTY. Irony, of course: Danco reminding his former comrades of the virtues they had forsaken by turning him over to the Cubans. And poor Burdett, the man from Washington whom we found in the shell of the house in Miami Shores. He had been worth no real mental effort. Just a quick five letters, POGUE. And his arms, legs, and head had been quickly cut off and separated from his body. P-O-G-U-E. Arm, leg, leg, arm, head.

Was it really possible? I knew that my Dark Passenger had a sense of humor, but it was quite a bit darker than this—this was playful, whimsical, and even silly.

Much like the Choose Life license plate had been. And like everything else I had observed about the Doctor’s behavior.

It seemed so completely unlikely, but—

Doctor Danco was playing a little game as he sliced and diced. Perhaps he had played it with others in those long years inside the Cuban prison at the Isle of Pines, and maybe it had come to seem like just the right thing to serve his whimsical revenge. Because it certainly seemed like he was playing it now—with Chutsky, and with Doakes and the others. It was quite absurd, but it was also the only thing that made sense.

Doctor Danco was playing hangman.

Well, he said, squatting beside me again. How do you think your friend is doing?

I think you have him stumped, I said.

He cocked his head to one side and his small, dry tongue flicked out and over his lips as he stared at me, his eyes large and unblinking through his thick glasses. Bravo, he said, and he patted my arm again. I don’t think you really believe this will happen to you, he said. Perhaps a ten will persuade you.

Does it have an E in it? I asked, and he rocked back slightly as if some offensive odor had drifted up to him from my socks.

Well, he said, still without blinking, and then something that may have been related to a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Yes, there are two E’s. But of course, you guessed out of turn, so . . . He shrugged, a tiny gesture.

You could count it as a wrong guess—for Sergeant Doakes, I suggested, quite helpfully, I thought.

He nodded. You don’t like him. I see, he said, and he frowned a little. Even so, you really should be more afraid.

Afraid of what? I said. Sheer bravado, of course, but how often does one get a chance to banter with an authentic villain? And the shot seemed to go home; Danco stared at me for a long moment before he finally gave his head a very slight shake.