“Hello, Joshua, I forgot you were flying out here today.” Bowdeen covered his initial reaction and stepped forward to shake hands.
The spymaster gave his associate a bland smile. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Bowdeen.”
“How was your trip?”
Joshua shrugged. “Like most trips, tedious. This is the first time I’ve crossed an ocean, but in all other respects it was quite similar to flying across the United States.”
“Have you seen much of Germany yet?” The man seemed determined to make small talk.
“The language may be different, but the customs of the Fallen appear to be much the same from country to country,” Joshua replied flatly. “I have little interest in seeing more of them. My sole reason for making the trip was to speak to you on a matter of some importance.”
“Right.” Bowdeen cleared his throat uncomfortably at the veiled rebuke. “Let’s go to my shack and talk.”
He led the way out of the shooting range which was located in a wooded area several acres from the central portion of the compound. The two men followed a worn foot path a few hundred yards through the trees to what appeared to be a thatched cottage.
“This used to be a woodcutter’s hut long before the Nephilim came to these parts,” Bowdeen explained. “Since I had to spend a fair chunk of time here and I didn’t want to bunk in the main house, the local brotherhood fitted it up for me. C’mon inside.”
Joshua surveyed the interior of the rustic cottage. It consisted of one room. The ceiling was so low it almost grazed the top of his head. There was a small central table which Bowdeen was obviously using as a desk. The kerosene lantern resting on a stack of papers suggested that the cabin had no electricity. A ladder at the back of the room led to a sleeping loft above.
“My meals get sent over, and there’s no indoor plumbing but, believe me, I’ve had to make do with worse than this in my time.” Bowdeen walked over to the tiny window at the far side of the room where several amber bottles were propped against the glass.
“Without a refrigerator,” he explained, “it’s the only way to keep them cold.” He took two bottles from the sill and held one out toward Joshua. “Want a beer?”
The spymaster recoiled at the offer. “No, thank you. I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Suit yourself.” Bowdeen put one of the bottles back. “Since you rub elbows with the Fallen so much, I just figured that you might have picked up some of our ways.” He grinned. “Maybe next time.” He flipped the cap and took a long swig before setting his bottle down on the table.
Joshua found the man’s comment insulting. The spymaster prided himself on his ability to travel among the Fallen without being contaminated by their influence. He never forgot that the pure blood of angels ran through his veins. Lowering himself to adopt the customs of the outer world was inconceivable. Of course, he didn’t allow his face to betray his outrage. He merely smiled.
“Take a seat.” Bowdeen gestured toward a sagging sofa that was drawn up to face the fireplace.
Joshua selected the corner of the couch farthest from the grate. He instinctively preferred to keep to the shadows.
The mercenary walked over to the cold hearth, knelt down and began to build a fire. Over his shoulder, he said, “According to the calendar, it’s almost spring, but the air still has a nip to it.” It took him about five minutes to coax the kindling into a blaze. When he was satisfied with the result, he took the seat opposite Joshua and held his hands out to warm them.
“How are your students progressing?” the spymaster asked. He knew his father would want a report.
Bowdeen shrugged. “As well as can be expected for kids who’ve never handled a gun before. We’ll get there. I didn’t think much of you when you started, but you turned out to be a decent marksman.”
“Yes, I am,” Joshua agreed softly. “You taught me well.”
“I suppose you’re here because your father wants you to set up the same intelligence network as you did back in the States?”
“Yes,” the young man assented. “I’d like you to provide me with the names of potential candidates from the students you’re training. At least one of them will need to be able to speak English. You know the sort I’m looking for by now.”
“I ought to after all the work we did stateside. I guess I’ve spent more time with you than anybody else in the Nephilim.” He seemed on the point of saying something more but stopped short.
“Mr. Bowdeen?” Joshua prompted. “Is something troubling you?”
The mercenary flinched at the observation. “You might say that. Something’s been weighing on my mind for a while now.” His voice held a note of misgiving.
Joshua didn’t press him. He assumed he could get more information by not appearing to be too eager to obtain it.
Bowdeen gave the spymaster a furtive look and sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any notion what your father intends to do with the undercover groups you’re setting up and all these sharpshooters I’m training?”
Even though Joshua had secretly been asking himself the same question for months, he tried to appear indifferent. “I haven’t any idea. I imagine all these measures are to better protect us from the outside world.”
The mercenary stared into the fire and made no reply.
“Do you have a theory of your own, Mr. Bowdeen?” Joshua hoped that the man did because the diviner certainly hadn’t been forthcoming about his intentions.
Without shifting his gaze, the
