The agents walked out of the mine and into the hard light of a world that no longer looked the same. The trail led them back to the town and to a lawman who carried ghosts of his own from a war fought in a jungle half a world away. He spoke of men with a certain tattoo who moved like smoke and dealt in a kind of violence that left no clean wounds, and in his words, the agents saw the shape of the enemy they now faced. The lawman gave them a name and a place on a map, a parcel of scorched earth out in the waste. They drove the car as far as the road would go and then walked, and what they found there in the dark was a place of profound wrongness, a squalid testament to a mind that had gone digging for the truth and had struck something awful and alive in the deep rock of the world.

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