th' teeth of any gift horses, but I'll admit to a certain curiosity as to why you called, wantin' to visit Clare 'n' me all o' a sudden.'
Jason gave Maria a slight shake of the head. He would explain.
'Maria was doing some work for my employer. We encountered some, er, unhappy customers and decided it would be best to let things cool off.'
Adrian gave Jason a long look, a smile tickling his lips, before he nodded his understanding and changed the subject as adroitly as a running back shifting field.
'You'll be interested to see th' farm Clare 'n' I got.'
'I thought you came here because of the archeology.'
'That, too.' Adrian took a mouthful of stew, chewed, swallowed, and continued. 'I spend as much time in yon old stone dwellings as I can. But it's not like we have a butcher and greengrocer convenient. We raise most of our vegetables, slaughter most of our meat. Even raise a few grapes.' He held up his glass. 'Not a fine claret, but sufficient.'
And far better than Sicilian.
'I can't think of anything that would go better with what we're having,' Maria said tactfully.
Adrian rolled his eyes at her. 'Clearly ye've not had good wine, lassie, but thanks.'
After the meal, Adrian leaned over his wife's chair, planting a prim kiss on her cheek. 'Mind, now, Mother, there's more'n enough of yer bonny stew for lunch on th' morrow if it's put up proper in th' fridge.'
Clare rolled her eyes, a woman who had kept house for a lifetime; only to have her retired husband begin to tell her how to do it.
Adrian took Jason by the elbow. 'Let me show you my projects,' he said pointedly.
Outside, behind the house, Jason saw perhaps an acre or so of vines, the young green shoots limning the stumps of last year's harvest. From nowhere a dog appeared, a large, shaggy animal with a tail wagging with pleasure.
Adrian stooped to pet the broad head. 'Name's Jock.'
'What kind is he?'
The Scot shrugged. 'Never asked, but he's good at roundin' up the wee lambs that get lost, stays out of the henhouse, and generally makes good use o' himself.'
Jock barked as if to confirm the resume.
It was something Pangloss might do. Jason reminded himself to check on his dog's well-being the next time he communicated with Mama.
They walked past a half acre or so of sprouting vegetables. Jason was surprised to see tomatoes already blushing with ripeness so early in the season. Yellow zucchini buds were visible through thick leaves, and there were the herbs mandatory for any Italian garden, basil and oregano.
Brown-spotted chickens scratched rocky dirt in front of a fenced shingle coop. A few feet farther they came to a run delineated by stout logs. Two of the biggest pigs Jason had ever seen stopped their rooting to watch through red, feral eyes.
Jason put his hand on the top rail and leaned over, the better to see. 'Damn, Adrian, I've never-'
Adrian snatched him backward just as one of the animals charged the place where he had placed his hand. The animal moved faster than anything that size Jason had ever seen. Its head struck the wood with a force hard enough to shake the thick timber rails. Its teeth were grinding into the wood.
'Laddie, you've never seen swine like these, obviously. Both hog 'n' sow are specially bred for size-have shoats that measure up to some full-grown pigs.'
Jason looked at the space between rails where one had stuck its snout through, exposing large, yellow tusks. 'Not exactly friendly.'
'That's why I keep 'em fenced rather than let 'em root wild. If I hadn't pulled you back, oP Goliath there'd be chewin' on yer arm.'
Jason looked from the pig to Adrian. 'I didn't know pigs were carnivores.'
'Omnivorous,' Adrian corrected. 'Most pigs'll eat anythin' they can chew or swallow. The mate to Jock, the dog there, somehow got into that pen. Wasn't much left of her, time I got here. Ever' time I herd the sheep, I go way 'round, make sure none of 'em wander into that pen there.'
As they turned to go back to the house, Adrian produced a pipe from one pocket, a tobacco pouch from the other. In minutes he was puffing something that smelled like a combination of silage and wet dog hair, so bad that Jason checked the soles of his shoes before ascertaining that the pipe was the source of the odor.
Adrian sucked noisily on the pipe's stem. 'Clare won' let me smoke in the house anymore…'
Small wonder.
'… and I can't get the good tobacco I used to enjoy.'
Surprise!
'You used to smoke cigars, I recall.'
But nothing that stank like that pipe.
'Still do when I can get Havanas.'
Adrian stopped, blowing a perfect smoke ring that shimmered in the daylight, then warped and disappeared. 'If I'm pryin', say so, but should I be on the watch for any, er, unexpected company?'
Jason shook his head. 'Don't think so, but you never know.'
'Perhaps you'd enlighten me. I'd be interested in hearing as much as you can tell me without breachin' whatever security you're operatin' under.'
Jason shrugged. 'You're letting me hide out here; you're entitled.'
While Adrian was staring into the bowl of his dead pipe, Jason took a quick breath of fresh air.
Striking a match with one hand, Adrian coaxed smoke from the briar. With the other, he indicated a woodshed and took a seat on an upright log. 'We can talk here.'
Jason stared into the sky, wondering exactly where to begin. 'Back last winter, I had a mission to snatch one of the bad guys, an arms dealer. He didn't survive the process. One of his customers is afraid somebody knows too much or will find it out…'
'An' who might that be?'
'We think they're an organization that calls itself Eco, run by former Russian Mafia turned eco nut.'
'There's always a chance they might figure you know nothing. Bad blood makes trouble.'
Jason remembered a two-hundred-year feud between Scottish clans, Graham as the House of Montrose on one side, the Campbells on the other, but he decided to say nothing.
Instead, he continued. 'Whatever this thing, this weapon-they call it Breath of the Earth-is, it's something that renders an enemy helpless while the bad guys cut his throat. Some minerals were included, minerals that came from somewhere around the Bay of Naples.'
Adrian was poking around the bowl of the again-dead pipe with a matchstick. 'And your kit is to find out what that weapon is, destroy it, and manage not to get your own throat cut in the bargain.'
'As we used to say in the army, 'kee-rect.''
Graham struck a fresh match and applied it to the pipe. 'I'm curious: why render someone defenseless and then kill 'em? Why not just apply lethal force to begin with?' lason edged away from the stream of smoke that insisted in drifting into his face. 'Don't know, but a good guess would be that having some natural substance make an enemy helpless has a certain appeal to radicals, those who believe they alone can save the earth. Sort of like Mother Nature's revenge,'
'How involved is your… friend, Dr. Bergenghetti?'
'With me? She's not. I mean, she's a leading volcanologist. I asked her to do some tests and those bastards are threatening her to get at me. Seemed expedient not to leave her.'
'Expedient because she's a bonny lass or because she's really in harm's way?'
Jason told him about what had happened in Sicily.
Adrian smiled around the stem of his pipe. 'The one who got away-Eglov-he'll not be on your trail?'
'I booked a flight to Rome, swapped IDs, and took a charter over here. I'd guess it will take Eglov a few days before he discovers we aren't in Rome. By that time, I'll no longer be imposing on your hospitality.'
Adrian was tapping pipe on the heel of a boot, knocking the contents onto the ground. 'Aye, let's hope.'
Jason grinned. 'Hope what? That they won't find us, or we'll be gone in a few days?'
