Terrence had just eased himself into the leather chair across from Barrett and cozied up to his highball when there was a knock at the door. Barrett shouted to leave him alone but Lukowski's doorman entered and said he had an urgent and confidential message from the Rock. Barrett groaned. The man entered and stared uneasily at Terrence but Barrett told him to get on with it already.

There had been a coordinated attack on MPD forces in the northwestern region, the doorman said. Barrett gave his best "tell me something I don't already know" look. General Johnson ordered a temporary lockdown of all MPD settlements with the guard on high alert. Standing orders to shoot any suspicious characters on sight. This included all of Summerland but Johnson specifically ordered a tighter rein on the Grudow district. Johnson had already dispatched a team of new recruits from the Rock to cover the increased patrolling responsibility. The final order: no one in or out for 72 hours including, he said with a glance at Terrence, special operatives. Barrett exuded uninterest.

He ordered the man back to his post. Barrett doubled the liquid in their glasses. "Think the rank-and-file know yet?" he asked.

"Probably. If not, it'll spread fast. The guards at the Tombstone were gossiping like teenagers."

"Did you hear about the Reichman girl?" Terrence shook his head and Barrett grinned. He took obvious delight in peppering his intelligence officer with information that had eluded him. Terrence shrugged it off. He was only one man in a network of information reporting back to the boss. After Barrett told about him about the girl's mysterious return, Terrence responded by relaying what information he'd gathered from his short conversation with Ellen Johnson and his painfully longer, yet less fruitful, conversation with guardsman Singh.

"Our men cut down. A surprise attack on a covert squad of special ops. The unexpected return of an heiress. Stockpiling weapons at Concord."

"What do you make of it all?" Terrence asked, sitting back.

"Time will tell with the Reichman girl," Barret said at last. "Definitely a distraction for the old hag. We'll want to keep an eye on that. The Concord angle is interesting. Honestly, I hadn't thought of that." Barrett stared into his glass like it was a crystal ball. Terrence copied the trick. It told him he'd need a second drink if the conversation was heading where he suspected.

Terrence waited. He spent a lot of his time waiting for Lukowski to make his moves. Terrence imagined puzzle pieces floating in Barrett's head.

"Did you remember the Reichman girl? Nah, you were probably too young. She was a rabble rouser, peace and equality, class conflict, all that socialist tripe. She was born 200 years too late and on the wrong continent," he said with a snort. Then he grew serious. "But Ellen Johnon, nervous about a revolt coming from Concord."

He fixed his steely stare on Terrence. Terrence knew from experience that he was to speak, to give voice to what he thought Barrett was thinking. Then if it sounded stupid, then Barrett wasn't the one who said it.

Terrence cleared his throat. "Fifteen years ago the Reichman girl runs away. Instead of dying in the streets, she lucks out and find someone who doesn't rape and kill her. Over the course of the next decade, and without us ever hearing of it, she builds relationships with the powers-that-be in Concord. She helps them stockpile guns, explosives, anything they can get their hands on to strike at us. Somehow the Reichmans or Johnsons locate her out in the Reaches and send the special ops to squash her rebels and bring her back. Maybe they lose the element of surprise, or maybe it's a tougher nut to crack than they expect, but they get nailed. But Ellen Johnson pries out the Reichman girl and limps home in victory. How's that sound?"

Barrett was a long time before speaking. "Thin," he said.

"Damn thin."

"That just doesn't feel right. Something's missing. Enough of this hearsay, what we need is solid info of our own. We need to know what's going on in Concord." Barrett steepled his fingers and stared over them at Terrence.

Terrence drained his glass, then reached for the bottle and poured himself a finger. "There's 72-hour travel ban."

Barrett shrugged. "Give it 48. No one will notice after that. Then you do what you do best. Make yourself invisible and slip away."

Terrence made the drink a double, gave it a swirl, and sniffed. Grassy, fruity, malty, peaty, smoky, oaky. Whatever. It was wet, abrasive, and alcoholic. It worked for him.

"Get your ass over to Concord and check out that Bazaar. Get a feel for the place, see what's going on. Then hightail it back here to give report."

Oh Alcy would love this, Terrence thought. Honey, your dad is sending me on a recon mission to a whorehouse deep in enemy territory where they're stockpiling weapons and planning a war against the MPD. I might be a little late so don't wait up...

Terrence knocked the drink back in one big gulp, ignoring the burn, and spun the glass on the desk until it clinked his father-in-laws, where it came to rest.