“You’re also going to be one of the most feared,” Pierson pointed out, chuckling. “The people in the know in those nations — and we’re talking about every really major nation on earth — are not going to want to piss you off. Not after this. Forget saving Paris. The general outline of what you and the Keldara did is already making the rounds of the intelligence and military services, at least the high-level TS sections. As is the news about the files. And, believe you me, people are shitting their pants as they wait for you to turn up. Especially the ones that don’t know, yet, if they’re going to be getting a visit. Frankly, I’m not sure if they’re more afraid of the files, or you personally.”
“Well, I doubt they will ever love me. Most of them are hypocritical PC motherfuckers with not an ounce of brains between them. Bear witness that the French threw me out on my ass after saving their sorry asses. I’m never going to be well liked by ‘the high and mighty’ of Traskel’s stripe.” He stood up and tossed back his bourbon, then rolled the empty shot glass thoughtfully between thumb and forefinger. “Enough, I suppose, that they fear me.”
“You, and your Mountain Tigers.”