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acknowledge each other around strangers; avoid all compromising situations
. He asked Michael if the seat next to him was free, then perched on it. The tiny, ex-NCIS investigator’s dark face shone bright as he got the bartender’s attention and pointed toward Michael’s Guinness.
    Hacksaw ordered a club sandwich and said in a low tone, “Glad to see Levi’s doing better.” He quietly added, “Tell you what, I got me a bad feelin’ about this job.” He took a swig of his beer. “Someone’s gonna get hurt this time ’round.”
    â€œI’m with you there. And the sooner we get rolling, the safer I’ll feel.”
    â€œDamn straight. An’ I’ll tell ya somethin’ else.” Lines erupted across Hacksaw’s forehead as he made eye contact with his colleague. “I fear that we may find answers to questions we can’t even formulate yet. And I shudder, Michael—I positively shudder as I contemplate what else might be in store for our nation.”
    Michael noted Hack’s rare reversion to a rarified Southern style of speech, and it unnerved him. Hack only did that when he felt something to the core of his soul. Michael finally replied, “Concur. I also think this job will take us in multiple directions.” Then he bit into his sandwich, while outside a heavy snow began to fall, as day turned to dusk.

3
    B rent Kruger wished he were still flying his beloved airplane as he slowed the Ford F-150 to navigate a sharp twist in the dirt road. Once past it he sped up; with only two hours of light left, he had to reach his destination soon. Peering up, he gauged the sky. The light snow that dusted the region earlier should be hitting the East Coast about now, but the cold air left in its wake blasted through the open window. Kruger didn’t care. This way he could hear any unusual noises, and he turned his head like a radar dish as he drove through the high desert thirty miles east of Albuquerque.
    â€œJesus, they sure got his black ass good,” T.J. Jackson said. The young man stretched his long legs up against the floorboard, then fished a pouch of chewing tobacco from his woodland cammie pants. Getting no reply, he asked insistently, “Didn’t they?”
    Kruger regarded Jackson with lifeless black eyes. “What’re you yapping about?”
    â€œMelchior.”
    He grimaced. The boy wasn’t likely to shut up unless he got an answer. “Yeah. They sure did.”
    Jackson packed a pinch of tobacco inside his lower lip, and after pulling his black cowboy hat low over his eyes, he let out a little laugh. “That Jew-boy’s gonna be next.” Then he licked his lips and said in a rush, “You should see the girl I met last night.”
    â€œMet?”
    â€œYeah, over at the Sunset. New barmaid. Name’s Brenda. You should see her. Man, she’s got these bodacious tits.”
    Kruger scoffed. “Bodacious? Is that your word? Bodacious?”
    Jackson cupped his hands in front of his chest. “Oh yeah.”
    Slowing for a small wash-out in a road bordered by chaparral, Kruger said in a monotone, “You talk women but I never see you with one.”
    â€œWhaddya mean? I like women. Don’t you remember that girl I dated last year?”
    Kruger said to the infrequent juniper and the more abundant yucca, “That proves nothing.” When he saw Jackson open his mouth, he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, past the .30-.30 carbine hanging from the gun rack. “Stay focused on what we’re carrying in the back there. That’s the only reason you’re along. That, and you’re white.”
    Jackson blurted, “We’ll get that Jew-boy. Cohen’s never gonna see it coming.”
    Kruger turned on him and yelled, “Shut the hell up.” He drove in silence until his anger waned. “Our work is too important to discuss outside of our grounds. Damn