For a moment, he thought military brass might have sent private contractors to make sure the Bến Hải River massacre stayed well and deeply buried, that General Laughtner’s fear of exposure meant no loose threads could be left to dangle. And Jason felt very much like that loose thread. The dirt track stretched into blackness and scrub, no sign of any house. Maybe the general thought it wasn’t enough to string him out on morphine, then send him home disgraced and shot full of heroin. But that didn’t feel right, either.

Why send him home at all?

Why not have these guards kill him in a quiet, dark corner of the prison?

Ripley kept the car at fifteen miles an hour, rolled onto a low hill, and began to climb. At the top, they leveled out, and then began a shallow descent on the other side, a cluster of lights gleaming in the near distance. Closer, the scene resolved into an abandoned farmhouse lit by temporary floods and the lights of five vehicles arranged in a loose circle. The house was decrepit, abandoned. Jason spotted armed men at the corners, and in the dimness beyond the cars. Ripley pulled into the circle of headlights, and turned off the engine. “My advice,” he said, “is to move slowly.”

He tipped his head to mean, Out of the car. And Jason was fine with that. If it was a fight, he’d fight. And if it came to dying …

He opened the door, stepped out, and turned a slow circle. He’d missed the sniper on the roof, the shapes of people in some of the cars. He looked at the faces of the nearest armed men. Not one face showed a flicker. “Shoot me or talk to me.”

He wanted answers. He didn’t know a damn thing. Then suddenly he did.

A car door opened, and a man got out. “Hello, Jason.”

Jason kept a calm face, but felt something different on the inside.

Dear God, he’s out.

In the cone of bright lights, X did not look particularly dangerous, but neither would a coral snake. He seemed pleased with himself, too, still bruised and broken-toothed, but smiling modestly in a seersucker suit with calfskin loafers and a snowy shirt, open at the collar.

“May we talk?”

It sounded like a question, but it really wasn’t. Jason counted eight armed men, plus the two at the entrance.

“Please.” X gestured at the car behind him, something large, long, and brand-new. “Warden Wilson made arrangements to delay the alarm at your escape, but it will sound.”

Again, Jason ran scenarios. Four armed men were watching his every move, no fingers on the triggers, but close. The other men were turned outward, covering the drive and the cross-country approaches. No escape in any direction.

Jason got in the car. Soft leather. New-car smell. X slid in beside him, and someone else closed the door.