Zero History

“I’m sure he thinks he is.”
“Forces? Had been?”
“Sleight,” she said, “Oliver. British national, resident in Canada. Works for Blue Ant.”
“Yes,” said Milgrim, imagining Sleight’s picture on her wall. “Otherwise, he said almost
nothing. Said they needed gussets.”
“Gussets?”
“The pants.” Then, remembering: “Blue Ant’s smartest design analyst thinks they aren’t
military. Thinks they’re streetwear. I think she was right.”
“Why?”
“Coyote brown.” He shrugged. “Last year. Iraq.”
“I was in Iraq,” she said. “Three months. In the Green Zone. I got tired of that color
too.”
Milgrim could think of nothing to say. “Was it dangerous?” asked his robot.
“They had a Cinnabon,” she said. “I missed my kids.” She finished her beer, and put
the bottle down on a cut-glass coaster with a frilled sterling lip. “That was his wife you
met, in the gift shop. He’s been in Iraq too. First in an elite unit, then later as a
contractor.”
“I was afraid of him,” Milgrim said.
“I imagine he’s fairly dysfunctional,” she said, as though that wasn’t something
warranting any surprise. “What is it with that Toyota?”
“The Hilux?”
“What local cooperation I have is via the FBI’s legal attaché here. The Brits were
willing to follow you from the airport, and to let me know where you were staying. But
they’re curious about the truck.”
“It’s Bigend’s,” Milgrim said. “It has armor fitted by a firm named Jankel, special
engine, tires that keep going if they’re shot up.” He didn’t say cartel grade.
“Is that really his name?”
“The French pronunciation would be ‘Bayh-jhan,’ I think. But he seems to favor the
other.”
“Why would he need a truck like that?”
“He doesn’t need to need it. He just needs to be curious about it.”
“Must be nice.”
“I don’t know if I’d describe him that way,” Milgrim said. “But he’s definitely curious.”
“And extremely well connected here. When my Brits ran the registration, I got the
feeling, they decided that a tail from the airport and the name of your hotel was about all
I’d be getting. Though that might have been all I’d have gotten anyway. But they did ask
about the truck.”
“There aren’t that many genuinely eccentric rich people,” Milgrim said. “Evidently. Not
even here.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me.”