"Two masked men freed the child."

Jorge seems seriously upset. I'd be too if I were him. It's really aggravating news. It took only two men to breach one of our bases, for God's sake.

"What child?" I ask him.

"The one the Red Eagles captured for you."

"Oh. That one."

I wish Jorge would stare at me with a less calculating expression.

"Well, it seems the parents have underworld connections," I point out. "And they must be rich, too. They had the means to pay the best pros in town."

"Do you think so, boss?"

"Yes. There's no other way for only two guys to beat up sixty—um... so many of our men. The fucking kid's parents are probably in the mafia, Jorge."

"If you say so, boss," he answers, still staring at me, wide-eyed.

"So you should tell the Red Eagles not to fuck with that kindergarten again," I instruct him. "You know, it's one of those places where the mob's children gather."

Jorge raises one of his eyebrows.

"What?" I snap. "They aren't born with a Kalashnikov in their hands. They need proper education, too."

Jorge still fails to seem convinced.

"You know, boss, those two men were very good."

"How good?" I ask him, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Them two beating up exactly sixty-eight armed men, without using a weapon? How good do you think they are, boss?"

"Well—"

"I don't know many people who'd be able to do that."

I clear my throat, shrugging. Jorge's tone has a slight accusing edge. He's too clever for his own good. In fact, he's the only one who thinks in the whole army, which comes in handy, usually. But not now.

"So, are we giving up on the boy?" he asks.

"Yeah. I didn't want to send him back in pieces to that woman, anyway, just to make a point. Her opinion doesn't matter. She doesn't matter."

"Is she Gabriel?"

Jorge's question leaves me speechless. I feel a sudden rush of blood to my head in a split second. He has no idea how close he is to become the sixty-ninth of my men beaten up by me.

"If I were you," I tell him when I feel calm enough to speak again, "I'd forget that name as soon as I can."

"I will try, boss."

"Try harder, Jorge. It's bad for your health."

For an entire minute, he avoids my gaze. I want to make sure that he never crosses that line again, so I don't offer him an easy way out. It always works, just like in the case of animals. Averting the eyes means submission. Staring back, on the other hand, could be interpreted as a challenge. And he doesn't want that. No one wants that.

I almost turn away when Jorge slowly blinks, as if roused from sleep.

"The virus is bad for my health too, boss," he says, after a very long pause. "If I die anyway, I'd feel better if you killed me."

I breathe out. I breathe in. I breathe out again. Very slowly, to prevent my throat from closing. I've never thought that Jorge had it in him, but he almost triggered my panic, playing at my conscience.

As if I had one.

I breathe in. I breathe out. Everything's in working order.

"Let's make something very clear," I tell him, sounding as cold as ice. "I'm not your boyfriend to make you feel good. And I'm not your mother either, to feel sorry for you. Understood?"

"Yes, boss."

"You mistake me for someone else again, and I'll make your wish come true, but not in a way you'll appreciate. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, boss."

"Are you sure?"

"A hundred percent sure, boss."

He looks miserable enough to make his promise believable. I hope he's serious. For his sake, more than for my own.

"Now," I go on, lecturing him, "if you're scared, wear a fucking mask. In our business, it has more than one practical use. And about the vaccine..."

I trail off, waiting for him to cut in, or protest, or ask questions. He doesn't. Good. There's a good boy.

"What do you think, how will Pavlov control the distribution of the vaccine?" I carry on. "Will he personally administer the shots? Asking if you like boys or girls, huh? It's not very probable, right? The vaccine will be transported, and, even if it's guarded, even if he can build a network all over the world, even if every country's every administration will be forced to follow his rules if they want to get the cure—I mean, even if he has the whole fucking world under his thumb, do you think that it will be harder to get our hands on a shipment of vaccines than weapons? Or drugs?"

Jorge shrugs.

"Are we able to get those, Jorge?"

"Yes, boss."

"Then quit whining, all right?"

He nods. But he still fails to look content.

"All right, boss. This solves my problem. But there are other gay people, without connections. They will die."

"Yes."

"People like me. All around the world."

"I don't care," I snap. "I don't give a shit about the world. Or the people. For all I care, they can wipe themselves out."

"But maybe we could—"

"People are stupid, Jorge. And weak. They deserve it."

"At least—"

"What have I told you about mistaking me for someone else? I'm not fucking Mother Teresa, either. If you have problems with it, just let me know. You can say it. Once."

Jorge takes a deep breath. Then, out of the blue, he grins.

"I'm glad you're back, boss," he says. "I kinda missed your usual ways."

I spread my hands.

"You know what they say," he goes on, "better the demon you know than the demon you don't know."

"I don't think anyone has ever said that, Jorge."

"You've been behaving a bit strange lately, boss. It was the spirit of desperation, right? I felt it hanging over your head. And now, it's gone."

That sounds pretty accurate. Jorge might have psychic powers, indeed.

"All right," I say, clearing my throat. "Enough of the chitchat. Today, we attack the lab."

"Easy as a breeze, boss. Just come and go. We have the map, the layout, the number of people guarding it, so what could possibly go wrong?"

"Strength's not only in numbers, Jorge," I remind him. "There will be well-trained agents amongst those guards."

"We faced them before, boss. You trained us well, too, as it seems."

"Okay. Be quick. Minimize casualties. Remember, you don't need to demolish the place. We need the sample and the documentation, and that's it."

"We? Fucking Pavlov needs that."

"Jorge. I warned you."

"I know, boss. Another word and my knees will be coming out of my ears."

"Yeah. Something like that."