So that’s what Abdul the jeweler had meant, the Scorpion thought. He remembered the last time he had seen Macready, in the alley behind Hamid’s. “Why’d you wait so long?” Macready had asked, still trying to get it right as if it was Saigon again, while insects smashed against the streetlight.

“Is that all you have to say?” the Scorpion asked.

“What did you expect? Taps at Arlington? Macready is history,” Harris shrugged.

“What was he up to when he got hit?” the Scorpion asked, a metallic taste in his mouth that might have been regret—or fear.

“Who the hell knows? The incompetent son of a bitch didn’t leave any messages behind,” Harris snapped irritably and turned up three cards.

He needed a black six and the six of clubs came up as the second card. He surreptitiously switched it with the third card and placed it triumphantly on a seven of hearts, glancing at the Scorpion to see if he had noticed.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” the Scorpion mused, almost to himself.

“Of course, it shouldn’t have happened, We never should have used him in the first place. Of all times to get stuck with a fucked-up has-been,” Harris fumed, throwing down the cards in disgust.

“No, I mean there was no reason for it. I was the target. The action had shifted away from Qatar, unless …”

“Unless what?” Harris snapped. He reached into his jacket and took out a tiny battery-powered fan. He turned it on and aimed it point blank at his own sweat-slick face. “Christ, doesn’t it ever cool off here?” he muttered irritably.

“This is the cool time here,” the Scorpion remarked. “Wait till late afternoon, then it warms up.”

Harris snapped off the fan for a second and looked at him as if the Scorpion was a waiter who had served him soup with a fly in it. “Macready was a pathetic shit and I’m here to see that things go right for a change. I don’t give a damn about how hot it gets and I don’t need any smart-ass bullshit and most of all I want my questions answered. Now—did Macready get careless or was he terminated before he could get a message to us?” Harris rasped.

“Yes,” the Scorpion replied.

“Yes, he got careless, or yes, he was terminated?”

“Yes, it’s true what they say about you,” the Scorpion shrugged.

“What’s that?” Harris hissed, his eyes as bright and murderous as a reptile’s.

“Macready wasn’t careless. He was famous for his paranoia,” the Scorpion said, ignoring Harris’ question, knowing it would eat away at Harris later on. The way things were shaping up, that might be the only satisfaction he was going to get out of this assignment.