 Recorded Books Presents An Unabridged Recording of The Sinister Pig, by Tony Hillerman, narrated by George Gwadell. This book is copyrighted 2003 by Tony Hillerman. This recording is copyrighted 2003 by Recorded Books. Tony Hillerman was born in Sacred Heart, Oklahoma, in 1925. Growing up a rural farm boy, his high school education was primarily among Native Americans in missionary schools. He received a BA from the University of Oklahoma upon returning from World War II. After fourteen years as a journalist, he decided to get a master's degree in English from the University of New Mexico. There he stayed on, joining the journalism faculty, and eventually becoming the department chair. Today he's retired from teaching, is still married to the same girl he met in 1948, and has two grown-up children. And now, The Sinister Pig. Chapter One David Slate reached across the tiny table in Bistro Biss and handed an envelope to the graying man with the stiff burr haircut. You are now Carl Makin, Slate said. You are newly retired from the Central Intelligence Agency. You are currently employed as a consultant for Seamless Weld. Along with your new credit card, Carl, that envelope holds a lot of authentic looking stuff from Seamless, business cards, expense account forms, that sort of material, but the credit card should cover any expenses. Carl Makin, the bur-haired man, said, inspecting the card, and a Visa card. Carl Makin should be easy to remember, and by next Tuesday I actually will be newly retired from the CIA. He was older than Middle Age, well past sixty, but trim, sunburned, and young looking. He sorted through the papers from the envelope and smiled at Slate. However, I don't seem to find a contract in here, he said. Slate laughed. And I'll bet you didn't expect to find one, either. The senator works on the old-fashioned gentlemen's agreement formula. You know, word as good as your bond? That sounds odd here in Washington these days, but some of the old-timers still like to pretend there's honor alive among the political thieves. Remind me of what that word is then, the new Carl Makin said. As I remember it, you buy my time for thirty days, or until the job is done. Or failing that, I tell you it can't be done, and the pay is fifty thousand dollars either way it works out. And expenses, Slate said. But the credit card should cover that unless you're paying somebody to tell you something. He chuckled somebody who doesn't accept a Visa card. Carl Makin put everything back into the envelope and the envelope on the table beside his salad plate. Who actually pays the credit card bill? I noticed my Carl Makin addresses in El Paso, Texas. As the office of seamless weld, Slate said, the outfit you're working for. The senator owns it? That doesn't sound likely. It isn't likely. It's one of the many subsidiaries of Sirig's Corporation and that, so I understand, is partly owned and totally controlled by AGH Industries. Sirig's? That's the outfit that built the offshore drilling platforms for Nigeria, said Carl Makin. Right? And in the North Sea, Slate said, for the Norwegians, or was it the Swedish? Owned by the senator? Of course not. Sirig's is part of AGH Industries. What are you getting at, anyway? I'm trying to get at who I am actually working for. Slate sipped his orange juice, grinned at Carl Makin, said, You surely don't think anyone would have told me that, do you? I think you could guess. You're the senator's chief administrative aide, his picker of witnesses for the committees he runs, his doer of undignified deeds, his maker of deals with the various lobbyists. Makin laughed, and neat I say it, his finder of other guys like me to run the senator's errands with somebody else paying the fee. So I surely do think you could make an accurate guess. But would you tell me if you did? Slate smiled. Probably not, and I am almost certain you wouldn't believe me if I told you. In which case I should probably make sure to get my pay in advance. Sample complete. Ready to continue?