S.A.S.
The countryside fell away to outer suburbia, then to the concrete geometry of a city pretending it had nothing to hide.
Jack rested his elbow against the open window and let the hot wind take whatever was left of the dust from the garage.
Old oaths had been pulled out of storage, oiled, reassembled.
Next stop: the baker. Then the hacker. Then the linguist with a letter opener that could pin air to a wall.
One last mission.
He glanced at Bruno, at the lines the years had carved, at the grin that still arrived too quickly and left just as fast.
“Good to have you back,” Jack said.
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