Sunto was quiet for an entire minute. Then he nodded. “All right, Kaul.” His jaw was clenched. “I see how it is. How much am I going to have to pay you?”
“You spenny piece of shit, do you think I want your dirty money?” Hilo exclaimed with so much violence in his expression that even the ex–Navy Angel took an involuntary step backward. Lott and his Fingers near the door tensed, their auras humming. “I’d like to see your company burned to the fucking ground and you thrown into an Espenian prison by the same politicians who paid you so handsomely,” the Pillar snarled. “Instead, I’m doing what I don’t want to do. I’m offering to save you, Sunto.”
Hilo pointed to the cassettes and papers on the coffee table, representing countless hours of effort on the part of the clan’s White Rats. “I’ll lock all of this into a vault where it’ll never be seen by anyone. All you have to do in exchange is work for No Peak one last time.”
“Work for you?” Sunto exclaimed in bewildered suspicion. “To do what?”
“Bring down your boss,” Hilo said. “Wyles.”
“Art Wyles?” Sunto repeated uncomprehendingly.
“You heard me,” Hilo said. “I want Anorco destroyed.”
Sunto breathed through his teeth. “GSI is part of the Anorco Global Resources conglomerate. Art Wyles invested in my company from the beginning. He’s the reason we landed the War Department contract. I won’t turn on a friend and fellow Truthbearer.”
Hilo was tempted to remind the man that they had been friends at one time as well. Espenian friendship, Hilo thought, is worth exactly what you can pay for it.
Instead he said, “Wyles is selling his share of Anorco to a private investor. That private investor is the Mountain clan. Unless you find a way to extricate GSI from its parent corporation, you’ll soon be answering to Ayt Madashi.” As Sunto’s face slackened with disbelief, Hilo could not help but smile at the irony that one of his detested enemies should end up eaten by the other. “The company you founded based on supposedly modern, Truthbearing, Espenian ideals will be used to protect Mountain clan assets and advance Mountain clan interests.”
“That’s not . . .” Sunto shook his head. “Art’s stepping down from Anorco, but he never . . .” Hilo could see that the man wanted to accuse him of lying, but behind the stare of blistering animosity, confusion was spinning quickly into doubt and grim understanding.
Sunto broke eye contact first. He went over to the sofa Hilo had vacated and sat down hard. Hilo stood in front of the man and leaned down to peer into his face. “Wyles betrayed you. He’s selling his company to protect himself. I know this because I know Ayt Madashi. You know Art Wyles. What does the Mountain clan have that could bring him down?”
Sunto’s jaw worked back and forth. “Proof,” he said reluctantly, but with certainty. Even with Hilo watching him, he touched the Dawn of Icana pendant to his lips and whispered a prayer in Espenian, perhaps for strength or forgiveness—Hilo could not tell. “Proof of Art’s criminal connections to the Crews. Plenty of Port Massy tabloids have brought it up before—old photos of him with Joren Gasson and other members of the Baker Street Crew—but it was always just gossip and rumors. Anything concrete could sink his political career or land him in prison. That’s the one and only thing I can think of that could make him sell Anorco.”
Bitter silence stretched between the two men as they stewed in hatred and grudging regard for each other and their mutual enemies. Hilo nodded and straightened. “The sale of Anorco will close in six weeks. My Weather Man tells me it can’t proceed if Wyles is charged with financial crimes and his assets are frozen. She’s also told me that if Anorco is broken up, you’ll be able to regain control of GSI in a management buyout.”
Hilo studied Sunto’s wretched expression as if unsure whether he wanted to put a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder or snap his neck. “You and your mercenaries will never set foot in Kekon again. You’ll never recruit another member of No Peak.” He looked at the stacks of tapes on the table in unspoken reminder that he could still bring GSI crumbling down. “But you can save yourself and your company, if you tell me right now that you’ll do as I ask. You’ll help me to bring down Anorco and the Mountain clan.”
From the moment he’d met Jim Sunto, Hilo had judged him to be refreshingly pragmatic, a man with no allegiance to anyone except himself and his foreign God. Sunto put a hand over his eyes for a second. When he looked up at Hilo again, his futile anger had solidified into dignified resignation—the expression of a captive bear coming to the realization that it must debase itself to eat. “What do you want me to do?”