There are no vehicles in the hangar.

Just his men and Casper, and the jet.

He turns to Casper.

“What’s going on?”

“A readjustment,” comes a voice, and Pelayo turns as a man emerges through the line of those he has paid, has trained, and once trusted.

The slim man wears cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a plain white shirt. The man’s skin is the same color as his own, his hair is black, but unlike Pelayo, this man has a closely trimmed beard.

“Hello, cousin,” the man says.

Pelayo feels like one of those carnival balloons, the helium emptying out, making the firm shape collapse upon itself, dying and never to recover.

“Miguel,” he says.

“Pelayo,” his cousin nods.

Once more, back to Casper. “Why?” he asks.

Casper spits on the concrete floor. “I have done so much for you, bloody year after bloody year. Always at your side. But…you became crazed, looking to kill your father. Crazed with your plans to go to Afghanistan. Afghanistan! And then you asked me to shoot a little girl. A little girl, as young as my own!” He steps forward, spits again, close to Pelayo’s boots.

“I’m done with you, Abboud. And so is everyone else.”

Pelayo slowly turns back to his smiling cousin.

“Please,” Pelayo says. “Make it quick.”

At some point Pelayo regains consciousness. His life now is nothing but pain, pain, and more pain. He is naked, secured in a heavy metal chair, and his chest is one burning mass where one by one, Miguel invited Pelayo’s lieutenants to come up with a knife and carve their initials into his chest. All he knows is that he’s in a small basement below the aircraft hangar’s floor.

He moans, looks down to his bound wrists.

There are only seven fingers left.

His right eye blinks away a blood stream.

His left eye…

He moans again, and sees the little metal table next to him, with various tools, instruments, and razor-sharp knives. Resting in a bloody patch of gauze is his left eye.

Miguel comes into view, smiling, wiping his hands dry with a cloth. A chest-high leather apron covers most of his clothing. He steps forward, caresses Pelayo’s cheek.

“Please…,” Pelayo begs, whispering around his broken teeth and sliced tongue. “Please…make it quick…”

Miguel says, “I will, I will, cousin. But you know how religious I am, don’t you?”

Pelayo says nothing and then screams as Miguel slaps the bloody stumps on his left hand. “Yes, yes, yes, I know you are a religious man! Please, Miguel, please…end it…”

Miguel leans down. “I will. But I believe in my Lord God. I believe He was the creator of all things. And I believe He created this world in six days.”

He steps out of view and comes back with a large propane blowtorch, which he lights and starts to lower to Pelayo’s waist.

“Which is why I’m going to take six days to end your world, cousin.”

CHAPTER 95

ON A sunny, breezy day in this part of Virginia my family and I follow the directions given to us earlier. It’s a breathtaking and melancholy sight, all the rows of simple tombstones, stretching out beyond us at every view, scattered here and there among trees whose branches look like they wish they were larger, to provide shade and comfort to all who rest here.