“Why’s she here, then?” the driver asked plaintively. “Why this dungheap?”
Jalousies covered the windows of the houses. Corners of the slats tilted up as eyes peered from within. The Lord knew what the tableau would seem to people who couldn’t hear the discussion.
A naked child opened the door of a house halfway down the street. An adult arm shot from the shadows and dragged him back inside.
“Look, if you’re friends of Angel, then there’s no problem you being here,” the L’Escorial gunner said. He scratched his beard stubble in puzzlement. “But he’s not here, lady, he’s in Potosi.”
“Where in Potosi is he?” Margulies demanded. She massaged the palm of her left hand with her right thumb.
“Well, he’s in headquarters, I suppose, lady,” the gunner said. He was unsure of himself and nervous of giving offense—under circumstances where, moments ago, he’d thought he and his tribarrel were the Lord God Almighty.
“He’s our training officer, lady,” the driver blurted. “He’s training officer of the L’Escorial syndicate.”
“Well, you missed the live show,” Sten Moden said as Coke opened the door of Hathaway House, “but you’re in time for the first rerun.”
The logistics officer had been sitting at the console the whole time Coke’s party was gone. He stretched, reaching up to the lobby’s high ceiling. His lopsided figure looked like an archaeological treasure, an oversized monument dragged from the midst of ruins.
Evie Hathaway stuck her head out from the kitchen. She ducked back, though she could still overhear the Frisians’ conversation.
The team had effectively commandeered the lobby, the only volume in Hathaway House big enough to serve them as an operations room. They had to treat the Hathaways as allies. Georg might be ambivalent, but Evie’s support was willing. Coke and his team had proved they were willing to stand up to the syndicates—if only to get a better price for the FDF’s services.
“Getting good signals?” Niko Daun asked as he stripped off his cloak.
“Clear as a bell,” Moden agreed. “The guards on the tin can at the gate think Dobrynyev, who quit the poker game a winner, was cheating. Though they’re not sure how.”
“Dang!” Niko Daun joked. He was brilliantly cheerful from success, from the end of immediate danger, and from having been part of a dangerous and successful team operation. “Now I gotta go back and stick a personal shadow on Dobrynyev so we can be sure. Knew I should’ve done that!”
“Let’s see how the leaders’ conference went after we were gone,” Coke said. His tone was a little sharper than he’d intended. The men had a right to be pleased; it was just that the job wasn’t finished yet
“Ready to roll,” Moden said mildly. He touched a control.
“We can’t pay that!” Roberson’s recorded voice said in impotent fury.
“I’d pay anything if I thought it would work,” the Widow said. Despair made her empty, while it drove the merchant to frustrated anger. “But if we hire them, then the Lurias will simply bring in more foreigners of their own. Thanks to Suterbilt, they have first look at possibles coming through the port.”
“You don’t understand, Little Star,” Peres interjected. His tone was disdainful, only lightly screened by a pretense of affection. “In a fingersnap, these mercenaries will go through anything L’Escorial can put up. Spaceport toughs and petty criminals, that’s all their best is.”
“Good assessment,” Coke murmured.
Vierziger gave the other men a lazy smile, like that of a cat awakening. “I don’t like them with brains,” he said. “But I’m not convinced that Master Peres has disqualified himself as yet.”
“A gun is a gun,” Roberson muttered. “And just how did you expect to fund these wonderful troops, Peres? Out of your purse?”
“I didn’t expect to fund them at all, old man,” the gigolo sneered. “After all, the transaction can’t go through the Bonding Authority.”
“Will they agree to that?” the Widow asked.
“Smart lady,” Niko said to show that he’d picked up something from the discussion among the officers earlier.
“Not smart enough just to hire us and be done,” Johann Vierziger said. “Wait and see.”
“They’ll have to agree to it,” Peres insisted. “They know as well as we do that the Marvelans would have to take action if they heard we were bringing in a mercenary regiment. If the Bonding Authority’s informed, the Marvelans will hear about it. The Frisians are here to deal, so that means they’re willing to go outside the normal chan
nels.”
“Maybe,” Coke said. “Maybe we’re willing.”
“I don’t see how that follows,” Roberson said, but his voice had lost its vehemence.
“So our Frisian visitors arrive,” Peres caroled, “they clean up our problem. They board the ship we provide, though they don’t know the ship’s ours. And the ship never gets home. The credit chips are aboard the same vessel, so they’re never presented for payment. End of story, yes?”
“You see?” Vierziger said. “My type after all.”
“But can we be certain they’ll agree to act outside the Bonding Authority?” the Widow said. “Surely they’ll recognize the danger.”
“It’s not our doing, you see,” Peres insisted. “The Marvelans really would quash the operation if they heard about it. We’ll offer Master Coke a lagniappe of his own, five percent say. Enough to retire on happily, if he sees matters the right way and explains them to his superiors.”
“I wonder,” Sten Moden observed, “how carefully Mistress Guzman has gone over the contracts her friend lets on her behalf?”
Vierziger tittered. “Definitely my type,” he said as he stretched his delicate, deadly fingers before him. “Dumber than dog squat.”
Daun glanced at the gunman uneasily.
“I’m not sure…” muttered Roberson, but he wasn’t sure enough even of his objections to proceed. Generalized fear hung over the merchant, darkening his vision and blurring details into a miasma of formless danger.
“We don’t have any choice,” the Widow said abruptly. “Every day our situation gets worse. I should have sold my interests to the Lurias when Pablo died, but it’s too late for that now. I’ll call Major Coke.”
“Not yet, Little Star,” Peres said. “We don’t want to look too eager and make them suspicious. Wait for this evening and we’ll say we’ve been able to raise the money after all.”
“In a way,” Sten Moden said, “it would be surprising if clients understood just what they’re buying from soldiers, and how much it’s really worth to them.”
As he spoke, he unconsciously kneaded his left shoulder with his remaining hand.
“All right,” the Widow said. “If you say so, Little Heart. That’s what I’ll do.”
Moden switched off the recording. Mistress Hathaway looked out of the kitchen again.
“And our move, Matthew?” Vierziger asked. He had his pistol out. He was rubbing the metalwork with a synthetic chamois which he carried folded in a pocket.
“L’Escorial doesn’t seem to think they need us,” Coke said, pursing his lips as he considered. “We should do something about that.”
“Pepe Luria is off Cantilucca,” Evie Hathaway volunteered from the doorway. “He’s the active one, though he’s the grandson. Raul and Ramon are probably waiting for him to get back before they start the killing. In earnest.”
Coke nodded. “Do we know where the syndicates’ installations are?” he asked Moden.
The logistics officer grimaced. “I can make some guesses,” he said. “For fine tuning, we’re going to need Barbour. Though if”—he turned toward the kitchen doorway—“Mistress Hathaway is willing to provide some local knowledge, I think we can do a pretty good job right now.”
“What are you planning to do?” Evie said crisply.
“Something very costly to the syndicates,” Coke said. “Are you in?”