when he saw Canvas.
“Well,” Canvas said easily, “that’s not really necessary. Is it, love?” He casually took a gun from the waistband of the man next to him and fired three times into Smith’s forehead.
He handed the gun back and started out. “Where you been getting these guys?”
His assistant merely looked away.
Canvas sighed as they left the room. “All right. He wiped his eyes as if he was exhausted and faced with one final odious job before he could rest.”
“Let’s go pay our respects.”
Xenos had drifted in and out of consciousness for hours. Pain racked his body, nausea roiled in his stomach, and he’d lost all sense of time. He couldn’t move, whether because of the ropes that held him to a ceiling beam or not he didn’t know.
He
hoped
it was the ropes.
So he hung there—five inches off the floor—and waited. The next move belonged to the other guys.
The door opened, and a guard ordered the two interior gunmen out. After casting a nervous look up at the seriously wounded man, the final guard left. A moment later Canvas came in.
“Morning,” Jerry.
“Who’s that? The brighter light from the hallway obscured his view.”
“Has it been that long? Canvas closed the door behind him.”
Xenos concentrated on the man who came a step closer. “Oh,” was all he finally said.
The two men—English and American—sat quietly as their Russian defector instructor finished his lesson.
“Remember, never believe yourself to be smarter, more able or better trained than your subject. It is
leverage,
not experience or talent, that moves mountains.”
The man bowed at the head, then left the small classroom.
“Waste of time,” Colin Meadows said as he closed his notebook.
Jerry shrugged. “He made some points.”
“Granted. But all common sense, really.”
The two young men got up, left the building, and began walking through the landscaped grounds of Schweinfurt Intelligence Annex Beta, only one kilometer from the Wall.
“I think most of this stuff is common sense, Colin,” the American thought aloud. “I mean, think about it. You need something from somebody, they don’t want to give it to you…”
“And physicalizing could just radicalize them. Yeah,” the Englishman said simply. “Like I said, waste of time.”
They sat down on a bench watching a volleyball game between two teams of French and American service-women.
“You really believe in all this Four Phase stuff?”
Jerry yawned. “They believe it, or they wouldn’t have spent the last year and a half training me, I guess.”
“Two years for me.” Colin slicked back his hair. “An’ all they done is convince me of what I knew already.”
“Which was?”
The stocky twenty-four-year-old Brit smiled. “That I
am
different from everybody else.” A spasmodic smile flew across his face. “‘Cept maybe you, Jer. And if they want to make me more different, and I can make a living off it, why not?’”
The lean twenty-two-year-old American nodded sadly. “I always felt it too. But I’m not in it for the money.”
“Why, then?”
Jerry was quiet for a long time. “I want to make things, I don’t know
, better
maybe.”
Colin looked disinterested. “Whatever, mate.” He concentrated on two of the women standing by the side of the game, toweling their firm bodies. “But I say we put some of their bloody awful lessons into practice.”
“What do you have in mind?” Jerry asked as he followed the man’s gaze.
“That we practice a little leverage to see if we can’t get those birds’ legs in the air.”
Jerry nodded enthusiastically as the fledgling Four Phase Men moved toward their first real… targets.
“Game on.”
“Is it morning?”
Canvas smiled warmly. “Always is somewhere,” right?
“I suppose. Xenos studied the man below him. He was unarmed, casual, relaxed, and completely in control.” A bad sign. “How you been, Colin?”
“Fair. And yourself?” How you
“Well,” Canvas said easily, “that’s not really necessary. Is it, love?” He casually took a gun from the waistband of the man next to him and fired three times into Smith’s forehead.
He handed the gun back and started out. “Where you been getting these guys?”
His assistant merely looked away.
Canvas sighed as they left the room. “All right. He wiped his eyes as if he was exhausted and faced with one final odious job before he could rest.”
“Let’s go pay our respects.”
Xenos had drifted in and out of consciousness for hours. Pain racked his body, nausea roiled in his stomach, and he’d lost all sense of time. He couldn’t move, whether because of the ropes that held him to a ceiling beam or not he didn’t know.
He
hoped
it was the ropes.
So he hung there—five inches off the floor—and waited. The next move belonged to the other guys.
The door opened, and a guard ordered the two interior gunmen out. After casting a nervous look up at the seriously wounded man, the final guard left. A moment later Canvas came in.
“Morning,” Jerry.
“Who’s that? The brighter light from the hallway obscured his view.”
“Has it been that long? Canvas closed the door behind him.”
Xenos concentrated on the man who came a step closer. “Oh,” was all he finally said.
The two men—English and American—sat quietly as their Russian defector instructor finished his lesson.
“Remember, never believe yourself to be smarter, more able or better trained than your subject. It is
leverage,
not experience or talent, that moves mountains.”
The man bowed at the head, then left the small classroom.
“Waste of time,” Colin Meadows said as he closed his notebook.
Jerry shrugged. “He made some points.”
“Granted. But all common sense, really.”
The two young men got up, left the building, and began walking through the landscaped grounds of Schweinfurt Intelligence Annex Beta, only one kilometer from the Wall.
“I think most of this stuff is common sense, Colin,” the American thought aloud. “I mean, think about it. You need something from somebody, they don’t want to give it to you…”
“And physicalizing could just radicalize them. Yeah,” the Englishman said simply. “Like I said, waste of time.”
They sat down on a bench watching a volleyball game between two teams of French and American service-women.
“You really believe in all this Four Phase stuff?”
Jerry yawned. “They believe it, or they wouldn’t have spent the last year and a half training me, I guess.”
“Two years for me.” Colin slicked back his hair. “An’ all they done is convince me of what I knew already.”
“Which was?”
The stocky twenty-four-year-old Brit smiled. “That I
am
different from everybody else.” A spasmodic smile flew across his face. “‘Cept maybe you, Jer. And if they want to make me more different, and I can make a living off it, why not?’”
The lean twenty-two-year-old American nodded sadly. “I always felt it too. But I’m not in it for the money.”
“Why, then?”
Jerry was quiet for a long time. “I want to make things, I don’t know
, better
maybe.”
Colin looked disinterested. “Whatever, mate.” He concentrated on two of the women standing by the side of the game, toweling their firm bodies. “But I say we put some of their bloody awful lessons into practice.”
“What do you have in mind?” Jerry asked as he followed the man’s gaze.
“That we practice a little leverage to see if we can’t get those birds’ legs in the air.”
Jerry nodded enthusiastically as the fledgling Four Phase Men moved toward their first real… targets.
“Game on.”
“Is it morning?”
Canvas smiled warmly. “Always is somewhere,” right?
“I suppose. Xenos studied the man below him. He was unarmed, casual, relaxed, and completely in control.” A bad sign. “How you been, Colin?”
“Fair. And yourself?” How you
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