CHAPTER

SIX

Nexus II

Ilkodremin was one of the major manufacturing cities on Nexus; from the air its roofs glittered blue with solar panels. Rafe took a tram directly to his first call, the manufacturer of commercial ovens he had noted at Flasic’s Bakery Supplies, and entered into a long discussion that became an unsatisfactory negotiation about the availability of their ovens offworld, the possibility of sublicensing the plans, and other details he hoped would bore anyone doing surveillance.

In the afternoon, it was the manufacturer of a machine that turned out small cylindrical snacks filled with minced spiced fruit, but that, too, led to no contracts being signed, since Rafe specified a filling that was incompatible with their machine.

The next morning, he was off on another regional transport, headed away from what he thought of as his target area, to the tropical seacoast city of Maresh. A small specialty manufacturer there had, he explained to the apparently bored waiter at dinner, a reputation for innovative small-batch designs.

The small specialty manufacturer did indeed have such a reputation; the company’s designer was also one of the very few people on the planet outside his own family Rafe felt he could trust. The connection was accessible if anyone looked, but decades old. Lissa had been a student at the same school where he’d been sent.

He watched her scowl over his list of requirements, wondering if she’d remember the simple code they’d used in school. If not, he’d try something else. Her frown deepened; she shook her head once as if to dislodge a fly. Then she looked at him, straight-on as she always had.

“Genson Ratanvi. From…Cascadia.”

“Quite so,” Rafe said. He let his face relax for an instant, Genson’s expression of stuffy disapproval shifting, he hoped, to the crooked smile she’d remember. From her change in expression, just as quickly suppressed, it seemed to work.

“These specifications…will be difficult,” she said. “Expensive.”

“I hope not too expensive,” Rafe said, back in Genson’s persona. “It is because of your known expertise and reasonable prices that I came here at all. Maresh is hardly on the beaten track.”

“It can be quite pleasant,” she said.

He smiled, Genson’s smile and not his own. “Perhaps you could show me? A dinner, maybe?”

She stiffened a little. “I don’t usually socialize with clients, Ser Ratanvi. I’m sure Ser Bannat would be glad to show you around—”

“But I was hoping you—” He cocked his head. “I don’t mean to give offense, you understand. It is the habit of we Cascadians to maintain politeness; there would be no…nothing to object to, in that way. It is just that I would prefer you to Ser Bannat as you are the person who would be involved in the design of any machines, should we come to agreement on price.”

“I see,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll excuse me a moment…”

“Of course,” he said. “May I wait here—?” The design studio, with its files of projects. “Or would you prefer I wait in the public area?”

“I won’t be long,” she said. “You can wait here.”

Rafe refrained from stripping the data out of any files, since Ratanvi would not have done so, and in a short time Lissa returned.

“My boss has agreed to let me leave early today, Ser Ratanvi, and he’s given me permission to entertain you on the company account. I’ll just make a reservation at—you do like seafood, don’t you? Spicy?”

Something fishy, yes, and yes, he was hot where security was concerned. They were agreed on that. “I’m so sorry,” Rafe said. “But something I ate when I landed from the spaceport is still causing me trouble. If it could be something very mild instead?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Our regional cuisine is known for its spice blends, but I can certainly find a place with good, but blander food.”

And either no scans—or no scans she couldn’t fox.

“I hope you will pardon the liberty,” he said, “but you have beautiful hair.”

She touched the red-gold of it and grinned. “Now don’t start, Ser Ratanvi. You promised no offense.”

“Understood,” Rafe said.

The sights of Maresh included, as Rafe remembered from his childhood vacations, the long, rocky promontory forming one side of the harbor, where the seabirds nested in summer. Now, in autumn, only a little of the sickening stench remained, but it was enough to keep most people far away. Lissa led him out to the very tip, where the waves sloshed noisily at the rocks, to watch the lights dancing on the waters of the bay.

“So,” she said, when he finally nodded, having checked everything he could check. “What’s going on?”

“My family’s disappeared,” he said. “And someone put a trap on the old home number. Have you heard anything about a shake-up in ISC?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Not a shake-up…I don’t pay attention unless it’s something dramatic, you know.”

“You do know ansibles have been out all over, don’t you?”

“Have they? Where?”

She sounded sincere. “You really didn’t know?”

“No…our customers are mostly local to this system, and the others are nearby. How bad is it?”

“Generalized failure. Happened almost simultaneously.”

“Sabotage.” No doubt in her voice at all.

“Yes.”

“And you’re still working for the same firm?”

“I can’t answer that,” Rafe said.

“I see.” He suspected she saw more than was convenient. She started to speak, stopped herself, and dropped back into the old lingo. “Pretty evening on the water, isn’t it?”

He, too, had seen the light from the little boat, distinguishable from all the other lights dancing on the water by the vee it left behind.

“I think perhaps we should go back,” he said. He turned and offered her his arm. “You’ve been a most gracious hostess and guide, my dear, but this damp air can’t be good for either of us.”

“About the contract,” Lissa began, taking his arm and moving slowly back toward the city.

“I will call on your employer tomorrow,” he said, as stuffily as possible. “Tonight is not the time. But you may assure him that your services were perfectly satisfactory.”

The next day, he shook his head at the estimate Lissa’s employer gave him. “I’m sorry…I believe that is beyond our budget, though I will keep this in mind.”

“You won’t find a better price,” Ser Bannat said. “Not for what you want; it’s quite complicated.”

“Possibly too complicated,” Rafe said. “I will tell them back home. Apologies for possibly wasting your time.”

“No problem,” Ser Bannat said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.” He left the room.

Rafe had a last few minutes’ chat with Lissa, and took a chance, asking her if she had kept in contact with anyone he might have known, anyone near Pittville in particular. She had cut herself off from the others in the school, she said, except for two girls who had also made it through university. “You might not remember them,” she said. “Colleen and Pilar—both two years younger than me.”

“Just barely,” Rafe said. He had their images stored in his implant; he had more about the old school than anyone suspected, but this was not the time to brag.

“They made it through university, too,” Lissa said. “Colleen married, then it fell apart, then she married again. She and her second husband live about eighty kilometers from Pittville, but I don’t think they ever go that way—she’s always talking about their summer cottage down on the coast. They have three children; she does pottery. Pilar’s an attorney, specializing in family law. She never married, never had a partner that I know of. She lives in Pittville. Colleen lived with her for a while after that first marriage broke up; she might still know people there.”

“You have been most kind,” Rafe said. “Thank you for your time and hospitality.” Her employer was coming back down the hall; Rafe smiled and thanked him as well before leaving.

His next trip took him by train along the coast to Marrn; there he transferred to the line that ran up between rounded green hills to Pittville. On one side, the town looked peaceful and idyllic; on the other, the gaping hole for which the town was named lay raw and red as a wound.

Pilar Metris had an office in a building full of professionals: attorneys, accountants, land surveyors. Rafe did not intend to confide in her; he hadn’t known any of the younger girls well. The woman who came out to greet him from an inner office looked nothing like the girl’s image in his implant. Dark, elegant, and hard-faced, she looked him up and down as if he were an animal for sale.

“You’re a foreigner; you should know that I don’t handle international disputes.”

“I did not come for representation,” Rafe said, “but for general advice. Your receptionist has my credit deposit for an hour of your time.”

She grimaced. “Come in, then. Explain.”

“I am in food service,” he said. “We—the professional organization I belong to, of food service managers—are looking for a location for our triennial convention. We prefer not to be in urban areas, but within an hour of a transportation hub. I was hoping you could advise me whether there is anything in this part of the continent that might suit. I came to a barrister—an attorney, I believe you call them—” She nodded, her face now less hostile, merely intent. “I came to you,” he went on, “because I thought you would be more likely to know of any legal barriers to an interstellar gathering of considerable size, and any local legal difficulties that might arise with advance contracts.”

“What size?”

“For the triennial, that would be five to six thousand. For one of our smaller conventions, such as the annual local regional, which includes all of the Moscoe Confederation and Nexus Group, only about two hundred. All this is contingent on restoration of ansible communications, of course. Not the regional, because we and you both have working ansibles, but the big one…well, I haven’t been able to contact friends back at Allray or Sallyon for almost a standard year.”

“I see. I’m afraid there’s nothing suitable here—or within hundreds of kilometers—for your large convention. We do have several recreational and retreat centers in the hills to the northeast; for business people, I would think Green Hills Conference Center or Chelsea Falls Conference Center would be best. The others are either summer facilities for children or sporting complexes. Should you need to book facilities with one of the conference centers, I’ll be glad to guide you through the contract process.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said. “You’ve been most kind and helpful. I will look up the conference centers—I presume they have listings—”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “But I would expect both to be booked up for the next two years; they’re very popular.” She cocked her head. “How long will you be staying in Pittville, Ser Ratanvi?” That had a slight edge. Had Lissa contacted her? Lissa might.

“A few days,” he said. “My stomach does not like constant travel; I find I need to pause now and then and recover.”

“I see. Well, if you need any further assistance while you’re in town, by all means ask me.”

Rafe spent the rest of the day as a travel-weary businessman might be expected to. He ate a bland meal, went for a walk in the mellow afternoon light, and settled into his room for the evening. The deskcomp connected him to the advertising for both conference centers. Chelsea Falls, northwest of the mines, had two pretty waterfalls in a gorge. Rafe set up a bounce relay with care; he wanted any number he called to connect as if he were in Central instead of here in Pittville. Then he contacted the number given. He spoke to the desk clerk, inquiring about future vacancies, and expressed his regret that they had no space at the time of the regional convention. Its communications codes included the relay sequence, but the originating codes were nothing like the ones he’d noted.

That could be faked, of course. Or his parents might be held in some private residence, in which case…he shook his head and called Green Hills with the same inquiry.

As the numbers came up, he had trouble keeping his voice steady in the Cascadian accent. The same originating code…the right sequence of communications nodes. He forced himself to finish the conversation with the clerk—so sorry, no, the date of the convention could not be changed to fit Green Hills’ only vacant slot—and closed the contact breathing hard. He closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to calmness. From here on, he must be even more careful.

The structure was listed as the Green Hills Conference Center, owned by the Green Hills Development Corporation. Who owned Green Hills? Rafe, flat on his belly on the edge of a vast grassy space, had not been able to winkle that out of the local databases without risking the question being noticed. He stared across the bowl to the cluster of buildings surrounded with shrubs and trees. One large, three stories at least, the cupola to a small tower peeking out of the trees. One with the extra-large ventilator hoods that suggested a large, institutional kitchen. Small buildings, hardly more than cabins, placed haphazardly around the margin of the wooded space. And beyond, surrounding the buildings, the mown grass. Clear field of fire, up to the tree line, where dense forest surrounded the facility. Here it was a mix of evergreens and deciduous trees now dropping leaves like flakes of gold and bronze with every puff of air.

Two roads in: the staff entrance a narrow, one-lane blacktop bordered by hedges—the only cover across the grassy circle. The public entrance, a generous two lanes edged with bedding plants, all copper and bronze at this season, ended in a small parking area. One vehicle sat there. By its thermal signature, it had been in place for at least six hours.

And the whole place was thick with detection equipment in all modes. If he had not found, and suppressed, one of the section command nodes two hundred meters back, not even his chameleon suit would have kept him safe. The command node’s instruction set was ISC security standard, proof that someone involved was ISC—or that ISC’s security had holes all through it, another depressing thought.

A white van came into view on the servants’ road. Small, any lettering or logo on its sides hidden by the hedges from his viewpoint. It moved at a moderate pace and disappeared behind the cluster of buildings. Rafe extended his probe into the security command net, careful not to tickle any of the internodes, but he could not reach anything useful. The elements within his reach could give him enhanced audiovisual of their detection arc direct to his implant, but nothing more.

The staff parking areas, he already knew, were surrounded by buildings, out of sight of the perimeter or underground. In a benign setting, this might be to keep any utilitarian objects out of view of customers who expected total elegance. Here, such caution seemed sinister. No legitimate enterprise needed this level of security, of secrecy.

Something moved; he saw sunlight flash…it was a glass door opening. Tiny figures exited the building, three of them. Two were in gray coveralls. Rafe increased the magnification in his eyepiece. Not just coveralls, but camouflage battledress, its surface now inactive. The third figure wore business clothes…but atmospheric instability made wavering patterns in Rafe’s eyepiece; he could not see the face clearly enough to be sure of an identity.

That third figure went to the parked vehicle and entered it; after a moment the vehicle moved, leaving by the public road. The two uniformed figures stood together, watching, then turned back to the buildings and entered the largest.

An hour later, another white van entered the area along the service road. He could still see no logo, thanks to the hedges. It—or its twin—reappeared quickly and stopped partway to the trees, blocking the service road. Rafe boosted his visuals; the sun was going down, and long shadows dimmed his view of the road. A short time later, a second white van emerged from the trees near the buildings, followed by a third. The first van moved ahead, on into the trees, followed by the other two; Rafe dared not tap into the perimeter security to see if it went all the way to the public road.

He lay there another three hours. Nothing moved in the compound; no lights came on. Were his parents still there? Had they ever been there? Were the three white vans benign—transportation for cleaning or maintenance crews prepping the facility for another conference—or something else?

By midnight, he was out of the woods, undetected as far as he knew, and back in Pittville, his disguise restored in the cab of the rental car.

“Did you enjoy your drive, Ser Ratanvi?” the doorman at the hotel asked when Rafe had turned the car in.

“It’s very pleasant country,” Rafe said. “Especially, I would think, at this time of year. The trees where I live are all evergreen.”

“You should see it in spring, when the trees are in bloom,” the doorman said.

The next morning, Rafe went back to Pilar’s office, and this time the receptionist smiled at him. “You are having a pleasant time, Ser?”

“Indeed, yes, though the resorts are all booked up for next year, as Sera Metris said they might be. I have just a few more questions for her, if she is free.”

“It will be a short time, but then, yes.”

Rafe pored over the local business directory, trying to think of some way to ask what he needed to ask without breaking character. There simply was no way that even his supple imagination could devise…

When they were alone. Pilar looked at him, one corner of her mouth pulled in, “Ser Ratanvi, I perceive that you are not entirely what you seem.”

“Lissa,” Rafe said, to see what she’d do.

“Lissa…was not my year. I didn’t have much to do with the younger girls.”

“No. You were younger.”

She scowled. “That time is over. I don’t talk about it.”

“Nor do I, but some things are never over.”

“So what do you really want, Ser Ratanvi-in-food-processing?”

“A name,” Rafe said. “Which an attorney might have.”

“And if I choose not to cooperate? If I think this is something for law enforcement?”

“Then my family will die,” Rafe said. “If they aren’t dead already.”

She gazed at him without a change of expression for a long moment. “You are serious.”

“Completely.”

“They…were rich.”

“Yes.”

“Powerful.”

“Yes.”

“And you think they’re in danger. Why?”

“I would rather not tell anyone who doesn’t have to know,” Rafe said. “I believe the danger is extreme.”

“You want to find them…rescue them?”

“I need to find a reliable person who does that sort of thing.”

“Hostage extrication,” Pilar said. “Very dangerous, very much a specialty. There are three firms I know of, assuming you don’t want to go to the authorities—since you haven’t, I’m safe to assume.”

“That’s right,” Rafe said. “If their disappearance isn’t public knowledge, there’s a reason, and the authorities could be involved.”

“You have asked me if I will serve as the local contact should your association decide to hold its annual conference here,” Pilar said. “That is all you have asked me. I asked for a retainer. You paid it; you will pay it when you leave. A name you might know: Gary.”

Gary. Rafe remembered exactly one Gary they had in common, the older boy who had made his life hell for two years of his incarceration at the school.

“The best reputation on the planet,” Pilar said. “It’s a respectable company providing general and special security services.”

“Gary?”

Her mouth quirked. “As it happens, I have his personal contact numbers. Here.” She scrawled something on a plasfilm strip. “And now, I believe our business is finished. My receptionist will be glad to take care of the retainer.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said.

Pilar shrugged. “Lissa was kind to me, and to Colleen. And I have to admire someone who cares about a family who dumped him into that hellhole. Mine can rot, for all I care.”

In the outer office, Rafe paid the retainer. He decided to wait until he was away from Pittville to call Gary…in fact, he would call while in transit to his next stop. He caught the afternoon train back to the coast, then the night train to Balcock, the nearest city with a commercial airport. The night train had a full directory; Gary’s firm came up, with an office number instead of the ones Pilar had given him. And the firm’s office was in Balcock…why there and not Central, he wondered. Which number to call? Well, Ratanvi would have no reason to call a security services firm…he called the private number. He was not surprised when the link icon lit a security bubble.

“S’Gary,” said a male voice. It didn’t sound like the old Gary, but it had been fifteen years at least.

“Pilar gave me this number,” Rafe said. “Lissa mentioned me to her.”

“I don’t play games,” Gary said. “Whatever you’re—”

“The door to the steam tunnel could be opened from the other side only with a key,” Rafe said. The worst night of his life had been spent on the wrong side of that door. Silence, now. Finally, a gust of air huffing out.

“This wouldn’t be that rich boy, would it?”

“Yes,” Rafe said. “I need to hire an expert.”

“Expert in what?”

“Retrieving stolen valuables.”

“Where are you?”

“On a train to Balcock.”

“You know where our corporate HQ is?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t go there. Check into a hotel—the Dorset Arms or the Seaview. Name?”

“Genson Ratanvi.”

“Good…grief. Cascadian, by your accent. Well, Ser Ratanvi, we’ll meet tomorrow to discuss your business. Shall we say ten of the clock?”

Rafe left the station in the morning crowd, and didn’t notice anyone following him. He checked into the Seaview—which, despite its name, had only one narrow slice of sea view, and that only from rooms on the right front corner. His room, fifth floor back, looked out onto a parking lot and the blank wall of another building. That suited him. He had slept little; his mind kept churning through the possibilities, most of them grim. He forced himself to eat something for breakfast.

Promptly at ten, the deskcom buzzed; he told the desk clerk that yes, he was expecting a visitor and please send him up.

Despite himself and the years between, Rafe’s stomach tightened when he opened the room door and faced Gary. Whatever he’d been doing in the intervening years, Gary had not let himself go: he was as fit and muscular as he had been in his late teens. Almost a head taller than Rafe, massive shoulders in a well-fitted suit, he looked like the tough he was. Or had been. He looked Rafe up and down after Rafe closed the door behind him.

“I hope that’s not your real belly,” he said.

“I am here in the person of Genson Ratanvi, food service manager,” Rafe said, in his Cascadian accent. He let one of his knives slip into his hand and turned his hand so Gary could see it. “But underneath…”

“You’re the same snaky kid you were before. I suppose that’s good.” Gary moved to the room’s easy chair and sat down. He opened his briefcase and pulled out an array of gear that Rafe recognized as scan detection and stealthing equipment. For a moment or two, Gary said nothing as he set this up and turned it on, Then: “So…what do you need?”

Rafe settled into the desk chair. “My parents and sister—my whole family—have disappeared. I can’t find my sister’s husband. She may be pregnant, or she may have a baby—I’ve been away for years; I’m not sure of the date she was due. The house is empty but not looted, and there’s a police guard out by the gate. The private house line has a trap on it. My father’s private number is supposedly out of service. There’s been no word publicly…I think they’ve been abducted; I don’t know by whom. Or for sure, where they are, I think I know where they were until the day before yesterday.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“I want to find them and rescue them, of course. Pilar says you’re the best on the planet. I want you to help me. I was going to do it myself, but if something went wrong—”

“You’re crazy,” Gary said. “No one person—no two people—can extricate hostages if the captors are at all competent. And from what you say, they’re professional quality.”

“I have to—”

“You have to use your head, Rafe. You asked my advice. Listen to it. You’re talking three, four hostages, right? Two seniors—”

“They’re not senile!”

“I didn’t say they were. But they’re not going to be as resilient, as physically capable, as younger people. And a young woman who may or may not be pregnant, may or may not have a child—”

“I don’t know—”

“And that’s a problem. And you also don’t know if any of them were injured in the original snatch, and you don’t know why law enforcement isn’t on this loud and clear. It’s serious gray, if not black, and you aren’t qualified to know what it’s going to take.”

“I—”

“Rafe. Sit down and listen. This is my specialty; if it were yours, I would know that. So it’s not. You know covert stuff, I’ll grant that; I have no doubt you’ve done things on the dark side. I have no doubt you’re brilliant with any kind of communications or surveillance gear. But you do not know what it takes to extricate hostages, and I do.”

“So do it, then.”

“Just like that.” Gary shook his head. “You show up again after…however many years it’s been, and it doesn’t matter except that we’ve been out of touch and I have no idea if you’re still worth a damn.”

“As a killer?” Rafe asked.

“As someone I can trust to pay the bills,” Gary said. Rafe opened his mouth, but Gary raised a hand to silence him. “Oh, yeah, we all knew you were a rich kid, good for any amount of money. And what I heard was you were still a rich kid, getting remittance from papa as the price of staying away. That doesn’t sound like someone I want to trust with the lives I’m responsible for.”

Rafe tried not to glare, remembering Gary as someone who had never, to his knowledge, accepted responsibility for anyone else. “Responsible,” he said, testing that.

“Yes,” Gary said. His mouth worked as if he might spit, but he didn’t. “Things you didn’t know, rich man’s son. There were other kids I took care of back then. There are men I take care of now.”

“You didn’t—”

“Do a thing for you for the first year. That’s true. You were a cocky little squirt, Rafe; you had all that rich-man’s-son gloss all over you, and I hated the rich for good reason. I wanted to see that gloss come off, see if you were worth anything underneath. And you surprised me. You were. Then you left…and I don’t know this Rafe.”

Rafe shook his head. “Too much time between. Too many things happened. It’d take weeks to catch up, if we ever could, and I don’t have that time.”

“Think you’re tough enough to force me?”

“Might be. But that’s a waste of time, too. I have more important things to do than prove myself to you, Gary. If you don’t want the mission, say so. I’ll go somewhere else.”

This time Gary did spit, with the same precision Rafe remembered from their youth. “You won’t find any better than me. You’ll just get in more trouble.” He gave a sharp head shake. “I am an idiot, because I’m going to trust someone I know is a snake to the backbone, and I swear, Rafe, if you cross me, I will stake your snaky vertebrae to the hottest griddle in hell, one by one…”

“I don’t want to cross you,” Rafe said. “I want to get those people out safely.”

“Those people…not your family?”

“If I think of them that way, I can’t think,” Rafe said. He heard the tremor in his own voice and struggled to control it. Gary had no respect for weakness.

Gary shrugged. “Whatever helps you give me what I need for the team.”

“Which is?”

“Info and money. I’m assuming you still have unlimited funds…”

Rafe shook his head. “Not at the moment. My account’s not available. I don’t have access codes for the family accounts, let alone the corporate accounts. That’s part of the problem. I can get into my personal accounts locally, but that will be obvious to anyone watching, and I know someone is.”

“Tell me,” Gary said.

Rafe described the experiences he’d had in the past days, from the phone surveillance of his family’s numbers to the difficulty with accessing his accounts. “I should’ve been able to transfer funds from the deposit account to my alias’s without a hitch; I’d done it before. Financial transactions are supposed to be secure, anyway. It’s one of the selling points for financial ansibles. This time a team of ISC security personnel showed up at the hotel, and I barely got away.”

“So how were you planning to pay for my services?” Gary asked.

“My alias has accounts on Cascadia, and ansible service between here and there is still functional. I don’t know if it’s enough until you give me a price, though. If it is, then you’ll work through a dummy corporation selling baking equipment—”

“Baking equipment?”

“My alias is a food service manager,” Rafe said. “I’ve been all over the planet looking at food processing equipment—commercial ovens, specialized snack production equipment, and so forth. There’s suspicion, but so far I think the bad guys are convinced that my alias is a real person with someone trying to use his identity.”

“I don’t come cheap,” Gary said. “What we do is dangerous work, and my team are all well aware of the risk. I have to provide sufficient medical coverage and death benefits to recruit reliable, skilled team members, as well as training facilities and equipment.”

“So how expensive is not cheap?”

“There’s a per diem or a per mission rate. Per diem seems lower, but you have to understand that it includes the pre-extrication time necessary to assemble, brief, and train the team for this specific task, as well as the time needed for the mission itself. That’s always more days than the customer expects, though I give the best estimate I can. Per mission is much higher, but it’s a turnkey price. Doesn’t matter how long it takes; I absorb any overage.”

“How long do you think this would take?”

“Don’t have enough data yet. You say they’ve been moved from Green Hills…that’s good, because a setup like Green Hills is very difficult. We have to find the new location, assess it, plan a route in and out, train the team on any specific problem areas, and so on.” Gary spat again. “I don’t take credit; we have expenses up front and I got stung a few times early on when I trusted someone. But I can see you’re in a bind. If you can come up with a substantial down payment, I’m willing to trust that you or your family will pay the balance afterward.”

Rafe felt a tiny burst of warmth. “You’re that sure you can get them out.”

“I didn’t get the reputation I have for failing, Rafe.” Gary grinned. “I can’t exactly give you references, but I can say that we’ve had only one failure in the past six years, and only two before that. Out of…quite a few cases.”

“So tell me what the down payment is,” Rafe said.