Chapter 21
The reinforcements were there.
Van watched them walk past his window. They began piling in the week before Easter, passing down the hall in teams of three
and four: young, sturdy, and tanned, with close haircuts and bored eyes. They had carbine rifles over their shoulders—Van
The cannon fodder had been milling in the hallways for three days when Van came awake one night, suddenly knowing someone
was in the room with him. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he spied Mr. Francis leaning against the inside of his door. It
was dark in the evil little motel room, and the brightest thing in it was the coal burning at the end of his cigar.
The men looked at each other. Francis had a zip-up windbreaker on.
“I always loved fireworks,” Francis said. He studied the glowing tip of his cigar. “The rockets’ red glare. The smell of them.
One way or another, this Easter is going to be a hell of a show. They’ve got shoulder-mounted RPGs, you know. Two assault
helicopters. A tank.”
“They’ve got shit,” Van said. “Do any of them have any idea what they’re up against?”
“The foot soldiers have no idea. They believe you and your sister are Serbian nationals, loyal to Milorad Lukovi?. Ever heard of him? No? Doesn’t matter.
Bad fuckin’ Yugoslavian. They’ve been warned that Lukovi? wants you free or dead and has activated a paramilitary team here in the States, a kind of sleeper cell, with access to military-grade weaponry.
There are a few men here with a higher level of security clearance, who know the truth.
They’ve seen the video of King Sorrow from Greenland.
They’re operating under no illusions about what’s coming. ”
“If they really understood what was coming, they wouldn’t be sticking around. Why did you come in to watch me sleep? I hope
to God you haven’t made a regular habit out of it. If I have to have a stalker, I want her to look more like Glenn Close.”
“I came to tell you that whatever Barclay asks for in the next few days, give it to him,” Francis said. “Tell him whatever
he wants to know. It doesn’t matter now. This is almost over. You just need to get through these last few days. But you need
to know I can’t protect you. I’m being pulled out. If they bring back the bucket of ice water, this time you’re going to drown.”
“Protect me?” Van asked, angry now at the fucker with his shitty mustache and stinking cigar. “My sister has been tortured.
I’ve been tortured. We’ve been held for four months in a secret prison on American soil.”
“You’ve also killed again and again for ten years with a weapon that blows anything our nation has right off the battlefield.
So don’t give me the puppy dog face about how you’ve been treated. You tell me some kids got a dirty bomb in their possession,
I’ll do what I have to to get my hands on it and sweat the Bill of Rights later. Besides, the Bill of Rights is for American
citizens.”
“I am an American citizen.”
“Are you? I think you belong to the Long Dark, Van. I think you pledged your allegiance to a king, not a constitution. Still.”
Francis looked at his cigar tip again. “This country has made deals with kings before. I told them what would happen if they
tried it Barclay’s way, and after Sunday . . . well. They’ll have to do it my way. Try and stay alive until then?”
He rapped on the door and was gone.