Midnight Sun (46 page)

“
Did
you
just
kill
him?
”
Hilde asked.

“
No,
”
Marcus
replied,
“
but
his
head
is
going
to
hurt
like
crazy
when
he
wakes
up.
”

He
motioned
to
the
gang
member
who
stayed
with
his
leader.
“
Get
him
out
of
here
or
you
’
re
next.
”

He
immediately
complied,
grabbing
Snake
by
the
shirt
and
unceremoniously
dragging
him
into
the
dark
recesses
between
the
train
yard
buildings.
The
other
gangsters
dragged
themselves
and
their
unconscious
mates
the
same
direction
until
they
had
all
disappeared
the
way
they
came.

Chapter
9

Port of Anchorage

Monday,
June
20th

10:35
p.m.

Steven
Farrah
strode
out
the
door
and
into
the
deepening
shadows
of
the
massive
fuel
tanks
that
loomed
above
the
comparatively
tiny
building.
The
soles
of
his
Stamford
loafers
crunched
on
the
gravel
as
he
crossed
the
short
distance
to
the
white
Audi
and
got
in.
He
started
it
and
sat
back
in
the
soft
leather
seat.
The
engine
idled
smoothly,
belying
the
power
under
the
hood.
There
were
not
many
things
he
had
indulged
himself
in
since
moving
to
America
from
Britain.
He
was
not
big
on
food
or
drink,
did
not
dance
or
go
to
bars,
and
found
most
movies
boring.
He
was
a
man
whose
entertainment
consisted
of
a
limited
selection
of
classical
music—only the
relatively
quiet
pieces—engineering
problems,
mathematical
equations,
and
the
nightly
Sudoku
puzzle
that
helped
him
relax
before
bed.
The
only
exception
was
driving
his
Audi.

As
the
5.2
liter
V10
engine
purred,
he
pressed
the
play
button
on
the
console's
media
center.
Farah
leaned
back,
closed
his
eyes,
and
let
a
serene
smile
slide
across
his
lips
as
the
thirteen-speaker
Bose
surround-sound
system
came
to
life
with
Gabriel
Faure
's
Requiem
In
Paradisum
.
The
haunting
melody
voiced
in
Latin
by
a
choir
of
boys
and
men
floated
ghostlike
from
the
speakers,
filling
the
space
of
the
vehicle,
soaking
through
his
tension.
His
mind
drifted
to
his
university
days,
recalling
a
quote
by
the
composer
that
his
music
professor
had
made
the
class
memorize:
"It
has
been
said
that
my
requiem
does
not
express
the
fear
of
death
and
someone
has
called
it
a
lullaby
of
death.
But
it
is
thus
that
I
see
death:
as
a
happy
deliverance,
an
aspiration
towards
happiness
above,
rather
than
as
a
painful
experience.
”

He
opened
his
eyes,
put
the
car
in
gear,
and
pulled
away
from
the
small
building,
making
a
three-point
turn
that
set
him
back
on
the
shipyard
road
toward
to
the
security
booth
at
the
port
’
s
exit.
The
window
of
the
booth
slid
open
as
he
approached,
and
an
overweight
security
officer
leaned
out
with
a
clipboard
in
one
hand
and
a
large
celery
stick
in
the
other.
He
bore
black
stubble
on
his
cheeks
and
double
chin.
The semi-transparent beard
was
probably
an
attempt
at
the
macho
look,
but
if that was the case it failed,
instead
leaving
him
looking
unkempt
and
hung
over.