Nanokill Chapter 5
Three Days Earlier, Humboldt Co NV.
Axel Starker focused the left lens of his binoculars. Ordinarily he made it his business to step into places where other men demurred: an alley in Falluja, a thicket in Mali, out of the shelter of a shattered Humvee. Today was an exception. From a high bluff he looked down as two Mexican field hands worked a quarter of a mile away at a task they were being well paid to do. The thin one wore a San Diego Padres baseball cap. The other was a brown ball of butter, bareheaded, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as the pair went about their tasks.
Starker was a smart man with the physical speed of an adder. His face was spherical, his shaved head shaped like a battering ram. It was hard to see where his head ended and neck began. He had no tattoos. A healed scar crossed the back of his head, visible to anyone bold enough to stare. But few were so bold. Starker’s green-eyed gaze was one part predator, one part anabolic steroids. It unnerved people, and they looked away to avoid acknowledging the threat they felt in their bones.
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