Frelaine swung around and gathered up the letters. He thumbed through them rapidly and found what he had been waiting for—the long white envelope from ECB, with the official government seal on it.
“That’s it!” Frelaine said, and broke into a grin. “That’s the baby!”
“Fine.” Morger eyed the envelope with interest, but didn’t ask Frelaine to open it. It would be a breach of etiquette, as well as a violation in the eyes of the law. No one was supposed to know a Victim’s name except his Hunter. “Have a good hunt.”
“I expect to,” Frelaine replied confidently. His desk was in order—had been for a week. He picked up his briefcase.
“A good kill will do you a world of good,” Morger said, putting his hand lightly on Frelaine’s padded shoulder. “You’ve been keyed up.”
“I know.” Frelaine grinned again and shook Morger’s hand.
“Wish I was a kid again,” Morger said, glancing down at his crippled leg with wryly humorous eyes. “Makes me want to pick up a gun again.”
The old man had been quite a Hunter in his day. Ten successful hunts had qualified him for the exclusive Tens Club. And, of course, for each hunt Morger had had to act as Victim, so he had twenty kills to his credit.
“I sure hope my Victim isn’t anyone like you,” Frelaine said, half in jest.
“Don’t worry about it. What number will this be?”