chapter
SEVENTY-TWO

Mendes was sweating as he folded the map again in the man’s office, and droplets fell on the paper. It was a small place, tucked into a loft, and the roof ran at a jumble of angles. A ceiling fan hung above, unmoving. The corners were crammed with metal boxes.

“Are you all right?” said Pulitzer. “You seem edgy. Is it the explosives? There’s no need. SEMTEX is as stable as anything.”

“I have a fever,” said Mendes. “It’s nothing. And I have had plenty of training with explosives. I was in the reserves.”

“Really? See any action?”

“No. Not really.”

“Well, please tell your colleagues about my products. You have the lavender and ginseng SEMTEX, but I can do other scents. I hope to get a contract with an entire army, one day. Even it’s only the Dutch. I hear they like reusable products, so I’m working on a reusable bomb. They should like that; it will help save the environment.”

“How could that possibly work?” said Mendes, after a pause.

“We’re working on it. You have a bomb, it explodes once and then, well, the next bit is the part we’re working on. These scientists can do all kinds of impossible things. One of them can make an origami swan in about ten seconds. It’s awesome! I can’t believe you’ve cleaned me out of stock. That’s absolutely all the SEMTEX I have here. The only other thing I could give you are some Howitzer shells.”

“No.” Mendes got up, but the ceiling was not tall enough, so he had to hunch slightly.

“Or a trebuchet. You want a trebuchet? You look like you could really use a trebuchet. I’ve sourced one, and it’s cheap.” Pulitzer’s eyes fired up with energy.

“A trebuchet? I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? Think about it. You look like you could use a medieval siege engine that hurls rocks or you could hurl other things if you felt like it; you know, odds and ends, ornaments. Must be a great way to get rid of all that unwanted clutter in your attic. Fling it into the distance. Job done. What do you say?”

“No. The SEMTEX is all I need. Now I have to go.” Mendes stooped toward the door, carrying the huge bag, but the other man somehow got there ahead of him.

“Nice doing business with you,” he said. “Stay safe for Mother New Seattle. And if you change your mind about that trebuchet, let me know.” He slipped a card in the man’s top pocket and patted it.

Mendes nodded and made his way down the stairs.

“It could definitely take a dachshund,” Pulitzer called after him.