could do about it. Not then and not now. You’d need an army. Which the CA more or less guaranteed we didn’t have. And in the leadership’s defense, these people, whoever they are, never returned. At least until now, if what you’re saying is true.”
Something was missing, Peter thought, a detail lurking at the edge of his awareness. “Who else was with you?”
“On the scouting party? The officer in charge was Nate Crukshank. The third man was a young lieutenant named Lucius Greer.”
The information passed through Peter like a current.
“Take me there. Show me where it is.”
“And what would we do when we got there?”
“Find our people. Get them out somehow.”
“Are you listening, Lieutenant? These aren’t just survivors. They’re in league with the virals. More than that—the woman can control them. Both of us have seen it happen.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. All you’ll accomplish is getting yourself killed. Or taken. My guess is, that would be a good deal worse.”
“Then just tell me how to find it. I’ll go on my own.”
Tifty rose from behind his desk, returned to the table in the corner, and poured himself another glass of water. He drank it slowly, sip by sip. As the silence lengthened, Peter got the distinct impression that the man’s mind had taken him elsewhere. He wondered if the meeting was over.
“Tell me something, Mr. Jaxon. Do you have children?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Indulge me.”
Peter shook his head. “No.”
“No family at all?”
“I have a nephew.”
“And where is he now?”
The questions were uncomfortably probing. And yet Tifty’s tone was so disarming, the answers seemed to spring forth of their own accord. “He’s with the sisters. His parents were killed at Roswell.”
“Are you close? Do you matter to him?”
“Where are you going with this?”
Tifty ignored the question. He placed his empty glass on the table and returned to his desk.
“I suspect he admires you a great deal. The great Peter Jaxon. Don’t be so modest—I know just who you are, and more than the official account. This girl of yours, Amy, and this business with the Twelve. And don’t blame Hollis. He’s not my source.”
“Who then?”
Tifty grinned. “Perhaps another time. Our subject at hand is your nephew. What did you say his name was?”
“I didn’t. It’s Caleb.”
“Are you a father to Caleb, is what I’m asking. Despite your gallivanting around the territories, trying to rid the world of the great viral menace, would you say that’s true?”
Suddenly Peter had the sense of having been perfectly maneuvered. It reminded him of playing chess with the boy: one minute he was drifting in the current of the game; the next he was boxed in, the end had come.
“It’s a simple question, Lieutenant.”
“I don’t know.”
Tifty regarded him another moment, then said, with a note of finality, “Thank you for your honesty. My advice to you would be to forget about all of this and go home and raise your boy. For his sake, as much as your own, I’m willing to give you a pass and let you and your friends go free, with the warning that speaking of our whereabouts will not, how shall I put this, bring happy things your way.”
Checkmate. “That’s it? You’re not going to do anything?”
“Consider it the greatest favor anybody’s ever done you. Go home, Mr. Jaxon. Live your life. You can thank me later.”
Peter’s mind scrambled for something to say that might convince the man otherwise. He gestured toward the drawing on the desk. “Those girls. You said you loved them.”
“I did. I do. That’s why I’m not going to help you. Call me sentimental, but I won’t have your death on my conscience.”
“Your conscience?”
“I do have one, yes.”
“You surprise me, you know that?” Peter said.
“Really? How do I surprise you?”
“I never thought Tifty Lamont would be a coward.”
If Peter had expected to get a rise, he saw none. Tifty rocked back in his chair, placed the tips of his fingers together, and looked at him coolly over the tops of his spectacles. “And you were thinking maybe that if you pissed me off, I’d tell you what you want to know?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Then you mistake me for somebody who cares what others think. Nice try, Lieutenant.”
“You said one of them was never found. I don’t see how you can sit here if she could still be alive.”
Tifty sighed indulgently. “Perhaps you didn’t get the news, but this isn’t a what-if world, Mr. Jaxon. Too many what-ifs are just a way to keep yourself