wounds often bleed explosively。 He‘d jumped out of the way of the spouting blood like a child avoiding a wasp in his backyard； but had still not escaped it entirely。 The good news was that he‘d made only that one mistake； and his selection of dark clothing had mitigated the danger there。 Lamarck‘s wounds had been immediately and definitively fatal。 The pimp had fallen to the ground as limp as a rag doll。 The two screws that Kelly had drilled in the top of his pistol held a small cloth bag he‘d sewn himself； and the bag had caught the two ejected cartridge cases； leaving the police who‘d investigate the scene without that valuable bit of evidence。 His stalk had been effectively carried out； just one more anonymous face in a large and anonymous bar。
His hastily selected site for the elimination had also worked well enough。 He remembered walking down the alley and blending back into the sidewalk traffic； walking the distance to his car and driving back to the motel。 There； he‘d changed clothes； bundling the blood…splattered slacks； shirt； and； just to be sure； the underwear as well； into a plastic cleaner bag； which he‘d walked across the street and deposited in a supermarket Dumpster。 If the clothing was discovered； it might well be taken as something soiled by a sloppy meatcutter。 He hadn‘t met with Lamarck in the open。 The only lighted place to which they‘d spoken was the bar‘s men‘s room； and there fortune … and planning … had smiled on him。 The sidewalk they‘d walked on was too dark and too anonymous。 Perhaps a casual observer who might have known Lamarck could give an investigator a rough idea of Kelly‘s size； but little else； and that was a reasonable gamble to have taken； Kelly judged； looking down at the wooded hills of northern Alabama。 It had been an apparent robbery； the pimp‘s one thousand； four hundred seventy dollars of flash money tucked away in his bag。 Cash was cash； after all； and not to have taken it would have shown the police that there had been a real motive in the elimination aside from something easily understandable and agreeably random。 The physical side of the event … he could not think of it as a crime … was； he thought； as clean as he could have done it。
Psychological？ Kelly asked himself。 More than anything else Kelly had tested his nerve； the elimination of Pierre Lamarck having been a kind of field experiment； and in that he‘d surprised himself。 It had been some years since Kelly had entered bat； and he‘d halfway expected a case of the shakes after the event。 Such things had happened to him more than once before； but though his stride away from Lamarck‘s body had been slightly uneasy； he‘d handled the escape with the sort of tense aplomb that had marked many of his operations in Vietnam。 So much had e back to him。 He could catalog the familiar sensations that had returned as though he‘d been watching a training film of his own production： the increased sensory awareness； as though his skin had been sandblasted； exposing every nerve； hearing； sight； smell all amplified。 I was so fucking alive at that moment； he thought。 It was vaguely sad that such a thing had happened due to the ending of a human life； but Lamarck had long since forfeited his right to life。 In any just universe； a person … Kelly simply could not think of him as a man … who exploited helpless girls simply did not deserve the privilege of breathing the same air used by other human beings。 Perhaps he‘d taken the wrong turn； been unloved by his mother or beaten by his father。 Perhaps he‘d been socially deprived； raised in poverty； or exposed to inadequate schooling。 But those were matters for psychiatrists or social workers。 Lamarck had acted normally enough to function as a person in his munity； and the only question that mattered to Kelly was whether or not he had lived his life in accordance with his own free will。 That had clearly been the case； and those who took improper actions； he had long since decided； ought to have considered the possible consequences of those actions。 Every girl they exploited might have had a father or mother or sister or brother or lover to be outraged at her victimization。 In knowing that and in taking the risk； Lamarck had knowingly gambled his life to some greater or lesser degree。 And gambling means that sometimes you lose； Kelly told himself。 If he hadn‘t weighed the hazards accurately enough； that was not Kelly‘s problem； was it？
No； he told the ground； thirty…seven thousand feet below。
And what did Kelly feel about it？ He pondered that question for a while； leaning back and closing his eyes as though napping。 A quiet voice； perhaps conscience； told him that he ought to feel something； and he searched for a genuine emotion。 After several minutes of consideration； he could find none。 There was no loss； no grief； no remorse。 Lamarck had meant nothing to him and probably would be no loss to anyone else。 Perhaps his girls … Kelly had counted five of them in the bar … would be without a pimp； but then maybe one of them would seize the opportunity to correct her life。 Unlikely； perhaps； but possible。 It was realism that told Kelly he couldn‘t fix all the problems of the world； it was idealism that told him his inability to do so did not preclude him from addressing individual imperfections。 But all that took him away from the initial question： What did he feel about the elimination of Pierre Lamarck？ The only answer he could find was； Nothing。 The professional elation of having done something difficult was different from satisfaction； from the nature of the task。 In ending the life of Pierre Lamarck he had removed something harmful from the surface of the pla。 It had enriched him not at all … taking the money had been a tactic； a camouflage measure； certainly not an objective。 It had not avenged Pam‘s life。 It had not changed very much。 It had been like stepping on an offensive insect … you did it and moved on。 He would not try to tell himself different； but neither would his conscience trouble him； and that was sufficient to the moment。 His little experiment had been a success。 After all the mental and physical preparation； he had proven himself worthy of the task before him。 Kelly‘s mind focused behind closed eyes on the mission before him。 Having killed many men better than Pierre Lamarck； he could now think with confidence about killing men worse than the New Orleans pimp。
This time they visited him； Greer saw with satisfaction。 On the whole； ClA‘s hospitality was better。 James Greer had arranged parking in the VIP Visitors‘ area … the equivalent at the Pentagon was always haphazard and difficult to use … and a secure conference room。 Cas Podulski thoughtfully selected a seat at the far end； close to the air…conditioning vent； where his smoking wouldn‘t bother anyone。
‘Dutch； you were right about this kid；‘ Greer said； handing out typed copies of the handwritten notes which had arrived two days earlier。
‘Somebody ought to have put a gun to his head and walked him into OCS。 He would have been the kind of junior officer we used to be。‘
Podulski chuckled at his end of the table。 ‘No wonder he got out；‘ he said with lighthearted bitterness。
‘I‘d be careful putting a gun to his head；‘ Greer observed with a chuckle of his own。 ‘I spent a whole night last week going through his package。 This guy‘s a wild one in the field。‘
‘Wild？‘ Maxwell asked with a hint of disapproval in his voice。 ‘Spirited； you mean； James？‘
Perhaps a promise； Greer thought： ‘A self…starter。 He had three manders and they backed him on every play he made except one。‘
‘PLASTIC FLOWER？ The political…action major he killed？‘
‘Correct。 His lieutenant was furious about that； but if it‘s true about what he had to watch； the only thing you can fault was his judgment； rushing in the way he did。‘
‘I read through that； James。 I doubt I could have held back；‘ Cas said； looking up from the notes。 Once a fighter pilot； always a fighter pilot。 ‘Look at this； even his grammar is good！‘ Despite his accent； Podulski had been assiduous in learning his adopted language。
‘Jesuit high school；‘ Greer pointed out。 ‘I‘ve gone over our in…house assessment of KINGPIN。 Kelly‘s analysis tracks on every major point except where he calls a few spades。‘
‘Who did the CIA assessment ？‘ Maxwell asked。
‘Robert Ritter。 He‘s a European specialist they brought in。 Good man； a little terse； knows how to work the field； though。‘
‘Operations guy？‘ Maxwell asked。
‘Right。‘ Greer nodded。 ‘Did some very nice work working Station Budapest。‘
‘And why；‘ Podulski asked； ‘did they bring in a guy from that side of the house to look over the KINGPIN operation？‘
‘I think you know the answer； Cas；‘ Maxwell pointed out。
‘If BOXWOOD GREEN goes； we need an Operations guy from this house。 We have to have it。 I don‘t have the juice to do everything。 Are we agreed on that？‘ Greer looked around the table； seeing the reluctant nods。 Podulski looked back down at his documents before saying what they all thought。
‘Can we trust him？‘
‘He‘s not the one who burned KINGPIN。 Cas； we have Jim Angleton looking at that。 It was his idea to bring Ritter onboard。 I‘m new here； people。 Ritter knows the bureaucracy