“Yes, to the north, Mr. Thorburn. I would like to see the small southern entity with the proverbial nukes be a very stable, calm, country for the time being. America would protect it, and things would be very calm and very peaceful for long enough that the wealthy newcomer might fade in his glory.”
“So it isn’t really friendship, is it? It’s… buying time. Then there’s nothing to stop America from crushing the little country.”
“It would be a temporary alliance, I’m afraid. I don’t believe there’s a way around it.”
“What if the nukes were… given up to greater authorities?”
“Who would you trust to handle such things? The southern country and any country that received these goods would, in this scenario, become immediate targets, because nukes that are changing hands are far, far more dangerous than nukes that are sitting idle in one place.”
“What if the nukes were destroyed? In exchange for certain concessions, to protect the southern country?”
“Impossible. In this scenario, I’d describe it as radiation. Ugly elements would be let loose. Elements that are contained so long as the nukes are intact, you understand. If it’s even possible to destroy those things. The person who put the things together was very, very conscientious.”
“They can’t be given away, because they’re too dangerous. They can’t be destroyed, because they’re too dangerous,” I said.
“In the best case scenario for our hypothetical little world,” he said, “our little southern country remains dormant for some time, and is cleanly, quickly wiped out of existence, in a matter of weeks, months or years. I’m sorry.”
Analogy aside, he wasn’t sugarcoating it. Somehow that made me feel better. I had my hands jammed in my coat pockets, and I kept them there, but I pressed my arms tighter against my body. “The nukes?”
“The nukes are left where they are and everything is paved over, with numerous measures taken to ensure it remains that way.”
I felt cold, and I wasn’t sure how much of it was the fact that I’d stood in the open doorway for long enough to let it soak into me, and how much was emotion and physical reaction.
We walked on for a bit. People greeted ‘Chief Behaim’ as they passed him on the sidewalk. He greeted them warmly in turn.
“No consideration to the poor bastard who didn’t even want to take over?” I asked.
“I suspect the poor bastard is as good as dead already,” Laird Behaim said. “I am sorry. If it helps, I don’t think I’ll enjoy the part I play in it.”
He sounded sorry.
“Would you like a coffee, Mr. Thorburn?” Chief Behaim offered.
I looked for a mirror and found one, meeting Rose’s gaze. I still felt numb, cold, a little less like a complete person than before. Slowly, surely, this situation was chipping away at me. A little warmth in the form of good coffee would go a long way.
“Sure. Please,” I said.
1.05
I’d expected a homey ‘small town’ coffee shop for Jacob’s Bell, but Laird guided me to a franchise instead. A small crowd had gathered within, teenagers done with the day of classes and adults done with work. Taking shelter from the cold.
I didn’t miss the sheer number of eyes that fell on me when I entered with the local chief of police.
“Hi Laird,” one of the twenty-somethings behind the over-lacquered wood counter said. A narrow guy with an apron and a flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows.
“Hi James.”
A middle aged woman, lines in her face worn deep, otherwise fairly well dressed, asked, “Who’s this? Bringing someone in for the wedding?”
One of two blonde teenagers at a table by the line said, “He’s not one of ours, and there aren’t any Behaim sorts with that hair.”
I touched my hair. Wavy and dirty blond, in contrast to the straight blond hair these girls sported.
I could connect the dots. Blonde girls… they might have been among the ones I saw while tossing and turning in bed, before waking up to all this.
“Wedding is a few months away,” Laird said. “As for who he is…”
He turned to me. Letting me make my own introductions.
“I’m Blake Thorburn. One of Rose’s grandkids.”
There wasn’t any shock or surprise, no outcry nor any particular reaction. I could see people shifting their weight. The middle aged woman folded her arms, legs set apart. A few people who’d been idly looking my way were staring now.
“Something’s happened to his cousin, Molly Walker,” Laird said. “The RCMP are looking into it.”
“The Walker girl is dead?” James asked.
“Murder?” one of the blondes asked.
“She was savaged by something in the glade behind the box store. There were bites, claw marks, as well as evidence of tools being used. We’ll know more when the coroner gets back to us tonight.”