Amberlough(29)

“And what if I told you we don’t need your help to win this election?”

Cyril kept admirably calm, though he was a whisker away from victory. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “If that’s the case,” he said, pinning Van der Joost with a disapproving stare, “I’d be interested to know what we’re doing across this table.”

“We’re finally having a truthful conversation.” Van der Joost’s smile was lipless and self-satisfied. “It’s time to drop the charade, DePaul.”

Acid burned the back of Cyril’s throat. Deadpan, he said, “But I’m so fond of party games.” There was no point in denying his identity, if he was blown. “How long have you known?”

Van der Joost steepled his fingers. “Since before you got on the train.”

“You have a mole in the Foxhole.”

Van der Joost’s steepled fingers flexed, hyperextending. Around his short nails, the skin went white with pressure. He said nothing.

“I’m only a replacement,” said Cyril. “Were you going to turn the first agent they assigned?”

“We already had. But you’re a better catch—what’s that quaint little nickname your branch of the FOCIS gave you? Oh, yes: Master of the Hounds.”

It clicked for him, then. Why Van der Joost had let him run free like a pet mouse for more than a month, before jerking the string that held him. “My assignment caught you off guard,” he said. “Just like it did me. You’ve been busy with your research, trying to predict my reaction to whatever offer you’re about to make.”

“Very good,” said Van der Joost.

“And what was your conclusion?”

“I think,” he said, polishing his spectacles on his tie, “that you will do what I’m going to ask of you. But even if you don’t, the outcome is the same: the One State Party triumphs.”

“Then why even bother asking?”

“It would be good to keep Culpepper complacent,” said Van der Joost. “If you disappear, she’ll scent trouble and start scheming. If you arrive home safe, our plans come to fruition unchallenged. And”—he smiled, almost flirtatiously—“because despite the somewhat … unsavory things I’ve turned up in my research, I believe you might be useful to the party. It would be a shame to waste your potential.”

Cold fear filled the groove of his spine. “What?”

“It wasn’t supposed to come to threats.” Van der Joost sounded almost apologetic. “But you have no choice, DePaul. Not really. We have the police force here, and mercenary ships on the mill owners’ payrolls”—he spread one hand on the table to represent Nuesklend—“and the army in Tatié.” He put the other hand down, and drew them both together, matching thumbs and index fingers.

The spade-shaped hollow between Van der Joost’s palms showed Cyril his city, hemmed in. “And if I’m not keen on the idea of treason?”

There was a weighty pause. Then, instead of an ultimatum, Van der Joost said something unexpected and banal, but all the more chilling for that.

“You don’t want to be here, do you?”

“You mean Nuesklend in general, or sitting here, across from you?”

“I mean on this action. In the field. My sources say Culpepper pulled you out from behind a desk to do this job. But I’ve read your personnel file. I know about Tatié.”

Cyril curled his hand into a fist, breaking the crease at the front of his trousers.

“You were stationed within the army, reporting on their training and their capabilities. Amberlough likes to keep a close eye on her neighbors. Especially her well-armed ones. A navy and volunteer militias are no use against a landlocked military power.”

And Tatié was rabidly unionist. Though the ongoing border conflict with Tzieta occupied most of the army’s attention, things were changing under Moritz’s regime, probably at Acherby’s behest.

“Blown, tortured, nearly killed. And Culpepper hushed it up, to keep Amberlough out of a civil war. She used to be your case officer, didn’t she? That must have stung.”

“It was good policy,” said Cyril, through gritted teeth. “You said yourself: We couldn’t fight them. As it was, the reparations Amberlough paid were brutal.” It was illegal for a state to use FOCIS agents in domestic rivalries, especially given the military aspect of the action. Cyril’s presence implied mistrust. “It was more than I should have expected.”

“But not as much as you wanted.” Van der Joost sat back in his chair. “I have it on good authority you were reluctant to return to active service.”

“Purely speculation.” True, nonetheless.

“Do this for the party, and you have my word you’ll never be put in the field again.”

“And if I don’t do this, I’ll die in it?”

He didn’t get an answer, but Van der Joost’s silence had an affirmative heft.

“I’ll be honest with you,” said Cyril. “I’m not thrilled.”

Van der Joost’s chuckle felt jarring, though in retrospect Cyril’s gross understatement had struck an almost humorous note.

“You’ve read my file,” he continued. “You know who I am. Well, I’ve read up on Acherby and the blackboots too. I know your platform. I won’t condemn myself to a life of celibacy, or risky assignations in the shadows. If I die now, I’m dead, fine.” His hands felt like ice, but he made himself say it. He might be a coward, but he was also a hedonist. “If I help you, I destroy the city that lets me live my life, and I end up a pariah, or in prison.”