out slowly.
That’s the way Mishwe thinks.
In truth, it was a strong reason for keeping Mishwe on. A lot of Casey’s wishes became fulfilled because of his right-hand man’s ability to intuit them, get them done without a lot of aggravating questions, ethical decisions or publicity.
Suddenly, a lot of nasty arrows pointed to Mishwe. He had always been the facility’s most valuable player, even though he chose to play alone. With Bartlett gone, Casey was free of the only Roman Catholic on his staff, but he was seriously short-handed, as well.
Maybe Marte Chang will work into something permanent, he thought. That is, willingly work into something permanent.
Meanwhile, there was the matter of Mishwe. Casey decided it was time to put a leash on the man, but it would have to wait until Marte Chang’s project was finished. Then she would either be one of them or gone, and that would determine what kind of leash to put on Mishwe, and how short.
Chapter 10
Harry Toledo clearly remembered the bright lights of his birth at the turn of the millennium fifteen years ago, he remembered the blood-stink and the noise. The blessing of his extraordinary memory had turned on him as often as it had given him comfort. The stink came back to him now as he nursed his broken nose. The lights and the noise had been with him all along.
“Your father used to hate to fight.”
Grace Toledo raised her voice loud enough so that Harry could hear her over the running water.
He always did a good job of it, Harry thought.
Grace Toledo was washing her hands for the fourth time in an hour. Harry studied his battered face in the hallway mirror and didn’t say anything. If it weren’t for the cuts, bruising and the swelling, he would be a dead ringer for the Colonel at fifteen. They shared the same gray eyes, dark hair, high cheekbones, full lips. The Colonel wore his hair short and crisp; Harry’s curled over the back of his shirt collar.
We sure as hell don’t share attitude, Harry thought.
He listened to the whirr of his terminal down the hall as it copied his personal network and files into his Sidekick for travel.
Harry saw that he would resemble his father, too, in the break that pushed his nose just a hair to the left.
Great, he thought. Another tender reminder of paternal affection.
Harry hadn’t been shaving long enough to tell what kind of beard he might have. At fifteen, he hoped that it would fill out more. Nothing much in Harry Toledo’s life was normal. He was an information junkie who finished high school three years early from his home station. For the last year he showed up at American School only to take his exams and fill out paperwork. He didn’t miss having to explain his constant bruising.
The water stopped.
“Do you think he’ll die?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “They had to strap him down to get him out of here. . . .”
Now that he and his mother were alone, they could consider such things. The house Watchdog system had notified security and the embassy, who responded with their own people. The Costa Bravans would be brought in first thing in the morning.
That will not be pretty, Harry thought.
Costa Brava’s Hacienda Police would not bother themselves over a coffee worker’s wife who stabbed her husband, even if he died. But when the stabbed husband is a famous North American colonel, someone’s head must roll. Harry looked at his watch.
Five-twenty.
He keyed the Watchdog scanner for the departure of the last of the embassy’s investigators.
05:04:58.
Harry’s mother didn’t have much time.
It doesn’t pay to be famous, he thought.
Some of the time it paid. Being a liaison for the new Confederation of Costa Brava had brought Colonel Toledo and his family this mansion in the Colonia Escalon neighborhood, one of the most exclusive in all of Central America. It came with a full security system, including guards, who might be good at defending against outside attack, but so far they
That’s the way Mishwe thinks.
In truth, it was a strong reason for keeping Mishwe on. A lot of Casey’s wishes became fulfilled because of his right-hand man’s ability to intuit them, get them done without a lot of aggravating questions, ethical decisions or publicity.
Suddenly, a lot of nasty arrows pointed to Mishwe. He had always been the facility’s most valuable player, even though he chose to play alone. With Bartlett gone, Casey was free of the only Roman Catholic on his staff, but he was seriously short-handed, as well.
Maybe Marte Chang will work into something permanent, he thought. That is, willingly work into something permanent.
Meanwhile, there was the matter of Mishwe. Casey decided it was time to put a leash on the man, but it would have to wait until Marte Chang’s project was finished. Then she would either be one of them or gone, and that would determine what kind of leash to put on Mishwe, and how short.
Chapter 10
Harry Toledo clearly remembered the bright lights of his birth at the turn of the millennium fifteen years ago, he remembered the blood-stink and the noise. The blessing of his extraordinary memory had turned on him as often as it had given him comfort. The stink came back to him now as he nursed his broken nose. The lights and the noise had been with him all along.
“Your father used to hate to fight.”
Grace Toledo raised her voice loud enough so that Harry could hear her over the running water.
He always did a good job of it, Harry thought.
Grace Toledo was washing her hands for the fourth time in an hour. Harry studied his battered face in the hallway mirror and didn’t say anything. If it weren’t for the cuts, bruising and the swelling, he would be a dead ringer for the Colonel at fifteen. They shared the same gray eyes, dark hair, high cheekbones, full lips. The Colonel wore his hair short and crisp; Harry’s curled over the back of his shirt collar.
We sure as hell don’t share attitude, Harry thought.
He listened to the whirr of his terminal down the hall as it copied his personal network and files into his Sidekick for travel.
Harry saw that he would resemble his father, too, in the break that pushed his nose just a hair to the left.
Great, he thought. Another tender reminder of paternal affection.
Harry hadn’t been shaving long enough to tell what kind of beard he might have. At fifteen, he hoped that it would fill out more. Nothing much in Harry Toledo’s life was normal. He was an information junkie who finished high school three years early from his home station. For the last year he showed up at American School only to take his exams and fill out paperwork. He didn’t miss having to explain his constant bruising.
The water stopped.
“Do you think he’ll die?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “They had to strap him down to get him out of here. . . .”
Now that he and his mother were alone, they could consider such things. The house Watchdog system had notified security and the embassy, who responded with their own people. The Costa Bravans would be brought in first thing in the morning.
That will not be pretty, Harry thought.
Costa Brava’s Hacienda Police would not bother themselves over a coffee worker’s wife who stabbed her husband, even if he died. But when the stabbed husband is a famous North American colonel, someone’s head must roll. Harry looked at his watch.
Five-twenty.
He keyed the Watchdog scanner for the departure of the last of the embassy’s investigators.
05:04:58.
Harry’s mother didn’t have much time.
It doesn’t pay to be famous, he thought.
Some of the time it paid. Being a liaison for the new Confederation of Costa Brava had brought Colonel Toledo and his family this mansion in the Colonia Escalon neighborhood, one of the most exclusive in all of Central America. It came with a full security system, including guards, who might be good at defending against outside attack, but so far they
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