Brendan DuBois - Dead of Night

‘Not me. Our asset, lost after leaving Manhattan. Oh, the poor dear’s dead, no doubt about it, but we’re hoping that her body’s in Site A, along with a computer diskette or two. A computer diskette that outlines who belongs to this group, how they smuggled the nukes here, and how they arrived at the decision to set them off. So sorry, but that’s the importance of Site A. Not the dead refugees. Our asset and those diskettes.’

‘And once you get that information…’

‘Decision’s already been made at Ten Downing Street. The information, all of it, gets publicized the moment we can secure and verify it. So the people here will know what happened. They’ll know that these militias—some of which have received support for supposedly keeping order -were killing their fellow citizens because of a lie. Don’t get me wrong, Samuel: this country is known for its blundering way of doing business and for being obstinate and unilateral, certainly. But, all in all, the world needs a United States that’s engaged with the rest of the world. Not one hiding in fear, skulking behind its borders and the oceans. And we need those diskettes to make things right. To show the Americans that no overseas enemy did this to them. That some of their own people did it.’

I rubbed at my face. Lots of stuff to process, I thought -and then something struck me.

‘Your asset?’

‘Yes?’

‘You keep on calling your asset “her”. Was her name Grace?’

A simple nod. ‘That it was.’

‘Sounds like a brave woman.’

‘She was,’ Peter said flatly. ‘Very brave, in so many ways.’

‘Like what?’

And his expression changed once again, this time to despair. ‘For once agreeing to be my wife.’

The air in the room was cold and still. I said, ‘The armistice breaking down like it did, just before the deadline: a hell of a coincidence, right?’

Peter seemed to shake off his dark mood. ‘Yes, one big coincidence, I’m sure. And it seems to be working in favor of the militia units and their puppet masters, the neo-isolationists.’

‘Do those people… do they know what evidence might be at Site A?’

‘Beats the hell out of me. But still… I just had the feeling that we were getting close, at least in this county. We must have been getting close to finding Site A, considering how viciously the militias were attacking us, sniping at us and making the lives of the UN forces here miserable. So there you go. When the deadline passes, the militia boys go home and the hunt for Site A and one particular body is finished. Oh, we’ll poke and prod as best we can, on the outskirts and fringes, but it’ll be over, Samuel. The truth will remain hidden for quite some time to come. Maybe long enough so that we fail, and these battered United States ignore the rest of the world.’

‘Damn,’ I said.

‘Yeah, damn. Nothing much else to say, except I now have one more job.’

‘You’re a busy man,’ I said.

‘Oh, yes, but not as busy as somebody else is going to be,’ Peter said darkly. ‘You see, that Aussie television crew was correct, entirely correct. There are traitors at work among the UN field teams, traitors who made us go in circles, exposed us to being wounded and killed, and prevented us from doing our jobs. Especially my job: to find those diskettes and Grace. And there was a traitor working in our group, Samuel, of that I have no doubt.’

I looked at him, at the cool and composed operative who was working behind the lines in so many ways. I said, ‘Yeah, you’re right. We were one screwed-up crew.’

Peter nodded. ‘Yes. We were. When and if Site A is taken care of, as well as everything else, I’m going to focus my attention on finding our group’s traitor. I have suspicions but no evidence, and if it takes years to get the evidence together, then so be it. I won’t let the matter drop.’

I thought about something and said, ‘You have an idea of who it might be?’

‘I do,’ he said.

‘Care to tell me?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I might be able to help you,’ I said.

Peter seemed to ponder that for a moment. Then he mentioned a name.

I felt a chill on the back of my neck, and my stomach lurched.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I think I can help you.’

Peter said, ‘Good.’

I’d been back in my room for about a half-hour when there was a knock at the door.

When I opened it, I was nearly bowled over by a blonde-haired woman smelling of fresh soap and wearing a clean white blouse, tan skirt and a tasty lipstick. She pushed me back into the room and slammed the door behind her, saying, ‘Oh, Samuel, Samuel…’

I was intoxicated by the feel of Miriam in my arms, and also sickened by what was going to happen in the next few minutes. I kissed her back, again and again, and I looked at her bright face, at the tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, Samuel, I was so scared that you had been shot. I was so frightened that I wouldn’t see you again… Oh, your face, your poor face…’ She traced the scabs and scrapes along my skin and I touched her as well.

‘You… I thought you had died back there, too,’ I stammered out. ‘I found your nightgown, all torn up and bloody.’

Miriam pushed herself against my chest again and I hugged her. ‘We barely got out… Oh, God, it was so scary, all that shooting… One of the Land Cruisers got shot up and Sanjay and I, we wanted to get to you, but Charlie and Jean-Paul said no, no, we couldn’t risk it… I’m so sorry we left you behind.’

I stroked her fine blonde hair. ‘No apologies. None at all. You did what was right, what was the smart thing to do.’ Miriam moved her head so that she could look up at me. ‘It felt so very wrong, Samuel. And it was even worse when Sanjay thought he saw you. He got out of the Land Cruiser, thought you were running away from the woods…and that was when he got shot… Oh, God, I hope he didn’t suffer, I hope that—’

The door to the bathroom swung open, and there was Peter. Miriam turned her head and said, ‘I’m sorry, Peter. What are you doing here?’

Peter’s face was once more expressionless. ‘I’m afraid you’ll probably find out rather quickly.’

Miriam gently pulled herself away from me and said, ‘Samuel? What’s this?’

I couldn’t think of what I could say and then there was another knock at the door. Peter looked at me and went over to the door. When he opened it a very happy-looking Jean-Paul came in, bearing a dark bottle of cognac and two snifter glasses. He had on gray dress slacks, black polished shoes and a black turtleneck shirt. ‘Samuel!’ he said. ‘How good, finally, to see you! Ah, it’s been so long, and I’m so happy to see you here, smiling and happy as well.’

He was weaving slightly, as though he had been drinking, He looked around him and said, ‘My, this is quite the party. Miriam and Peter as well. It is too bad that Charlie and Karen are not here.’

‘And Sanjay,’ Peter said quietly.

Jean-Paul slowly nodded. ‘Ah, yes, poor Sanjay. We cannot forget him, eh? His service to us and the UN. What he did and—’

‘Actually, Jean-Paul,’ Peter said, stepping over to him. ‘I’d like to talk a bit about what you did.’

‘Excuse me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand—’

‘How much?’ I interrupted. Miriam made as if to say something and I talked over her: ‘How much were you paid? How much?’

Jean-Paul grinned. ‘How much? You want to know my salary? In Canadian dollars or euros — which are you asking?’

Peter said, ‘It’s not the currency you’re paid in that we’re concerned with, Jean-Paul. It’s what you were doing in exchange for the payment.’