Danco loved his country, Chutsky went on. So he switched to the dark side, too. On purpose, to use this talent. And in El Salvador it . . . blossomed. He would take somebody that we brought him and just— He paused and took a breath, blew it out slowly. Shit. You saw what he does.

Very original, I said. Creative.

Chutsky gave a small snort of laughter that had no humor in it. Creative. Yeah. You could say that. Chutsky swung his head slowly left, right, left. I said it didn’t bother him to do that stuff—in El Salvador he got to like it. He’d sit in on the interrogation and ask personal questions. Then when he started to— He’d call the person by name, like he was a dentist or something, and say, ‘Let’s try number five,’ or number seven, whatever. Like there were all these different patterns.

What kind of patterns? I asked. It seemed like a perfectly natural question, showing polite interest and keeping the conversation moving. But Chutsky swiveled around in his seat and looked at me as if I was something that might require a whole bottle of floor cleaner.

This is funny to you, he said.

Not yet, I said.

He stared at me for what seemed like an awfully long time; then he just shook his head and faced front again. I don’t know what kind of pattern, buddy. Never asked. Sorry. Probably something to do with what he cut off first. Just something to keep himself amused. And he’d talk to them, call them by name, show them what he was doing. Chutsky shuddered. Somehow that made it worse. You should have seen what it did to the other side.

How about what it did to you? Deborah demanded.

He let his chin fall forward to his chest, then straightened again. That too, he said. Anyway, something finally changed at home, the politics, back in the Pentagon. New regime and all that, and they didn’t want anything to do with what we had been doing down there. So very quietly the word came that Dr. Danco might buy us a small piece of political accommodation with the other side if we delivered him.

You gave up your own guy to be killed? I asked. It hardly seemed fair—I mean, I may be untroubled by a sense of morals, but at least I play by the rules.

Kyle was silent for a long moment. I told you we sold our souls, buddy, he said at last. He smiled again, a little longer this time. Yeah, we set him up and they took him down.

But he’s not dead, Deborah said, always practical.

We got scammed, Chutsky said. The Cubans took him.

What Cubans? Deborah asked. You said El Salvador.