She was referring to Peter’s first encounter with Tifty at his underground compound north of San Antonio. As a cathartic entertainment, members of the trade leadership would face off against virals in hand-to-hand combat, the others betting on the outcome. Dunk had gone into the cage first, dispatching a dopey with relative ease, followed by Peter, who had taken on a full-blown drac in order to secure Tifty’s agreement to escort them to Iowa.
“It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
Sanchez smiled. “That’s my point. You’re a man who does what needs to be done. As for Dunk, the man’s not half as smart as Lamont was, and I wish he were. Our agreement with Lamont was a simple one. The man was sitting on some of the best-preserved military hardware we’d seen in years. We couldn’t have outfitted the Army without him. Keep the worst stuff in check, we told him, keep the guns and ammo coming, and you can go about your business. He understood the sense of it, but I doubt Dunk will. The man’s a pure opportunist, and he has an ugly streak.”
“So why not just put him in the stockade?”
Sanchez shrugged. “We could, and it may come to that. General Apgar thinks we should round up the lot of them, seize the bunker and the gambling halls, and put an end to it. But somebody else would slide into his spot before the ink was dry, and we’d be back to square one. It’s a case of supply and demand. The demand is there—who will supply the goods? The card tables, the lick, the prostitutes? I don’t like it, but I’d rather deal with a known quantity, and for now that’s Dunk.”
“So you want me to talk to him.”
“Yes, in time. Corralling the trade is important. So is keeping the military and the civilian population fully on board during the transition. You’re the one man who has stock with all three. Hell, you could probably have my job if you asked for it, not that I’d wish it on my worst enemy.”
Peter had the unsettling feeling that he had already agreed to something. He looked at Apgar, whose face said, Believe me, I’ve been down this road.
“What exactly are you asking?”
“For now, I’d like to name you as a special adviser. A go-between, if you like, between the stakeholders. We can come up with a more specific title later. But I want you out in front, where everyone can see you. Your voice should be the first one people hear. And I promise you that you’ll be home for supper every day with your boy.”
The temptation was real: no more sweltering days swinging a hammer. But he was also tired. Some essential energy had left him. He’d done enough, and what he wanted now was a quiet, simple life. To take his boy to school and do a day of honest labor, and put his boy to bed at night and spend eight sweet hours someplace else entirely—the only place where he had ever been truly happy.
“No.”
Sanchez startled; she wasn’t used to being denied so succinctly. “No?”
“That’s it. That’s my answer.”
“Surely there’s something I can say that will change your mind.”
“I’m flattered, but this has to be somebody else’s problem. I’m sorry.”
Sanchez didn’t seem angry, merely puzzled. “I see.” The disarming smile returned. “Well, I had to ask.”
She rose to her feet, everyone else following suit. Now it was Peter’s turn to be surprised; he realized he’d expected her to put up more of a fight. At the door, she shook his hand in parting.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Peter. The offer stands, and I hope you’ll reconsider. You could do a lot of good. Promise me you’ll think about it?”
There seemed no harm in agreeing. “I’ll do that.”
“General Apgar can show you out.”
So that was it. He felt a little amazed, and wondered, as one always did when a door closed, if he had made the right choice.
“Peter, one last thing,” Sanchez said.
He turned at the threshold. The woman had returned to her desk.
“I was meaning to ask. How old is your boy?”
The question seemed harmless enough. “He’s ten.”
“And it’s Caleb, yes?”
Peter nodded.
“It’s a wonderful age. His whole life ahead of him. When you stop to think about it, it’s the children we’re really working for, isn’t it? We’ll be long gone, but our decisions in the next few months will determine the kind of world they’re going to live in.” She smiled. “Well. Food for thought, Mr. Jaxon. Thank you again for coming.”