interfering fucking cunt came leaking through the wall.
Erik looked at him stonily. ‘He’s a dealer. He’s probably expecting to have his skull caved in by your stormtroopers out there.’
‘No danger of that. Their commander told me they’re not working this floor. Want me to go next door and tell him?’
‘In those clothes?’ Erik sneered. ‘He’d probably stab you as soon as look at you.’
‘He could try.’
‘Oh yes, I forgot. I have a professional killer for a son-in-law.’
Chris rolled his eyes and was on his way to his feet when he caught a glare from Carla that stopped him.
‘Dad, that’s enough.’
Nyquist looked at his daughter and sighed.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Let’s get on with this.’
Chris clapped his hands together, pistol-shot loud. The voices next door stopped abruptly.
‘Suits me. So where is Vasvik? Hiding in the toilet?’
Carla made an angry gesture at him. Erik moved to a table loaded with bottles and glasses. His voice was toneless with suppressed anger. He picked up a bottle and studied the label intently.
‘Perhaps you’d like to act as if you were civilised for a change, Chris. I’m aware that the strain might be too much, but maybe you should try. This man is a guest in my house, and he, in fact everyone in this room, is taking chances for your benefit.’
‘Glem det, Erik.’ Truls Vasvik had appeared in the lounge doorway, scruffily dressed and running stubble. He looked tired. ‘Faulkner’s here to negotiate, just like me. The only favours he owes are to you for getting involved.’
Chris shook his head. ‘You’re wrong about that, Vasvik. I’m not here to negotiate. I’ve told you what I want and it’s not negotiable. Simple yes or no will do.’
‘Well then.’ Vasvik dropped into the other armchair, eyes speculative on Chris’s face. ‘The answer is yes. UNECT will take you. But I’m afraid there’s a catch. A sub-clause, I guess you’d call it.’
Chris looked up at Carla, whose face had gone from tension to relieved delight to puzzlement in as many seconds. He felt a petty, jeering sense of vindication rising in him.
‘What sub-clause?’ he asked.
‘You’ll have to wait.’ Vasvik was still watching him carefully. ‘For the extraction, I mean. We will extract you, and you will be paid what you ask. But we need you in place for another three to six months. Until the Cambodia contract has matured.’
‘What the—‘ Chris stopped himself with an effort of will and worked back to the easy confidence he’d come in with. ‘What the fuck do you know about the Cambodia contract, Vasvik?’
‘Probably more than you imagine.’ The ombudsman made a dismissive gesture. ‘But that isn’t really the issue—‘
‘No,’ snapped Chris. ‘The issue is, you’re fucking with me.’
Vasvik smiled faintly. ‘I don’t believe a time-frame was mentioned at any point. What did you think? I would come here and magic you out with one sweep of my UN wand? These things take time, Chris. You have to wait your turn. For a change.’
Pushing. The realisation seeped into Chris’s consciousness, damping down the instinctive anger to an irritated curiosity. Why’s he pushing me?
The previous meeting in the workshop at Mel’s. Vasvik’s face, hard with distaste.
Personally, Faulkner, I don’t give a shit what happens to you. I think you’re scum. The ethical commerce guys would like to hear what you have, that’s why I’m here, but I’m not a salesman. I don’t have to reel you in to get my name up on some commission board somewhere, and frankly, I have a lot of better things to—
But the ethical commerce guys have sent you back here, haven’t they, Vasvik? Chris felt the answer light up in his head like an arcade game. You warned them not to bite, but they overruled you and they sent you back for me, and now you’ve got to swallow that shit whole.
Unless, that is, you can trip me into blowing out the offer of my own accord.
He felt a grin building. The manoeuvring room was immense. And at the back of it all he had Notley’s avuncular indulgence spread like dark, protecting wings. He could run Vasvik ragged, grind his bony nose up against his own controllers’ orders to acquire Chris Faulkner at asking price, and even if he pushed the ombudsman over the edge and blew it, he could walk away from the wreckage of the deal. Fuck ‘em if they couldn’t take a joke. He’d stay at Shorn.
‘Alright.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s talk about Cambodia then.’
The tension in the room eased. Carla seemed to sag slightly with it, and Chris saw how her hand fell on her father’s shoulder. Erik reached up and clasped it without looking back from the drink he was building. Neither of them looked at Chris.
‘Good,’ said Vasvik. ‘So. The way we see it at the moment, you’ve got Khieu Sary on the customary long-leash arrangement, nominally acting in line with the accords you all signed up to, but in actual fact pretty much doing what he feels like. Recruiting from the villages that’ll listen to him, burning the ones that won’t. Standard terror tactics. My question is, what are you going to do about the enterprise zones?’
Chris shrugged. ‘We’ve got an understanding with him about that whole area. Gentleman’s agreement, nothing on paper.’
‘I see. Any reason why he should stick to that any more than he’s stuck to the Geneva Convention stuff so far?’
‘Yeah. If he doesn’t, we pull the plug on his mobile cover. Ever tried coordinating a guerrilla war by landline?’
Erik Nyquist leaned over and handed Vasvik a tall glass. There was a conspicuous lack of a drink in his other hand as he turned to look at Chris, and a familiar anger rising on his face.
‘Very neat,’ said Vasvik thoughtfully.
‘Yeah, because that kind of thing matters, doesn’t it, Chris. Can’t have some first-world sportswear manufacturer losing productivity, can we.’
Chris sighed.
‘Erik, you still got any of that Ardbeg non-chill filtered I bought you for your birthday?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Can I get some of that cheap blended stuff you like, then?’
Erik’s right arm twitched at his side. Chris saw the fist knot up. Then Vasvik murmured something in Norwegian, and the older man stopped himself.
‘Get your own fucking drink,’ he said, and stalked across to the lounge window. The police lights outside pricked the blue in his eyes as he stared downward. Chris shrugged, pulled a face at Vasvik and rose to follow his father in law’s advice. Carla turned away from him as he got there. She disappeared into the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself. Chris shrugged again. It was a view he was getting used to. He selected a clean glass and a bottle from the table, poured four inches of something apparently called Clan Scott.
‘I don’t see where you’re going with this, Vasvik,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘It’s standard CI operating procedure. Protect the foreign capital base at all costs. Sary understands that, like all the rest of these toy revolutionaries.’
‘And presumably you have informed those with interests in the EZs that this is the state of play.’
‘Yeah, sure. Most of them are buying their protection through our reinsurance arm anyway.’ Chris sniffed dubiously at the Scotch and took it back to his armchair. ‘Why?’
‘Did you know that Nakamura are modelling for a military coup against the Cambodian government?’
‘No.’ Chris swallowed some of his drink and grimaced. Next door the shouting seemed to be starting up again. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me. With Acropolitic still holding the official advisory angle, it’d be their only chance of carving themselves a slice of the action. Our indesp guys should bring it in before they make any substantial moves.’
‘Industrial espionage might give you backroom detail on the models, but it won’t help you on the ground. What are you going to do if it looks like Nakamura can get the Cambodian army to do what they want?’
Chris shrugged. ‘Call Langley, I suppose. Have the relevant uniforms capped at home.’