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"Tess Sooyan, David Valentine," Zhin said, by way of introduction.
The young woman hid behind her hair and glasses. She sat down in the corner with a pad, leaving the table to Valentine and her superior.
"Used to be if someone saw a weird track or bone they'd bring it to us, and we'd hand out little rewards and so on, even if it was just another Grog skull. But the, oh, what do you want to call them, shifty types-border trash-they avoid us now. All the barbed wire and uniforms scare them away."
"Speaking of shifty . . . I've got a confession. I'm here under false pretenses. I didn't need a follow-up to my last debrief."
Zhin leaned back in her chair. "Oh?"
Tacitly invited to explain, Valentine extracted Post's note. "A friend of mine got this . . . I'm guessing it's from one of your people. He's looking for his wife."
"Probably one of the kids," Zhin said, showing the note to her assistant. "Still in school or fresh out of it, they start here running down public queries. They shouldn't be sending out copies of documents, though. Or passing on opinions."
"That might be Peter Arnham's writing," Tess said at a level just loud enough for Valentine to hear it. "He's on the Missing/Displaced network."
"Can you look into it?" Valentine asked. "My friend's a good man. Badly wounded outside Dallas. He's going to have to put his life back together after all this. It would help if he knew one way or the other."
Zhin put the message in her leather folio. "I'll get a group going on it.
"I'll owe-"
"No, we don't work that way. No favors, no bargains, and you needn't come back with a crate of brandy. If you want, we can put you up for a night or two on campus."
"I know the town. I'd rather not be behind wire. I'll look up the Copley, if it's still around. Maybe try for a bass in the reservoir lake."
She and Tess both made notes. "You might at that. No one was doing much fishing while Solon was running things."
* * * *
Few pursuits can compare with fishing for a man looking for peace and quiet.
Two days later, enjoying his leave more than he'd enjoyed anything since parting with Malia, Valentine brought in a nice three-pound bass. As he tied up his aluminum shell he mentally inventoried the seasonings he'd picked up at the market after catching that catfish yesterday but had saved at the last minute in the hope of a better future catch: some green peppers, garlic, cloves, and a tiny bottle of what the spice merchant swore up and down was olive oil.
This particular lunker would be worth it.
He'd grill it over charcoal and hickory within the hour, and enjoy it with a syrupy local concoction everyone in town called a coke.
"Hey, Valentine," he heard a voice call. He looked up. "Reservoir Dan," the man who'd rented him the boat and tackle-and who accepted money only for bait " 'cause that's an actual expense" after seeing his Southern Command ID, stood at the pier, stubbing out one of the ration cigarettes Valentine had insisted that he accept. "Got a message for you-hey, you did good."
Valentine held the fish a little higher. "Got it near the stumps on the north side."
"You try that spinner?"
"That's what got him. What was the message?" Dan would go all afternoon about local fishing with the tiniest prompt.
"Some girl on a bike from the Ark. Said they ran your paper down and that you could come by anytime."
"I hope anytime includes after lunch," Valentine said. "Join me?"
"I'll bring the sweet potato pie," Dan said, smacking his lips.
Half a bass and a thick wedge of pie heavier, Valentine caught a lift on a military shuttle horse cart to the SEARK campus. Everything went faster this time, from surrendering his weapon at the gate to admittance to the Miskatonic.
This time Zhin brought him back to her office. The researcher had a deft hand at indoor gardening; assorted spider plants shot out tiny versions of themselves from the top of every file cabinet and bookcase, taking advantage of the window's southern exposure.
A young man she introduced as Peter Arnham, who seemed to prefer rumpled clothes two sizes too big for him, stood up nervously when Valentine entered.
"This isn't a trial, son," Valentine said. "I'm just doing legwork for a man who's missing his."
