‘Different situation,’ Pagan said.
‘I think operational security’s a bit fucked,’ I said, watching with some amusement as Morag took a big swig of vodka.
‘Besides,’ Mudge said, taking the bottle back from a resistant Morag. ‘I know what you’re planning. Sounds fucking stupid to me, but don’t worry, you won’t have seen my byline on much recently.’
‘So now we’ve established that we’re all friends, how’s God coming along? Are we all saved yet? Can I go home and get drunk?’ Which reminded me. ‘Have you got my whisky?’ I asked Morag.
‘I drank it,’ Morag said apologetically.
‘All of it!’ I was coming to the conclusion that I preferred being unconscious. Judging by the way Rannu was glaring at me I might soon get the chance again. I wondered what his problem was now.
‘Balor helped,’ Morag said. ‘It was my birthday.’
‘Fucking Balor!’ I spat incredulously.
She shrugged and looked quite uncomfortable. ‘He’s kind of cute when you get to know him.’
‘Can we discuss boys later?’ Pagan asked. ‘In between Morag’s whisky binges we’ve made some good progress.’
‘You’ve been helping?’ I asked her. She nodded. Pagan looked uncomfortable. ‘How long?’ I asked Pagan.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I would hope sooner rather than later.’
‘Assume there won’t be a later,’ I suggested. ‘So what do we do?’
‘Balor says you can stay as long as you want,’ Mudge said.
‘Rolleston knows we’re here?’ I asked Rannu. The ex-Ghurkha nodded. ‘So why not just hit us with another orbital?’
‘The political fallout from Dundee was too heavy,’ Rannu answered. ‘He will not get access to another orbital strike.’
‘Besides,’ Mudge continued, ‘if he didn’t kill everyone he’d spend the next twenty years fighting terrorist insurgency from vengeful special forces types, and I think that Balor’s got an ASAT nuke somewhere. Basically it’s more trouble than it’s worth.’
An anti satellite nuke, a ground to orbital weapon, I gave this some thought. ‘Even Balor wouldn’t do that,’ I said.
‘He wants to burn brightly and be famous, of course he would,’ Mudge said. I saw Pagan nodding in agreement.
‘Conventional forces?’ I asked, already knowing the answer. Mudge let out a humourless laugh.
‘Nightmare scenario, heavily defended city with enough supplies and booby traps to fight an indefinite guerrilla war. Balor and his Fomorians could fight it from underwater, as could a lot of the other vets here. Again more trouble than it’s worth.’
‘Rolleston could buy us,’ I suggested.
‘Balor’s given his word,’ Pagan said.
‘Well that’s reassuring,’ I said sarcastically.
Mudge sighed. ‘Look, Balor’s unquestionably fucked in the head but he keeps his word. It’s one of the reasons he commands so much loyalty. You’re under his protection. He’ll die for you if he had to and do it smiling.’
‘Suddenly we have so many friends. So all we have to do is stay here and try not to get assassinated?’ Mudge and Pagan nodded. This was beginning to sound good to me. I could get drunk and wait for the Grey Lady to come in relative comfort. Maybe they even had some sense booths here. We couldn’t stop the Grey Lady; in fact I wondered why she hadn’t already killed us all. Then I remembered why we’d come to New York in the first place.
‘Why are you here?’ I asked Mudge as he lit up another cigarette. Morag stole it from him and I stole it from her before she could take a drag. Mudge lit another one and looked around at the assembled people. I sighed. ‘Have we not already decided that we are all friends?’ I asked.
Mudge shrugged. ‘Sure you want to hear this?’ he asked, the tip of his cigarette glowing as he took another drag.
‘No, but we’ve come a long way and nearly died twice doing so, so we might as well.’
‘I think Gregor’s still alive,’ he said. He took another drag on his cigarette and watched my expression. I suppose I’d known I was going to hear about Gregor but I guess deep down I’d assumed he was dead. Maybe it would’ve been easier that way because I wasn’t obligated to a dead man.
‘Where?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What makes you think he’s alive?’ I asked. The others were quiet.
‘Because Rolleston really wanted someone infected by a Ninja. After your trial I asked around, spoke to a couple of German guys who’d been in the KSK and a Delta operator. They’d both been working with squads taken out by a Ninja. In both cases the Ninja had left one of the members of the squad alive after somehow infecting them.’
‘Just like Gregor,’ I breathed. Mudge nodded.
‘In both cases Rolleston and the Grey Lady show up soon after, looking for the infected guys, but in both cases the infected guy was totally fragged when he was found. Neither Delta or KSK were taking any chances.’ Rolleston had wanted someone infected and that was why he’d dropped us in the mincer.
‘Why were they infecting people and then leaving them to be found? Germ warfare?’ I asked.
‘Most probably,’ Mudge said. ‘But who knows how they think?’ I couldn’t help but glance over at Morag when he said that. She didn’t notice but I felt Pagan looking at me.
‘So Rolleston’s got Gregor somewhere, infected by an alien germ?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know, maybe,’ Mudge said, taking another long pull from the bottle of vodka.
‘But you don’t know where he is?’ I asked.
‘Nope.’ I felt some relief. Even if MacDonald was alive it sounded unlikely that there would be any point in rescuing him; in fact it would make things worse. I was relieved that I was free of the obligation. In my head I could hear myself apologising to my absent friend. ‘But I think I know who does know,’ Mudge finished. I heard Pagan groan. I think he saw what was coming.
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Everywhere Rolleston and Bran went looking for those infected by the Ninja they were flown-’
‘By two degenerate fuckwits,’ I finished for him, Gibby and Buck, the two cyberbilly Night Stalkers from the 160th SOAR. ‘You think they know where Gregor is?’
‘I think they would have transported him for Rolleston. It was what they were doing when we last saw them.’
‘Let’s just stay here, finish the job at hand and worry about this later,’ Pagan said in what I guessed he hoped was a reasonable-sounding voice. Truth be told it was a reasonable request, very reasonable, and I wholeheartedly agreed with him, but some things just aren’t reasonable.
‘Good idea,’ Mudge said.
‘You know where they are?’ I asked Mudge. He took another mouthful of the vodka. I wondered how drunk he was, how many bottles he’d had today.
‘Knew where they were,’ he said. ‘I was on their trail. Fully ready to beat what I wanted to know out of that pair of cunts when the Grey Lady caught up with me and made it perfectly clear that I should drop the matter.’
‘See, it’s old info. They’ll have moved on by now,’ Pagan pleaded.
‘Where are they?’ I asked. Thinking I’d like to have a violent little chat with them myself.
‘They deserted the 160th-’
‘They probably got killed by Rolleston,’ Pagan interrupted.
‘No, they definitely deserted. They made it to Crawling Town.’ Mudge upended the vodka bottle, draining the rest of it and tossing the bottle into a bin.
Crawling Town was a place as infamous as Balor’s New York. Well, not exactly a place; it was a city-sized, always-moving convoy made up of disparate gangs, road tribes and other disenfranchised people. They were left alone by the authorities because they travelled the Dead Roads, the line of heavily polluted and irradiated land that ran down the east side of the US from Lake Eerie to east Texas. An area considered largely uninhabitable by what passed for sane people these days. Pagan could see what I was thinking.