But Agent 47 wasn’t looking for trouble—not yet—and plastered a friendly smile on what was supposed to be Mel Johnson’s face as he brought the truck to a halt. The side windows whirred as they went down. A man with the look of a part-time bodybuilder sauntered up to the driver’s side. He had bushy eyebrows, a walrus-style mustache, and a pugnacious jaw.

“So,” he said conversationally, as the second biker stuck his head in through the passenger side window. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the Reaper,” 47 replied with what he hoped was a sufficient amount of gravitas.

“Yeah?” the man replied. “I’ve heard of you. They call me Nix. And that’s Joey. They told us you was comin’ on a bike.”

“That was the plan,” the assassin agreed soberly. “But the chopper broke down, so I borrowed this.”

There was a burst of static from the other side of the truck, followed by some unintelligible conversation as Joey brought a walkie-talkie up next to his ear. After listening for a moment, he replaced it at his side.

“That was Skinner,” the biker proclaimed importantly. “The Big Kahuna wants to start the meeting, but they’re waitin’ on this guy.”

“Sounds like you’d better get a move on,” Nix advised. “But nobody gets in without a chip.”

Agent 47 nodded, plucked the $500 casino chip out of his vest pocket, and handed it over. Nix produced a disc of his own, compared the two, and returned the first one to “Johnson.”

“You’re good to go, Reaper,” Nix said. “Hold a sec while Joey backs the grader out of the way. You’re the last guy on the list, so we might as well escort you in.”

There was a pause while Joey fired up the grader’s diesel engine, backed the big machine off the road, and waited for the pickup to pass. Then he moved it back into place. Five minutes later Nix and Joey straddled their choppers as they waved the truck forward.