“Captain,” the aide ordered, “you and your driver must come right now. If you are killed by yuons it will be a diplomatic crisis. You cannot die here. Maybe go to Baray.”
It was after midnight. Met Sar turned on the lamp. His paranoia was great. Although the Movement maintained its central headquarters on Mount Aural, Sar no longer spent consecutive nights there, no longer consecutive nights anywhere. The encampment east of Baray was dark, the hidden bunker was musty, cool. Sar shivered. The morning had been extraordinarily hot and the afternoon rain had barely moderated the temperature. By contrast the night was cold. Sar removed the batch of papers from his case, set the case at one end of the small collapsible table. He stared at the words he’d written. Yet on his mind was Nang. Word h
