I left Mardian at the pool, since I’d given him everything I had about whatever it was I was supposed to know, but really didn’t. The money was invisibly held into the middle of the clamshell holster meant to hold and conceal a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum, 4 inch revolver. The Secret Service agent stood just aside of the big opening as I approached, a square of bright sunshine making the scene look like that of some old renaissance painting. The agent held out my duty weapon, the barrel pointed down, just as I’d delivered it to him.

Technically, the revolver should have been cleared when it was given to him, and then cleared again before it was handed back to me, but informality ruled inside the compound buildings among those who were so well known they didn’t need identification anymore. I accepted the Magnum, nodded with a smile, and then walked out, turning the corner to the right where I knew Gularte would be sitting in the idling Bronco, and waiting with infinite impatience.

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