Sure, being a courier for a secret, possibly terrorist society has its risks, but the pay was worth it. At least I thought it was until I was ordered to make a late-night run to Boston to meet an opium-addicted, vodka-addled contact, who blows the deal. Now I am being hunted as I hobble, injured through the streets of Beantown. When I discover a gun and my new assignment, I wonder if perhaps I made a bad career choice.