The quiet stayed with them the rest of the way. No one felt like sleeping or playing games anymore. They didn’t even turn the music back on. Colin saw each of his fellow agents lost in their own thoughts and wondered what form that took for them. He sat at the table and mindlessly picked at his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about that body lying in the grass where they’d tried to run.
Yeong-Ja seemed to have focused her attention completely on her rifle. She had disassembled it and meticulously cleaned every part, then reassembled it. Was that just a distraction? Colin wondered. Or a dream of getting revenge for those murdered in the convoy’s ambush?
The other two agents were even more opaque, if that was possible. Leo sat at the dining table. His gaze was in the middle distance, and his fingers twitched. It was as if he was imagining conducting some invisible symphony. Maira lay on her back on the top cot, but she wasn’t sleeping. The restless swinging of her leg, hanging over the side, made that clear.
Dixie, of course, just stayed focused on the road. The good cheer he’d shown for most of the drive had evaporated completely. Colin felt for him. There was no telling how close to home the ambush had hit. At the very least, it must be easy for the man to imagine himself in their place. At the worst, he might well have known some of those people. If he did, he didn’t say anything about it.
“We’re close now,” Dixie said.
Colin unfolded himself to his full height and headed to the front of the cab to peer out. It was now progressing fast into the evening. The colors of the sunset were fading into gray twilight. There was smoke on the horizon. Colin’s heart fell. Then he realized what he was looking at: the smokestacks on an oil refinery. Artificial light was burning there as well, coming on as night closed in. It was strange to see signs of life after so much empty country.
“Is that our destination?” he asked.
Dixie nodded. “Someone told me it used to be the biggest oil refinery in North America.” He scratched his head. “I suppose it still is. Just now it’s one of the only ones still working at all.”
Colin clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for getting us here safely. I’m guessing you’ll be grateful to be back to your normal routes soon.”
Dixie gave him a wry smile. “I have to admit, it’ll be nice to go back to just hauling food or something. I’m glad to help you Division types, but it feels like every time I do a few years get shaved off my lifespan.”
Maira stepped up next to them to take a look. “So, this is Roughneck HQ, huh?”
“Yep. Think you’ll be able to help keep them safe?” Dixie asked.
“We’ll do our very best,” Maira said firmly. “After what happened to those people back there? I’ll be damned if I let it happen to anyone else on my watch.”
“You’ve got that right,” agreed Colin. “I wondered at first if I was doing the right thing, leaving New York to volunteer for this mission. But after seeing that… we can’t let that keep happening, much less let it spread.”
“What are those?” Yeong-Ja asked.
They might have only spent a day together, but Colin had already learned not to doubt her keen eyesight. He followed her pointing finger to see if he could puzzle out what she was talking about. There were dark shapes gathered in the lots in front of the refinery. That was odd in the modern world, but not inconceivable. After all, if anyone had the gas to keep cars running it would be these people.
“Those are military trucks,” Maira said suddenly.
Colin blinked and looked again. To his surprise, he realized she was correct. It was a gathering of military vehicles. They were painted black instead of army green, but there was no mistaking the silhouettes now. Humvees and LMTVs. These weren’t demilitarized either. He could make out the gun cupolas on the Humvees.
“It’s not JTF, is it?”
Leo shook his head. “We’d know.”
It made the skin between Colin’s shoulder blades itch. He had been there for the Division’s first encounters with the Last Man Battalion in the early days in New York. This reminded him of that. Military hardware in the wrong hands had almost always meant bad things for everyone in the area. Then again, even elements of the JTF had gone down a dark road in DC, some of them falling in line with Black Tusk and the new regime. Maybe no one was trustworthy.
“Are we walking into another firefight already?” Colin asked grimly.
“There’s no shooting yet, and we’re not going to be the ones to start it,” Maira said. She smiled bleakly. “For one thing, we’d be seriously outgunned.”
“Information first,” Yeong-Ja agreed. “We’ll gain nothing by being belligerent off the bat. Our job is to get the lay of the land, not go in guns blazing.”
Maira nodded and stepped up beside Dixie. She rested a hand on the back of his chair to brace herself. “Just pull in to the edge of the lot, and we’ll walk the rest of the way across. Can you keep it warm this time, too? We might need to get out of here quick.”
Dixie nodded. “I was planning to pass the night here anyway. Even I have to sleep at some point, you know.”
Yeong-Ja rested a hand on his shoulder briefly. “Thank you for watching out for us.”
Dixie blushed crimson. Colin shared an amused look with Maira. Each of the agents went over their gear quickly. Colin made sure both his M4 and his X45 sidearm were loaded and ready to go. He blew out a shaky breath. There were always nerves before a possible fight. The memories of the Last Man Battalion had him on edge. This doesn’t have to go the way that did, he told himself. It won’t.
Leo held something out to him. A pair of incendiary grenades.
“Better to be ready,” was all Leo said.
Colin frowned but took them and clipped them to his vest. In truth, he had never loved fighting. He knew plenty of people who did, or at least claimed to. He couldn’t walk ten feet during his time with the Marines without stumbling over someone longing for some proper violence. Colin was a healer at heart. He would much rather close a wound than inflict a new one. Sometimes reality didn’t cooperate with his qualms, so he reluctantly carried a weapon anyway.
The semi slid to a halt and Leo led the way out into the evening gloom. Colin followed just behind. The group of agents spread out as they walked to present a less easy target. There was something very strange about the simple act of walking across a parking lot toward a working facility. It felt like they’d stepped through a time warp and arrived in an alternate timeline. One where everything hadn’t gone wrong, where life had gone on never knowing what a Green Poison was.
Spotlights came on. They picked out the Division agents. Colin held up a hand against the actinic light, wincing. It didn’t seem necessary; they hadn’t been trying to sneak up on the refinery. He could just make out the silhouettes of armed people among the vehicles ahead of them. Two of the mounted guns had swiveled to aim at them. His pulse accelerated, and he swallowed against a dry throat. If one of those .50 cals opened up…
“Stop where you are,” someone demanded through a megaphone.
“Unknown hostiles detected,” noted ISAC. “Twenty-seven targets and weaponized vehicles detected. Threat level: severe.”
“Great,” muttered Colin.
Leo pulled up short immediately. Colin and the others followed suit. He decided not to wait for the laconic man to try to take point on talking to these people, whoever they were. Instead, he eased forward and held his hands up, well away from his weapons.
He raised his voice to be heard. “We’re not looking for a fight.”
“Identify yourselves,” came the reply.
“We’re agents of the Strategic Homeland Division,” Colin said.
He turned his arm so that the telltale orange glow of the watch would be more visible. Before mass media had shut down, people had come to associate the symbol with the Division. That wasn’t always a pleasant association, to be fair, but he figured it was best to be honest and straightforward as much as possible. He didn’t know anyone who appreciated being lied to.
“The Division,” the person said. It was a high voice underlying the bark of the loudspeaker. “I thought your operation had been shuttered.”
The megaphone and the blinding lights made it hard to gauge what kind of reaction that had gotten. Colin felt certain it hadn’t been a warm one, though. It definitely had not had the desired effect of getting all those weapons aimed somewhere other than his vital organs. Colin was very knowledgeable about the effects of gunshot wounds on the human body. He had no urge to make the experience personal.
“We’d be happy to talk with whoever is in charge,” Colin offered. “What can we do to convince you we’re not a threat?”
“What is going on out here?” a new voice yelled.
“Get back inside, Mr Rychart. We have this situation in hand,” boomed the loudspeaker.
Rychart. That was the name of their contact. Only he didn’t sound like he was in control of this site. Colin glanced back at the other agents in confusion. Maira looked as lost as he was. Leo was as unreadable as always. Yeong-Ja gestured with her head toward where the new arrival’s voice had come from. She mouthed something. Colin wasn’t certain but it looked like, “It’s him.”
“Be damned if I will. You heard these folks, they’re Division agents! We invited them here to help us! Stop hassling them like they’re common criminals,” demanded Rychart.
So this was indeed the person the cell had been sent here to meet. By implication, the militants were a different group entirely. Colin had suspected as much. The locals doubtless had small arms to protect themselves, but they’d just be a militia. These people had brought significant hardware with them, and seemed to know how to use it.
“We are here to provide security now. There’s no need for–” began the loudspeaker.
“Kill the lights,” a new voice said firmly.
“But… yes, sir.” The megaphone crackled, and the spotlights went out.
Being plunged instantly back into semi-darkness did nothing to help Colin make sense of the situation. He was left with blobs of color floating in his vision. He took a breath and tried to stay calm as his eyes adapted. It left his mind wondering. There had been something about that new voice. It was familiar.
“So, the mighty Division has finally come to Texas, armed to the teeth and ready to save us all.”
It was the newest arrival, and he wasn’t bothering to hide his contempt. He had a faint Greek accent. It was barely noticeable. The only reason Colin picked up on it was he was familiar with the sound. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Surely there was no way…
Colin’s eyes were adapting now. The speaker was walking toward them. He was dressed in an outfit with the cut of military fatigues, but all black. It reminded Colin of the way some of the most heavily militarized police forces in the country had dressed, but this one lacked any insignia whatsoever save one: a snarling hound’s head on the shoulder and breast pocket. His features were tan and tough, like weathered oak, and his head was topped with a recon flattop of salt and pepper hair. He was older than the picture, but it was him. He was here.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Marcus Georgio, commander of the Molossi. We are here to protect the civilians of this region, and your presence is a waste of everyone’s time.”
•••
Maira frowned. The silence was beginning to stretch. The colonel’s approach had obviously hit Colin on some level. He’d gone taut like someone had jabbed him with a live wire. She didn’t want to step on his toes, but this situation was already unfriendly. They didn’t need to let it get any worse by losing what grip they had on it.
“Colonel,” she offered calmly. “I am Agent Maira Kanhai, and this is my team.”
That was a stretching of the truth, of course. No one was in command of a cell, as Maira had learned to her surprise. Right now, though, it helped to focus attention on her and away from whatever was going on with Colin.
“If you’ll excuse me for saying so,” she continued quickly, “your declaration isn’t really up to you. As Mr Rychart indicated, we’re here at the invitation of the locals.”
Rychart was visible now, too, thanks to the dazzling spotlights being out of the picture. He was revealed to be a large-framed man, balding, with hunched shoulders and a bristling mustache. He carried most of his weight on his gut. His face was sweat-sheened and red. Maira had the feeling he looked that way most of the time.
Rychart nodded rapidly and mopped his face with a handkerchief. He hurried to involve himself in their conversation now that she’d provided an opening. “Yes, exactly. These folks are here because we asked them to come. They’ve traveled a long way. I won’t have you send them packing like vagabonds.”
Colonel Georgio looked less than pleased. In fact, Maira thought he looked like someone was forcing him to take a swig of fish oil. He forced a thin smile, however, and spread his hands.
“Of course. This is your home, and you can invite anyone you like to it. The Molossi are guardians, not warlords. Forgive me for being somewhat overzealous – these are fraught times.”
He turned and waved a hand at his band of soldiers. They lowered their weapons. The machine guns turned away from the group. Maira felt some of her tightly wound muscles ease in relief.
She offered a sparse smile of her own. “These days you can’t be too careful.”
Rychart nodded again. “Good, good. Glad we could get that resolved. Now, Agent… Kanhai, was it?”
“That’s me,” she said. She allowed her smile to become more genuine.
“Please, come on inside. We can discuss the security situation where it’s more comfortable. It’s as muggy as a swamp out here, which ain’t much of a coincidence seeing as it used to be one.” He turned to walk toward the building.
Colonel Georgio’s voice caught him mid-step. “With your permission, I’d like to be present at this discussion, Mr Rychart. The security of the region is a shared concern, after all.”
Rychart shot her a nervous look. To be honest, Maira wouldn’t have minded if this black-garbed man and his air of understated violence left entirely. That was a personal feeling, however. What would Brenda have done? she asked herself. She would have…
The Molossi were well outside their usual stomping ground. From a Division point of view, these people and their place in this jigsaw puzzle needed to be figured out. So Maira just smiled again and nodded.
Rychart looked relieved. “The more the merrier, I suppose! Come on.”
The group walked toward the building. A couple of Georgio’s people moved to fall in with him. Rychart glanced over but didn’t say anything about it. Their interactions intrigued Maira. All these armed people obviously did make the roughneck leader nervous. That was normal.
What was more interesting was that he was neither deferring to Georgio nor eager to challenge him. It had the air of people who were still figuring each other out as well. If they’d been here for an extended period, the relationship would feel more set. Unless Maira missed her guess, that meant the Molossi were new arrivals, too.
Maira set those thoughts aside for now. They headed through the doors into the refinery proper. It was odd to step from the heat into climate control and fluorescent lights. This was a working space, and people were actively at their jobs even now. The dress might have been a little more casual, and everyone might have looked a little thinner. Even so, this was a scene that might have come from the times before the smallpox chimera devastated the world.
The workers were shooting nervous looks at them. That was understandable. Two groups, both heavily armed, showing up in your home might put a wrinkle in anyone’s day. Even more so when both were claiming to be here because a third, even more dangerous, group might soon invade. Maira made sure to smile warmly at them. We are not the enemy. She tried to emote the thought as clearly as possible.
Maira let her steps slow until she was walking beside Colin. Even now he seemed lost in his thoughts. He didn’t even react to her presence. She gave him a subtle poke with her elbow, and he jumped a little bit.
“Where’s your head at?” she asked quietly.
“A couple thousand miles away.” Colin grimaced and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. We’ve all got our buttons. How did the good colonel push yours so quickly, though?”
“He didn’t. Not on purpose, anyway.” Colin took a deep breath. “There’s history here.”
“Old boyfriend?” she asked.
He shot her a dry look. “No. I served with his son.”
Maira frowned. “In the military?”
Colin shook his head. “In the Division. We were activated at the same time, put into the same cell. We were both part of the first wave into New York.”
Maira winced. “That didn’t go well, as I recall. Where’s his son now?”
Colin just lowered his gaze and shook his head.
“Fuck,” Maira said. That was an unexpected complication. “Does he know who you are?”
“No. I don’t think so. How could he?”
What would Brenda have said? she pondered. It didn’t take much to figure it out. She would have told Colin to keep it that way. To do otherwise was an obvious risk to the mission. Yet Maira had seen the fruits of Brenda’s methods, and they weren’t always good. A lie might keep the peace now, but it planted the seeds of future conflict.
Colin was watching her mull this over with anxiety in his eyes. She patted him on the shoulder.
“Just… be careful, all right?”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
Maira disengaged with an internal sigh. Wonderful job, Kanhai. Way to make a really excellent non-decision there. Then again, was it even her decision to make? Maybe no decision was the right decision. Maybe trying to control the cell – trying to be Brenda – was just going to lead to disaster.
Maybe she was overthinking all of it.
She fell back further until she was walking in between Yeong-Ja and Leo. She glanced between them and immediately resolved to never play poker with either one. Leo had all the emotion of a slab of marble, and Yeong-Ja radiated nothing but pleasant attentiveness. Maira was somewhere between impressed and jealous.
“Analysis?” she asked softly.
“Molossi weren’t civilians,” Leo said immediately.
Maira frowned. “Obviously not. They’ve armed themselves.”
“No, weren’t. Ex-military, almost to a person. In the walk, the talk. In their blood.”
“That helps explain the access to the hardware. Are we thinking this is a True Sons situation?” Maira asked uneasily.
The True Sons were elements of the Joint Task Force in DC that had gone bad in a big way. They’d decided soft methods just didn’t cut it anymore, and they’d turned to butchery and slavery. They’d maintained a facade of patriotism, but anyone who had lived in the area knew better. What the True Sons craved was power, and they’d been willing to take it at the barrel of a gun.
“No, I don’t think so,” Yeong-Ja said. “Or not yet. If that were the case, they would have killed us when they had the chance. Georgio hates us, but he does think he’s protecting these people.”
“I might have a lead on that hatred,” Maira said.
Yeong-Ja raised an eloquent eyebrow.
“His son was a Division agent. He was in the same cell as Colin, apparently, those early days in New York,” Maira said. “He didn’t make it.”
“Would a soldier take that so personally?” asked Yeong-Ja.
“The death of his son?” Maira was surprised she’d asked. “Oh yeah. I mean, maybe some wouldn’t, but plenty would. I’m more surprised Marcus knew his son was a Division agent in the first place.”
“Family ties don’t break easily,” Leo said quietly. “Also, too old.” He added it as an afterthought.
“Too old?” asked Maira, confused.
“True Sons were younger. Angry. Brash. Look at them.”
Maira followed his gaze and measured the Molossi who walked nearby. The colonel was in excellent shape, but was in his fifties or sixties. His aides, though, were either the same age or not much younger. A blonde woman among them locked eyes with Maira. Her gaze was cold and challenging. Maira looked away quickly.
“So, what? Retirees?”
“Separated. Retirees. Veterans. Experienced and dedicated, that’s what’s important,” Leo said.
“The old salt brigade, taking up arms once again,” mused Maira. “Interesting.”
“All right,” Rychart said. He came to a halt next to a door.
Both armed groups turned their attention to him. He visibly wilted a bit. To his credit, though, he didn’t lose his train of thought. He wasn’t a soft man, Maira thought. Just not a killer, and not comfortable around those who were. In other words, a normal and sane person. A precious rarity nowadays.
“We have plans and a scheduling room just through here where we can talk things out. Figure a path forward,” Rychart continued.
He took a key ring out of his pocket and opened the door. It was a small auditorium beyond. Maira could imagine the old presentations. Numbers and dollar signs. Barrels of oil and production costs. A world with its own heavy problems, but at least that had had fewer murderous hordes running amok.
The two groups both chose seating with a gap between them. Maira couldn’t help but find that a little bit funny. They were like high school cliques with a grudge. Well, assuming high school cliques had carried enough firepower to bring down a city block.
A few more of the locals joined Rychart. They were having a hurried discussion in low tones. Maira wasn’t able to make out any of it.
“Is there a problem?” Colonel Georgio asked.
Rychart mopped his brow with his handkerchief again. “Oh, no, no, of course not. Just a few logistical details on the next oil shipment that needed ironing out. The work never stops, you know.”
Maira suspected he was lying. Her alarm bells weren’t ringing, though, so she let it slide.
“Please, Mr Rychart. Tell us your situation,” she said instead.
“Well, what would you like to know?” Rychart seemed eager to help. Relieved, perhaps, to not be facing down the Molossi alone.
Maira smiled. “I know what I was told when we set out, but I’d like to hear your version of what’s going on. What can we do to help you? Why did you ask for our presence here?”
Rychart blew out a tremendous sigh. “Well, if I’m going to be completely honest, it’s because folks are scared. I have about twenty thousand people living here or at our other facilities, Agent Kanhai, and they’re more afraid than I’ve seen them since the early days of the Green Poison.”
“Understandable,” put in Georgio. “But it is no longer necessary. I assure you, my people will see to it that you and yours are safe and sound. You have my word on that.”
“A comforting thought, I’m sure,” Maira said. She tried to make it sound sincere. “But I’d like to hear more. What are they afraid of specifically?”
Rychart nodded. “Well, there’s the obvious. The Reborn are moving into our area, and they’re wreaking havoc as they come. We’re obviously on good terms with the I-10 Fleet, a relationship that predates even the Division’s arrangement with them. Seeing them take such losses trying to keep us supplied isn’t making anybody happy.”
“Could you elaborate on your connection with the I-10 Fleet?” asked Yeong-Ja.
“Of course. They saved us, not to put too fine a point on it. In the wake of the Poison, we were a scattered group of oil workers and their dependents. We were doing our best to keep the lights on and the machines running. We knew that someone would need what we were producing. After all, like it or not, the modern world is built on fossil fuels.”
The surly man said that with a certain wounded pride. Maira noted it with dark amusement. There had been a time when Big Oil and the climate catastrophe it had helped create had seemed the worst apocalypse looming over human civilization. Maira herself had lost sleep on the topic. Then, the Green Poison had lunged onto the scene and caught everyone off guard instead. Now they had bigger fish to fry. But old habits die hard, and he was used to being on the defensive.
“But you can’t eat oil,” was all Maira said, sympathetically.
“Exactly,” he said and nodded vigorously. “My people don’t know anything about growing wheat or whatever, we just knew how to do our jobs. But the way things were going, we would have to abandon the facilities anyway. Sooner or later you gotta figure out where your next meal is coming from.”
“Enter the I-10 Fleet,” Maira said.
“Yes, ma’am, that is it. Good folks, them. They showed up on our doorstep with trailers full of stuff we needed. You’d think they had us in a choke hold, but they just wanted to make sure we were OK. They gave us food, clothes, parts. We gave them oil, and they made sure that got to other people as needed it. And we kept their trucks running, too, of course.”
“And now these attackers, the Reborn, they kill your benefactors. You are afraid you will be reduced to the same situation you were in before the Fleet came on the scene,” Yeong-Ja said.
Rychart nodded. “Feels like they’re out for us, and the Freighties are just a side way to get at us, if I’m honest. Sooner or later, they’ll go for the throat.” He didn’t bother trying to hide how worried he was.
“And in the face of your very real fears, the Division sends you four agents.” Georgio’s voice was cold and dismissive. “I am here with real soldiers, enough to secure your facility. Your other facilities? I am happy to do the same for them as well.”
Let’s try the diplomatic approach, Maira thought.
“You seem to be approaching this as a competition, colonel. I’m not clear on why that has to be the case. The Division has liaised with local militias and JTF forces at every opportunity. I’m glad you want to see the oil facilities secured. There’s no reason we can’t work together toward that end.”
“I’m not here to ‘liaise’ with your organization,” he replied sharply. There was some fire in Georgio’s dark eyes. “It is rotten to the core. Listen to how you talk! I am not concerned with ‘oil facilities’. I am here to save the lives of American citizens.”
Maira’s jaw clenched. “We’re not concerned investors here protecting our percentage. The fuel is important because it’s needed to save lives, too. Or were you not paying attention when he talked about how they’ll be starved out without shipments of food? Now apply that to every survivor enclave across the nation, for one thing or another. No one is an island. We were invited here to preserve a web of trade that is keeping people alive.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, please–” Rychart began.
“Then do not worry yourself,” Georgio cut him off, his attention still locked on Maira and her cell. “We can protect both. The Molossi are capable of securing production and saving these people. Based on your track record, I am not sure the Division could manage either task.”
“Track record?” Leo growled. He was bristling under the assault on the SHD’s competence.
“Are you in denial? Then let me open your eyes. The Division has mangled every attempt they’ve made to ‘save what remains’. From the moment your people went boots down in New York, you have done little other than commit mass murder and shred infrastructure in petty wars.”
“Rogue agents–” Leo started.
Georgio rose to his feet, fists clenched, and cut him off with a barked laugh. “Ah yes, I remember those claims from the early days. The Division can do no wrong, anything that has gone poorly has only happened because of a few bad apples. Well, agents, I regret to inform you that a few bad apples spoil the whole bunch, and I am not here for your shield of fallacies.”
Silence hung over the chamber. Maira glanced at the rest of the cell. Leo was seething. Colin looked downright anxious. Yeong-Ja had a small smile on her face for reasons Maira couldn’t begin to fathom.
For her own part, Maira didn’t know how she felt. She had been there personally when Division agents had saved lives, including her own. She also knew the damage they had done along the way. Some of their villains had been self-made. She knew that all too intimately after her own clash with the rogue agent Rowan O’Shea.
“The Division has made missteps,” Maira admitted slowly. “We’ve also done a lot of good. We’ve restored the flow of supplies across a significant portion of the nation. We’ve secured both DC and New York against major threats.”
“At what cost? Face it, you were reckless cowboys from the start. Now with the president gone, you wreak havoc unchecked, driven only by your whims. In any saner time, you would have stood down when ordered.” Georgio punctuated the last word with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“That’s not what your son thought, sir,” Colin burst out.
Oh no, Maira thought. Oh, Colin, no. But there was no taking it back. The words hung in the air. The colonel stared at Colin with apparent astonishment. His jaw worked momentarily, but no sound came out.
“Your son David believed in the Division and its mission, sir,” Colin hurried on in the silence. “I know that for a fact. I was there with him when we went into New York. David was proud to be there, proud to wear the watch. He was everything good about the Division.”
The fire had gone out of Georgio. Now his eyes glittered colder than ice. His hands clenched so tight that his knuckles stood out white, but otherwise he was stock still.
“You were there,” the colonel repeated distantly.
“Yes,” Colin said.
“You fought at his side?”
“I did,” Colin said. “That city was trying to tear itself apart, sir, and we did everything we could to save it.”
Colin might as well not have wasted the breath. Georgio only heard the first two words. Maira could see it in his face.
“So, you saw him die, then,” the colonel said. “And yet here you are.”
Colin hesitated. He looked away. There didn’t seem to be anything to say. Maira closed her eyes for a moment in sympathy. Oh, what a mess we have on our hands, she thought. Brenda, where’s your silver tongue when we need it most?
“Well, I will give you this credit,” the colonel continued. “You were right about one thing. David was the good in the Division, and it is gone now, just as he is. And I will be damned if I let you add the bodies of these people to the Division’s sacrificial pyre.”
The words hung in the air. Rychart was literally wringing his hands. Maira could just imagine it from his point of view. This whole tableau must have looked about ten seconds from turning into a shooting war.
“Well,” the local headman offered weakly. “I don’t think these are issues we’re going to reach a resolution on tonight. May I suggest we adjourn for the evening, perhaps reattack these matters in the sober light of day?”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Maira said softly.
The colonel snorted and turned away. Rychart nodded and seemed to consider that agreement enough. He hastily exited through the side door and motioned for the Division agents to follow. Maira got to her feet and went with him out into the hallway. He ushered them on quickly to get some distance before he started speaking.
“The Molossi showed up a week ago. It’s not the first time we’ve heard about them, but most of their operations were up toward Dallas.” Rychart sounded weary. “At first, I assumed it was the Reborn that were drawing them east, spoiling for a fight. Now I’m starting to wonder if they learned we’d called the Division and were looking for you.”
“I’m sorry if we brought this down on you,” Maira said.
“I’m sure neither one of us is pleased with how this is going,” Rychart said. He shook his head slowly. “Well, c’mon. I’ll set you folks up with a place to hang your hats.”
“Do you trust them?” she asked as they walked.
“Hell no,” he said emphatically.
“Will you ask them to leave?”
Rychart gave her a steady look. “I’m not a dictator, Agent Kanhai. I represent these folks, that’s all. And I’ll tell you true, they brought more guns than you did. And with murderers closing in, that’s looking real good to my people right now.”
Maira nodded slowly. “That’s fair. What do you suggest we do?”
“Right now? I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow? Either figure out a way to convince my people you can protect us or figure out how you’re getting home.”