I checked the page again.

The brass clip was hot enough to sting my thumb.

Two names I had seen on last week’s roster were gone, and no correction line had been drawn through them.

“Note the time,” I told him.

“Both of you.”

Dewitt wrote it in his pocket notebook.

Salas wrote it on the back of his hand.

A black truck with government plates came up the access road, slowed at the fuel point, and turned around at the dead end.