“There isn’t anybody else,” I groan. “I’ve been running the show single-handed, the way The Cardinal wanted. I don’t have anyone groomed to step in. By the time I trained someone, it would be too late. I have to act now, before the villacs strike.”

Ford shakes his head again. “I won’t be held responsible for what’d go wrong. I’m useless to you.”

“What if I went down on my knees and pleaded?”

“You won’t. It’s not your style.”

“Bastard,” I mutter, then stand and walk away without a farewell, leaving Ford Tasso to the shade, his reminiscences and the wheelchair.

I didn’t expect the old warhorse to accept my offer — at his stage of life, in his condition, he’d have to be insane to step back into the firing range — but it was worth a shot. With him at the helm I could have pursued the villacs without worry. Now I’ll have to struggle on alone as best I can.

What the hell are they up to and how are they managing it? I know from firsthand experience that the dead can return, but the same corpses rising twice from the grave is a bit much. Could the Paucar Wami in the photo have been a double, as Ford suggested? Leonora, Conchita, Y Tse too? I’m sure the villacs remember what the Ayuamarcans looked like. They might be plaguing me with look-alikes to distract me. Perhaps they want me to abandon my post, clearing the way for insurrection. They’ll have a long wait if that’s their game. Time, as the song goes, is on my side. I can wait those bastards out. They won’t panic me into—

The car crashes through a red light. Horns blare. We accelerate sharply. “What’s wrong?” I shout, looking out the rear window, checking for pursuit.