Chapter 17. Andy Parker awoke with a start in a place he couldn't remember seeing before and hoped to never see again.

It looked like some kind of warehouse, but it had definitely seen better days. The morning sun streamed in through the great gaps between the slats and the walls,

forming brilliant shafts of light and the thick layer of dust that hung in the air.

It gave an oddly grand feeling to a building that was little more than a shack filled with crates.

It took Parker a moment to realize that he had been paying so much attention to the light

he had failed to notice the man in the shadows.

"'Good morning,' said Gregoror Samson condescendingly. Parker reached hastily for his 38 and found it gone.

Looking for this? Samson asked casually, holding Parker's weapon aloft by the barrel.

Sorry to help myself, but you were awful handy with it last night. Parker blinked his

eyes hard as the aftermath of the inferno at the golden goose came flooding back to him,

of the men who had hunted them as they ran, of being led on a route so circuitous through

alleys, back streets, and sewer tunnels that Parker never knew where he was or where he was going.

He remembered that he and the man in the shadows had finally made a stand. They had hit at least three of their pursuers before

the rest disappeared, and then they had run further and deeper into the night before going to ground.

It couldn't have ended more than a few hours ago. Parker's eyes adjusted to the shadows his new friend was in. Samson's 45 was drawn,

but not pointed directly at Parker or held particularly aggressively. The man was taking no chances,

but Parker did not feel himself in danger. I thought we'd have a little chat, you and I,

Samson began. On what subject?

Parker was cool.

On the subject of free advice, my young friend, but let's start with your name.

Samson's gaze was firm.

Peter.

...