Kill Decision(104)
She stared at the table. “I don’t share your optimism. Weaver ants have survived almost unchanged for a hundred million years because they dominate every environment. If someone’s supersized them, and that design is out there—then what’s to stop this from spreading? You remember what Ritter said: Everyone wants this.”
“We were able to come to an international agreement about nuclear and biological weapons. So we should be able to come to some agreement about robotic weapons too.”
“Odin!”
They both turned to see a group of young boys at the gate. The lead one rolled a soccer ball on the tips of his fingers. He wore a bright yellow soccer shirt with the number twelve on it, but the other boys were in a mishmash of clothing.
The lead boy called out, “Mira, todavía tengo la pelota que me diste, quieres patear?”
The other boys urged Odin on.
He turned to McKinney. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m being challenged to a contest of skill.” He stood and walked toward the gate. “Bueno, Pelé, vamos a ver como las mueves. . . .” He hopped the wall, and the knot of boys took off after him down the street, laughing as mangy dogs barked and ran alongside them.
McKinney grinned slightly, watching through the gate, as Odin kicked the ball around with a growing knot of boys. He leaned down and said something that made them all laugh uproariously. It was a side of Odin she’d never seen. He seemed a natural ringleader, and it was apparent these boys knew Odin. They were at ease around him. She found it hard to square this side of him with the elite warrior.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when another voice spoke right next to her. “Mind if I join you?”
McKinney turned to see Mouse standing in the doorway of the hacienda. “My God, you scared me; I didn’t hear you come up.”
Mouse sat where Odin had just been. “That’s how I got my nickname.” He looked at Odin directing the boys into teams in the quiet, dusty road. “Ah, soccer. My game has suffered a bit.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed he was good with kids.”
Mouse nodded in the group’s direction. “They look up to him. He understands what they’re going through.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re orphans.”
McKinney now looked with concern at the young boys.
“Lalenia runs an orphanage for the children of the disappeared. It’s a lot of kids.”
McKinney looked into the street. “I knew David was an orphan, but I had no idea about these children.”
Mouse observed her closely for several moments. “He told you his real name?” He turned to watch Odin playing referee of an impromptu soccer match. “That’s interesting.”
“He didn’t exactly tell me. Another man said it in front of me. Some guy named Ritter—the same man who mentioned you. But David said his own name wasn’t important—that ‘Shaw’ was just the street they found him on.”
“He told you that much? And he brought you here. Are you two . . . ?”
She held up her hands. “Oh . . . no! No, we’re just . . . colleagues.”
“Didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that he doesn’t usually share information about himself. David doesn’t trust people easily.” Mouse studied her with his remaining good eye.
Nonetheless it felt like he was looking right through her. She squirmed.
“I worry that he’s missing a big part of life.”
“I imagine in his line of work trust doesn’t come easily.”
“You forget: I’m in the same line of work. And he came to us like this. As a kid, pretty much everyone who should have taken care of him, didn’t. He had difficulties. Learning disabilities. Turns out instead of being stupid, he was just very, very smart. No one checked. He grew up in juvie halls.”
McKinney watched Odin holding the ball up, the kids screaming with laughter. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because that man is a brother to me. I love him like my own flesh and blood. David projects an image of invulnerability—like nothing can hurt him—but we both know that’s not true.”
McKinney nodded slowly and turned to see Odin bringing the soccer ball to one of the smaller boys.
Mouse took a deep breath and tapped the table. “The militia’s having a celebration tonight. To welcome back the old team. I hope you’ll come.”
“I’m not really up for a celebration.”
“There’s no better time to celebrate friendship than when things are at their worst.” With one last tap on the table he stood and silently departed.