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'
Like
in
a
support
vat
?
’
'
Nah
.
Dead
.
Got
it
inside
this
brass
hand
thing
,
little
hatch
on
the
side
so
the
Christians
could
kiss
it
for
luck
.
Got
it
off
the
Christians
about
a
million
years
ago
,
and
they
never
dust
the
goddam
thing
,
’
cause
it
’
s
an
infidel
relic
.
’
Black
iron
deer
rusted
in
the
gardens
of
the
Seraglio
.
Case
walked
beside
her
,
watching
the
toes
of
her
boots
crunch
unkept
grass
made
stiff
by
an
early
frost
.
They
walked
beside
a
path
of
cold
octagonal
flagstones
.
Winter
was
waiting
,
somewhere
in
the
Balkans
.
'
That
Terzi
,
he
’
s
grade
-
A
scum
,
’
she
said
.
'
He
’
s
the
secret
police
.
Torturer
.
Real
easy
to
buy
out
,
too
,
with
the
kind
of
money
Armitage
was
offering
.
’
In
the
wet
trees
around
them
,
birds
began
to
sing
.
'
I
did
that
job
for
you
,
’
Case
said
,
'
the
one
in
London
I
got
something
,
but
I
don
’
t
know
what
it
means
.
’
He
told
her
the
Corto
story
.
'
Well
,
I
knew
there
wasn
’
t
anybody
name
of
Armitage
in
that
Screaming
Fist
.
Looked
it
up
.
’
She
stroked
the
rusted
flank
of
an
iron
doe
.
'
You
figure
the
little
computer
pulled
him
out
of
it
?
In
that
French
hospital
?
’
'
I
figure
Wintermute
,
’
Case
said
.
She
nodded
.
'
Thing
is
,
’
he
said
,
'
do
you
think
he
knows
he
was
Corto
,
before
?
I
mean
,
he
wasn
’
t
anybody
in
particular
,
by
the
time
he
hit
the
ward
,
so
maybe
Wintermute
just
.
.
.
’
