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Bolan pressed his throat-mike and said, "Hello Eve, this is Adam."

"Thank God," came the instant reply. "Are you well?"

"Perfectly. Uh, the kill is over."

"Not quite," she said. "You left a lingering casualty."

"Where?"

"Right here."

Grimaldi chuckled and Bolan sent him a stern look. He told Evita, "Parallel paths have a way of crossing from time to time."

"Let's try," she suggested.

"Bet on it," he said. "Goodbye, Big Eve."

"Adios, Tall Adam."

Grimaldi made a pass directly over the boat, and it looked like a ldd's toy on a placid pond. Bolan watched it out of sight, and then his eyes clashed with Grimaldi's.

The pilot winked understandingly and asked, "She come all the way up here just for that?"

Bolan sighed. "Some corners of hell you just can't hang onto, Jack, without a bit of reassurance here and there."

"Whatever that means," the pilot said soberly.

Bolan turned his gaze to the horizon.

How many men had he killed this this week? week?

Enough.

Hell yes, enough for this week's work.

The ones he hadn't killed would be waiting for him somewhere, some time, maybe around the next comer of the map, maybe tomorrow, maybe even tonight.

He thought of Riappi, and the awful embarrassment the big guy would have to face. How would he explain it to his bosses?"

There was more than one way to kill a man, Bolan realized.

But, yeah, for this week of work, it was enough.

Next week, now... well, next week would be a whole new story.

The world died 'twixt every heartbeat, and was born again with each new perception of the mind... and death itself was no more than an unusual perception.

Sure. Next week would accommodate a large number of unusual perceptions.

Bolan settled back into his own little corner of hell, and went to sleep, and dpeamed of paradise. For this time, the kill was over.

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