The Family Trade

Miriam took a deep breath. “I’m going to do what we in the trade refer to as a hostile interview,” she said. “What was his name, again?”

“Hello, Edsger. Don’t move. This would not be a good place to get help for a sucking chest wound.”

He tensed and she smiled, bright and feral, like a mongoose confronting a sleepy cobra.

“What—”

“Don’t move, I said. That includes your mouth. Not very good, is it, letting your mark turn on you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I think you do. And I think it’s slack of you, nodding off just because you’re on the iron road and no world-walkers can sneak up from behind.” She smiled wider, seeing his u

The courier leaned forward. Miriam leaned with him, keeping her pistol jammed up against his ribs through her jacket. “Slowly,” she hissed.

“I’m slow.” He opened his jacket and slid a big Browning automatic out of the holster under his left armpit—two-fingered. Miriam tensed, but he followed through by dropping it into the open bag.

“And your mobile phone,” she said. “Now, kick it under the table. Gently.” He gave it a half-hearted shove with one foot.

“Put your hands between your knees and lean back slowly,” she ordered.

“Who are you?” he asked, complying.

“First, you’re going to tell me who you’re delivering that case to at the other end,” she said. “Ordinary postal service—or Angbard himself?”

“I can’t—”

She shoved the gun up against him, hard. “You fucking can,” she snarled quietly. “Because if you don’t tell me, you are going to read about the contents of that case on the front page of The New York Times, are you hearing me?”

“It goes to Matthias.”

“Angbard’s secretary, right.” She felt him tense again. “That was the correct answer,” she said quietly. “Now, I want you to do something else for me. I’ve got a message for Angbard, for his ears only, do you understand? It’s not for Matthias, it’s not for Roland, it’s not for any of the other lord-lieutenants he’s got hanging around. Remember, I’ve got your number. If anyone other than Angbard gets this message, I will find out and I will tell him and he will kill you. Got that? Good. What’s going to happen next is: The train’s stopping in a couple of minutes. You will stand up, take your case—not the bag with your phone—and get off the train, because I will be following you. You will then stand beside the train door where I can see you until it’s ready to move off, and you will stay there while it moves off because if you don’t stand that way I will shoot you. If you want to know why I’m so trigger-happy, you can ask Angbard yourself—after you’ve delivered his dispatches.”

“You must be—” his eyes widened.

“Don’t say my name.”

He nodded.

“You’re going to be an hour late into Boston—an hour later than you would have been, anyway. Don’t bother trying to organize a search for me because I won’t be there. Instead, go to the Fort Lofstrom doppelgänger house, make your delivery to Matthias as usual, say you missed the train or something, then ask to see the old man and tell him about meeting me here.”

“What?” He looked puzzled. “I thought you had a message.”

“You are the message.” She gri

He shook his head very slowly. “They were right about you,” he said. But when she asked him who he meant, he just stared at her.

Epilogue

There was an old building on Central Avenue, with windows soundproofed against the roar of turbo-fans. Whenever the wind was from the southwest and inbound flights were diverted across the city, the airliners would rattle the panes. But perhaps there were other reasons for the soundproofing.

Two men sat in a second-floor office, Matthias leaning back behind a desk and Roland perched uncomfortably close to the edge of a sofa in front of it.

“Consignment F-12 is on schedule,” said Matthias. “It says so right here on the manifest. Isn’t that right?”

He fixed Roland with a cold stare.

“I inspected it myself,” said Roland. Despite his stiff posture and the superficial appearance of unease, he sounded self-confident. “Contractor Wolfe has the right attitude: businesslike attention to detail. They vet their workers thoroughly.”

“Well.” Matthias leaned across his desk. “It’s a pity the cargo is laid over in Svarlberg while a storm blows itself out, isn’t it?”

“Damn.” Roland looked a

‘Two days ago. I did a spot inspection myself. Impressed Vincenze to carry me across for the past week. I think you’d better warn Wolfe that F-12 is going to be at least four days late, possibly as much as seven.”

“Damn.” A nod. “Okay, I’ll do that. Usual disclaimers?”

“It’s in the warranty small-print.”

Neither of them cracked a smile. The Clan provided its own underwriting service—one that more than made up for the usurious transport charges it levied. The customer code-named Wolfe would damn well swallow the four- to seven-day delay and smile, because the cargo would arrive, one way or another, which was more than could be said for most of the Clan’s competitors. If it didn’t, the Clan would pay up in full, at face value, no question. “We have a reputation to guard.”

“I’ll get onto it.” Roland pulled out a small notebook and scribbled a cryptic entry in it. He caught Matthias staring. “No names, no pack drill.” He tucked the notebook away carefully.

“It’s good to know you can keep a secret.”

“Huh?”

‘There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” He didn’t smile. “Look at this.” Reaching into a desk drawer, Matthias pulled out a slim file binder and slid it across the desk. Roland rose and collected it, sat down, opened it, and tensed, frowning.

“Page one. Our prodigal dresses for di

A glare from the sofa. If looks could kill, Matthias would be ashes blowing on the wind.

“Turn over. That’s her, leaving her room, shot from behind. Someone ought to tell her she oughtn’t to leave security camera footage lying around like that, someone might steal it. Turn over.” Reluctantly, he turned over. “That’s her, in the passageway to a room in—” Matthias coughed discreetly into his fist. “And over, and oh dear, there seems to be a camera behind the bathroom mirror, doesn’t there? I wonder how that got there. And now if you turn over, you’ll see that—”

Roland slammed the folder shut with an inarticulate growl, then slapped it down on the desk. “What’s your point?” he demanded, shaking with anger. “What the fuck do you want? Spying on me—”

“Sit down,” snapped Matthias.

Roland sat, shoulders hunched.

“You’ve put me on the spot, did you know that? I could show this to Angbard, you realize. In fact, I should show it to him. I’ve got a duty to show it to him. But I haven’t—yet. I could show it to Lady Olga, too, but I think neither you nor she would care about that unless I embarrassed her publicly. Which would raise too many questions. What in Lightning Child’s name were you thinking of, Roland?”

“Don’t.” Roland hunched forward, eyes narrowed in pain.

“If Angbard sees this, he will rip you a new asshole. To be fair, he might rip her a new asshole too, but she’s better positioned to survive the experience. You—” he shook his head. “I see a long future for you as Clan ambassador to the Iroquois. Or maybe the Apache nation. For as long as any Clan ambassador lasts in one of those posts.”