It was good luck, as well, though. He could’ve been caught by patrolling Green Bones instead and then he would likely be in a hospital instead of a jail cell. Bero had been through far worse situations than a few days in prison. He called in sick to his job at the Double Double casino and waited out the inconvenience of detention, speaking in monosyllables and shrugging contemptuously at the police sergeant who questioned him. After three days, his cell was unlocked and he was informed that he was being released with a fine for three thousand dien and an order to appear in court in two months’ time to pay the fee, make formal apologies to the owner of the sporting goods store, and face possible further punishment depending on review of the damages caused.
Bero expected that would be the end of it, and was unpleasantly surprised when the police sergeant did not escort him out the front of the station, but led him to a back entrance where two men, one Kekonese and one foreigner, took custody of Bero and placed him, still handcuffed, in the back of a silver sport utility vehicle with tinted windows. They began driving away.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?” Bero demanded.
“Relax,” said the Kekonese man, who must’ve been Kekonese by ancestry only, because he spoke with a foreign accent. “We just want to talk.”
“Fuck you, whoever you are,” Bero shouted, kicking the back of the driver’s seat. “You’ve got no right to take me anywhere, you spenny pricks.”
“Stop that,” said the man. “If you want to be an asshole, we can drive you back to work, and you can explain to your boss what you’ve been up to in your spare time. The Double Double’s a No Peak clan property, isn’t it? And wasn’t the Clanless Future Movement responsible for an incident there a little over a year ago?”
That shut Bero up. Whoever these foreigners were, they knew a lot more about him than the police did. The man put a cloth bag over Bero’s head and said, “This is for your own protection. Just sit quietly with your mouth shut.”
After perhaps twenty minutes, the car came to a stop. The door opened, and Bero was guided, still hooded and blindfolded, out of the back seat and into a building. He was escorted by the elbow down a hall, through a door, and maneuvered into a chair before the hood was taken off, and then the handcuffs. Bero rubbed his wrists and scowled at the two men who’d brought him here. The one who’d spoken to him in the car was clean-shaven with a strange-smelling cologne, the other one was pale-eyed and had a short haircut. They were in a plain, windowless, unfrightening room with a table and chairs. It appeared to be a small but ordinary meeting room in an office.
“Here, have something to drink,” said the Kekonese-looking man, putting a bottle of watermelon soda on the table and opening another one himself. Despite his vexation, Bero was thirsty, so he snatched the bottle, still glaring.
“Now that we have some privacy, let’s start with proper introductions.” The man who spoke Kekonese was the one who did all the talking, but Bero suspected that the older foreigner, the one standing silent and off to the side with his arms crossed, was the boss. “My name is Galo, and this is Berglund. We work for the Republic of Espenia’s Military Intelligence Service.”
“No shit,” sneered Bero. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“We have a proposal for you,” said Galo, unruffled by Bero’s sarcasm. “Once you hear it, I think you’ll see it’s in your interest to accept.” He placed a photograph on the table in front of Bero. “Do you recognize this man?”
The photograph was of the stocky, curly-haired foreigner who’d first shown up at the Little Persimmon lounge last year, the one who’d caused such a stir with his questions and his promise that there were other people ready to help the Clanless Future Movement. Afterward, he’d stayed behind to talk privately with Guriho and the others. Molovni, that was his name. Bero had seen the man several times since, sitting at the back of the meetings, seemingly on good terms with everyone now. Bero only showed up occasionally these days, hoping to get close to Ema, who hadn’t yet agreed to go out for a drink with him, but who tolerated him just enough that Bero thought it was possible she would give in to him sooner or later.
“Yeah, so what?” Bero asked, curious despite himself.
Galo tapped the photo. “Vastik eya Molovni is one of the nekolva. It means ‘child of the nation’ in Ygut. Have you heard of them?”
“Nekolva?” Bero looked from Galo to the image of Molovni’s face with skepticism. “They have jade abilities without wearing jade. That’s what people say. I’ve heard they’re not real, that the Ygutanians made them up to scare people.”