little chat with Morrison's spouse. He hadn't told his client, who
thought his young trophy wife was protected--no point in giving him
anything else to worry about.
The feds would probably want to have a few more chats with the widow
Morrison, and certainly the Chinese would pay the young lady a visit,
but since she didn't know anything, she couldn't tell either side
anything. She might be joining her late husband by the time the
Chinese figured that out, but that wasn't his problem--as long as he
wasn't there when the Yellow Peril came to call.
The Yellow Peril. He smiled. He wasn't a racist. Sure, he played
that card for people like Bull Smith, to allow them to believe he was
simpatico with their beliefs, but he didn't care one way or another
about somebody's skin color or gender. He'd worked with people of
every race, male and female, and the single criterion that mattered to
him was how well they could do the job. If you could pull the trigger
when it came to that, and hit your mark, you could be a green
hermaphrodite with purple stripes for all he cared. He'd learned the
term 'Yellow Peril' from the old Fu Manchu books, material that had
been written in an age where racism was the default belief and nobody
thought much about it.
Normally for this kind of work Ventura would have wanted to take his
time. He'd get to know the territory, learn the patterns, who went
where, when, and how, and not move until he had everything pinned down.
The more you knew, the fewer chances for surprises. He didn't have
that luxury now. He needed to move quickly, get his business done, and
leave this behind him. He had his money cleared, clean IDs, and safe
places where he could hide until he had a chance to work out his
longer-term plans.
Being in the moment didn't mean you couldn't think about the future; it
merely meant you didn't live in the future.
He was, he figured, in a fairly good position. Still there was that
nagging uneasiness, that sense of being a bug on a slide. As if a
giant eye could appear in the microscope at any time, staring down at
him. He did not like the feeling.
Well. You did the best you could, and that was that;
nothing else mattered.
They were still an hour or more away from SeaT ac
He'd get some rest. It might be a while before he had another chance.
He took a series of slow, deep breaths.
In three minutes, he was asleep.
Quantico, Virginia
Toni went to the small gym to work off the tension and anger she felt.
There was a guy in steel-rimmed glasses, a T-shirt, and bike shorts
doing hat ha yoga in the corner, otherwise the place was empty. She
hurried through her own stretching routine, bowed in, and began
practicing djurus, working 'the triangle, the tiga. Half an hour
later, when she was done, she started footwork exercises on the square,
langkas on the sliwa.
The moves were there, automatic after so many years, but her mind was
elsewhere.
