“Copy that, Sugah. Audio to follow, though the distance is problematic. CO Mateo was unable to position an audio spike closer than six meters to the fortification.”
On the screen, now integrated into the truck’s armored plaz-silk windshield, a view opened. It was Jagger, sitting on his bike, his position much like the one he had when talking to me in my driveway, except now he was wearing his fully patched OMW kutte over a full set of Dragon Scale military armor and was loaded down with weapons I hadn’t known he had. He looked like a man who had gone to war and come home with his enemies’ booty. He sat on his bike, helmetless, his warboots planted in the dirt. There was a white flag tied to his handlebar.
Marconi stepped out of the front door of his stronghold—alone, unweaponed, and wearing jeans and a dress shirt. To his side a girl appeared, fully weaponed, tall but very slender. I had never seen her in person, but recognized her from the photos Jolene had obtained from deep data searches.
Camilla Mary Gamble, McQuestion’s daughter, had nearly white hair and eyes like icebergs. Her skin was so white it appeared translucent, odd skin in this post-WIMP-bomb world, where the Earth had little shielding from the sun’s radiation and pale-skinned people usually died young from melanoma.
Audio came over the speakers, tinny and distant. “Where’s Jacopo?” Marconi asked.
“Behind me, bringing up the gear.” Toneless. Offering nothing. “He’s driving a truck loaded with chairs, a tented covering, and a table.” Jagger grunted with a sound that was probably supposed to be laughter. “McQuestion owns a round table. Like Arthur’s. And your kid appropriated it for the meeting.”
“Jacopo?”Marconi sounded disbelieving.
“Yeah. He was put in charge of meeting prep. He’s a good kid. Smart.”
Instead of responding to the compliment, Marconi said, “I have two and a half kilos of roasted coffee beans, ready to be ground.”
Jagger scraped his feet against the dirt. “Coffee’s good. McQuestion has an unopened bottle of fifty-year-old tequila he thinks might be good too. For toasting a safe and successful negotiation.” The wind caught the white flag and it twirled.
Marconi nodded, then pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I hear we got more coming, and somebody’s bringing a smoked wild sow and some piglets.”
“That would be the Booze. Sabbath’s Old Lady is a baker. So we got bread coming. And a couple cakes.”
“I got a grill already hot. Commercial fryer,” Marconi said, and I realized they were trying to outdo each other. “And a load of potatoes. And salt and pepper. Makings of a feast, even if it will never be as good as my Italian.”
“Best Italian I ever tasted. Even in Italy.”
Marconi nodded and turned his head to the side. “Talk first. Eat after.”
“Agreed. McQuestion will honor parley rules.”
“Marconi and Charles Whip will honor parley rules. But will the others?”
“We’ll have to see,” Jagger nearly growled out. “If not, the battle will be fun. Figuring out who is on whose side will be even more fun.”
“It always is,” Marconi agreed.
On my screen, a low-sided truck, an ancient diesel even older than mine, rolled into the parking area. Jacopo turned it off and leaped out of the driver’s door, lithe and manly. He landed and looked to the front porch. Something changed in his body language. Not something I could identify from this angle, but something strong, like a punch to the gut. He nodded to his father and went to work unloading the truck.
“I’m leaving three men to help your son,” Jagger said. “He’s in charge of the set-up. He will not be visiting his family until after the negotiations are concluded.”
“His mother will not be happy with that arrangement, but I accept, nonetheless. Camilla will not visit her family until the same time frame.”
“Understood,” Jagger said.
Jacopo bent forward from the waist in a small bow to his father, and then again to Jagger. “I honor my word and my father’s vow.”
Camilla bowed too, her white hair falling across her white face. “I honor the decisions made here and now.”
“Checking perimeters,” Jagger said.
His engine came to life, sounding like a dragon from old myths, and Jagger motored away from the house.
“I do believe that Jagger is heading your way, Shining,” Mateo said, and there might have been amusement or maybe boredom in his tone. It was hard to tell. “Give him a hug from me,” he added. Yeah. Amusement.
“That tree you pushed off the road the last time we came this way,” I said to Cupcake, “is just ahead.”
“I’ll pull over there and we can eat a quick snack,” she said, “and check ammo. You can take a walk. Talk privately.”
