Rostok questioned me about the Gray Men and I explained what I’d seen and where I’d been. It was his turn to get valuable information from me. I only held back the nature of the objects I had and what they could do. Those were secrets I’d decided to keep.
Rostok thought it over when I’d finished laying out my case. “What you are proposing is indeed a declaration of war.”
“Let the blame ride on the rogues, then.”
“Pretend I’m not involved, eh? The Gray Men, as you call them, are not fools, Draith. They have been probing for some time now, attempting to estimate our strength and determine how we operate. I suspect they don’t have objects and don’t understand them. They proceed with caution, but if we hit them, they might move against us more directly.”
I knew that by “move against us” he meant “move against the Community,” which was still the only group he cared about. I decided not to argue further about his abusive treatment of rogues such as myself. I’d given up on arguing for the greater good. I needed him to see a benefit for himself in my actions to gain his cooperation.
“Or,” I said, “they might grow bolder as each day passes and we don’t respond to their attacks. We should stop thinking as disconnected individuals. We should include Earth’s governments as well.”
Rostok gave a rumbling laugh at that. “Who do you think makes up much of our Community? We do have government people, plus billionaires and the like. At any rate, I accept your proposal. In return for your service, I will allow this mission to proceed and I will send aid. But don’t push me like this again.”
I nodded, suddenly regretting I had broken his lock. We were allies now—I hoped. I decided it was best to exit before the damage was discovered. I mumbled my good-byes and pushed the door shut behind me. It didn’t quite latch, but it did stay closed long enough for me to leave.
In the lobby area, I found Robert Townsend had vanished. There were bloodstains on the chair where he’d been and a few droplets led to the elevator. I got the impression he’d been dragged away. I wondered if he was still alive. From Rostok’s hints, I doubted it. In my mind, I was already editing what I was going to tell Jenna about all this.
I took the stairs down.
Things went slowly for a while after that, compared to how fast they’d been going. But a few days later, I once again found myself standing in the desert east of Las Vegas. Under the cover of the falling dusk, McKesson, Rheinman, and Gilling joined me. McKesson was apparently working for Rostok today.
When the rich old man who lived on top of the eastern tower of the Lucky Seven had promised me support, I had envisioned a private army. Instead, I’d received one half-interested detective. I gathered that Rostok still didn’t want anything about this action directly traceable to him.
We’d come in two separate vehicles. Gilling drove the SUV this time, while McKesson followed us, bumping along in his sedan. It had taken us better than an hour to find the shallow depression with the scorched region in its midst. I’d been looking for the cluster of boulders, but of course, those had all come to life and crawled away. When we finally found the spot in the red light of the dying sun, McKesson climbed out of his car and began complaining.
“I thought you knew where the hell you were going,” he said. “It was sheer luck that I didn’t break an axle.”
“Sorry,” I said without a hint of regret. “This spot doesn’t look the same today.”
We left Rheinman as lookout and guard at the top of the rise, standing with the two vehicles. We walked down into the pit of the depression, which still felt hot under my shoes. The lava slugs had left hot zones here, which still sent up wisps of vapor when we kicked at the sands that covered them. The creatures had applied enough heat to the land to form trails of slag. Underneath the blowing top layer of grit, spikes of glass were everywhere.
“This is just like the blasted desert up north,” McKesson said, toeing the crunchy ground with his black leather shoes.
“The testing sites?” I asked.
“Yeah. Some of the atomic tests were above ground, you know. About a hundred of them. There were big patches of desert turned to glass and slag.”
“All right,” Gilling said, clasping his hands. “Now that we are all here, Detective, please enlighten us.”
“About what?”
“Why did they send you? What have you brought to this—party?”
We both stared at him. I wanted to know the answer too.
McKesson shrugged. “I was asked to help.”
“Excuse me, but we’re not impressed,” Gilling said. “We expected more from Rostok than one mercenary of questionable loyalty.”
McKesson snorted. “Look who’s talking. A couple of rookie rogues with big ideas. By all logic, I should shoot you both in the back now, bury your corpses, then run back to the Community claiming the Gray Men did it.”
“And why would that be a good idea?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
“Because this is a suicide mission.”