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Sime had remembered that Valentine had asked for a bar during their interview while he was incarcerated in the Nut awaiting trial.
At Valentine's shower that evening he spent an extra fifteen minutes wallowing in the silky feel of Sime's gift. It lathered up at the barest kiss of water and left his skin as smooth as an infant.
He found Brother Mark silent, gloomy company during their meetings together. He was the one member of the group Valentine couldn't get a feel for one way or another. Of course, high-ranking members of the New Order were habitually standoffish, quiet, and reserved.
He sometimes wondered if Lambert just placed Brother Mark with the planning group to act as a lightning rod for discontent. In mistrust-ing the churchman, all the other officers grew closer together.
He grew fond of the unassuming Jolly. Valentine was looking forward to serving under him.
"Beats being called Jelly, my old playground nickname," Jolla said. "I was chunky as a kid.
Don't know how I managed it-whole family was just about starving, thanks to the cold summers. At sixteen I became a letter boy and started biking around with mail, and it finally came off."
Meanwhile, Valentine's denim-covered file folder grew ever thicker as they worked out variants on the basic plan involving weather and enemy countermoves. Highbeam was taking shape, and Valentine approved. He learned there was even a network of Cats in place to wreck rail lines in Tennessee and a bridge or two across the Ohio to delay any countermoves with large formations of troops. There was only one functioning rail line through central Kentucky anyway, and it would be easy enough to disable it.
Then it was time for them to disperse. They'd meet again outside Rally Base in a gradual buildup. The regulars wouldn't arrive until the last moment. They'd marshal farther to the south to preserve the illusion of the move on New Orleans.
* * * *
Lambert walked around the square one last time and handed each of them a folded sheet of paper the size of a small piece of stationery. Lambert's neat handwriting was a little blotchy.
Obviously the ink she used to write the forty notes wasn't the best quality. The note read: The code name for this operation is now Javelin. Any changes to the blue-book plan will be marked javelin.
Everyday correspondence and orders will still be marked Highbeam, as will certain messages from me designed to bring confusion to the enemy. Please ignore any Highbeam order from my office dated with an even number. This message is printed on sweet rise paper. It's tasty-enjoy.
Valentine smiled. Confusion to the enemy.
* * * *
A week later he stood before a house well outside Russellville, Arkansas, wearing civilian clothes and carrying his Maximillian Argent identification.
The imposing brick house had a rebuilt look to it, with a newer roof and windows added to something that had probably stood vacant and deteriorating since 2022. There was paper over the upstairs windows and Valentine saw a pile of sawdust in the garage. A big garden stood out back, and melon patches flanked the house. Household herbs grew under the sills.
Valentine scanned around with his ears and heard soft clicking out back.
He walked through the nearer of the two melon patches and found Nilay Patel next to a small mountain of stacked river-smooth rocks, digging what looked like a shallow trench connecting two foxholes but judging from the roll of waterproofing might be a sizable artificial pond. Patel had put on a little weight since he'd last seen him.
"Sergeant Patel!" Valentine called.
"No need to shout. I heard you come off the road," Patel said, fiddling with some tools in a bucket.
Valentine took a closer look. There was a revolver handle in there.
Patel's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Lieutenant Valentine!"
Valentine felt pleased to be recognized. He wondered if he'd recognize himself. "How are you, Sergeant?"
"Come across the hedge, just that away. Nadi," he called to the rear screen door. "Drinks!
An old comrade is here to visit."
He picked up a curve-handled cane and limped to some garden furniture with hand-sewn cushions.
Nadja Patel, whom Valentine had once met as Nadja Mallow, emerged with a tray. Though she kept her glorious head of hair, she'd aged considerably, but then Solon's takeover of the Ozarks had taken her first husband.
She turned her back on Valentine as she set down the tray. Valentine smelled spicy mustard. "I thought I might as well bring you your lunch," she said to her husband. "Would you like something . . . ummm-"
"David," Valentine supplied. "Yes, it's a good walk from Russelville."
