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"Do you know what you're getting yourself into?" Valentine asked. "There's no regular mails between Kentucky and the UFR. No banks to cash expense vouchers."
"I was hoping for the traditional hospitality of Southern Command to members of the press. As to my stories, one of your men can transmit via radio. General Lehman said you are in radio contact twice daily."
That settled any issue about this being a put-up job. Radio security was about as tight as Southern Command could make it, involving scramblers and rotating frequencies. Lehman must have passed that tidbit on. Standard Southern Command procedure for brigades in the field was three radio checks a day. As theirs had to be relayed through Rally Base, they found it easier to do just two.
Valentine shrugged and gave Lambert a hint of a nod.
"Welcome aboard, Pencil. I hope you find the situation in Kentucky interesting," she said.
"But not too interesting," Valentine said. "We all had enough interesting this summer to last us till pension draw."
Boelnitz shook hands all around. It was hard to say which version of Pencil Boelnitz was more handsome: serious, expletive Boelnitz or grinning, eager-to-befriend Boelnitz. Valentine couldn't tell whether Lambert had a preference, either.
The bottle their patrol boat had given them contained some seven-year-old bourbon. Mantilla shared a glass with Valentine that night.
They sat in the captain's day cabin. Valentine supposed it was meant to be an office too, but the ship's records seemed to take up one thick sheaf of paper in various sizes, stains, and colors attached to a rusty clipboard.
A single bulb cast yellow light on the cabin deal table. Mantilla and Valentine sat with their legs projecting out into the center of the cabin as the captain poured.
"This is even better for your cold than honey," Mantilla said.
"It makes being sick a little more relaxing. The inspection today-what was that about?"
Mantilla leaned back and put his chin down so the shadow of the cabin light hid his eyes. "A formality, as it turned out."
"Thought you said you didn't know the boat."
"I didn't. But I turned out to be an old friend of the officer in command of the patrol boat."
"Were you?"
Mantilla chuckled. "For a little while. Today anyway."
"I thought you hadn't met him before."
"I never saw his face in the whole of my life. And you would remember a face like that. Like an asshole with pimples."
"What does that mean?"
"You know how a shitty bunghole seems like it's winking at you-"
"No, you never met him, but he knew you?"
"Major Valentine, let's just say that I'm an expert in letting people see what they want to see."
Valentine finished his glass of bourbon and tapped it. To be friendly, Mantilla tossed back his own, gave a little cough, and refilled them both.
"Let me tell you a secret about people, Valentine. They're really good at fooling themselves. They go through life jerking themselves off, complimenting themselves that they're seeing things as they are. Really it's wishing, like a little boy on a skate-board pretending it's a jet airplane. Some chocha says no, no, no but the prick she's with hears yes, yes, yes."
"Or she's hearing wedding bells and he's thinking bedsprings. But I don't see how that gets a sealed bottle of bourbon out of a local river cop."
"He didn't want to come on board and find trouble. He was hoping for a friendly face. I gave him one."
"Just how did you do that?"
"Allow me to keep a few secrets, Major. I will say this. All it takes is the tiniest bit of a nudge. A shape in the shadows turns into an old friend. A crumpled old diner check turns into a valuable bill." He pointed to the sheaf of paper on the wall. "An old spreadsheet becomes a transport warrant."
"Sounds like magic."
