“The Burmese Dah Zey pays in more than just cash,” the enforcer tells him. “It pays in respect. And career advancement.”

Starkey’s fear, which had just been gnawing at him, now clamps down, driving its teeth deep. His blood literally begins to feel cold within his body, like his veins are being caressed with ice. “You can’t be serious.”

But their solemn silence proves that they are. There’s the black market, and then there’s the Dah Zey.

Starkey tries to swallow, but finds his throat too dry. “Okay . . . okay . . . we can work this out. You don’t need to do this; we can work this out.” Maybe he does beg after all.

“Too late for that,” snaps the enforcer.

“No,” rasps the whisperer. “Let him talk.”

Starkey knows this will be the greatest escape act of his life, if he can pull it off. “I can supply you,” he says.

“We don’t need supplies,” says the enforcer.

“That’s not what I mean. If you free me, I can supply you with Unwinds to sell to the Dah Zey. They’re AWOL storks marked for unwinding, so no one will miss them. Imagine that—a constant supply . . . and not just any kids—I’ll give you the cream of the crop. The strongest, the healthiest, the smartest. I’ll keep you flush for a long, long time, and get you that respect you were talking about.”

They just stare at him for a moment. Then the enforcer says, “You would do that? Sacrifice the other storks to save yourself?”

Starkey nods without hesitation. “What you don’t understand is that they need me. They need me more than they need each other.”

Again, weighty silence as they consider it. Starkey wishes he could see their eyes better. He wishes he could see the expressions of the other two behind their ski masks.

“How many will you give us?” the whisperer asks, her voice still a toneless rasp.

“How many do you need?” Starkey forces a smile. “Ten percent? Like a tithing? That’s right, they’ll be like tithes!”

Starkey knows he’s getting somewhere. As for the logistics, those can be worked out later. The consequences of this escape can be dealt with. The aftermath is always manageable. All that matters in the moment is the escape itself.

“How could you do that to them?” says the third one, and his whisper breaks, a bit of roundness coming into his timbre. In the back of Starkey’s mind, that voice is familiar, but it’s so far back in his mind, he doesn’t register it yet.

“I can do it because it’s the right thing to do!” Starkey insists. “The idea of a war is more important than any of its warriors. And I am the idea!” Then he looks away. “I don’t expect you to understand that.”

And suddenly the whispering woman isn’t whispering anymore. “We understand a lot more than you think.” Starkey realizes who she is the moment before she removes her ski mask.

“Bam?”

She turns to the third attacker. “Are we good, Jeevan?”

Jeevan removes his mask as well, then fiddles with the small object in his hand. “Yeah, we’re good.”

As the betrayal takes hold in his mind, Starkey finds his fear replaced by fury. He struggles against his bonds. He can escape from the ropes, but it will take time. He doesn’t have time! He wants to tear free now, so he can tear them all apart.

“He should die now!” announces the enforcer, who now paces in the background. “If I still had my garden shears, I’d stab them through his heart right now!”

But apparently no one present has either the guts or the inclination to end his life. It’s their weakness that will save him.

“There’s been enough killing,” Bam says. “Go wait for us in the car. We’ll be there in a minute.”

“Who the hell is that clown?” Starkey asks.

“That ‘clown’ is the head gardener at Horse Creek Harvest Camp,” Jeevan tells him. “You blew up his wife last week. You’re lucky he didn’t blow your brains out just now.”

Starkey turns to Bam, realizing that this is still a negotiation, just a very different one. “Bam, let’s talk about this. You’ve made your point, so let’s talk.”

“I’ll talk,” she says. “And you’ll listen.” She’s calm. Too calm for Starkey’s taste. He much preferred when her anger was out of control. That anger is malleable. It can be shaped any way Starkey wants. But this cool calm is like Teflon. He knows anything he says will slide right off it.

“You’re going to disappear, Mason,” she tells him. “I don’t care where you go, but you’re going to perform a total vanishing act. You will not kill the tithes at Mousetail. You will never attack another harvest camp. You’ll never fight for another ‘cause,’ and most of all, you’ll stay far away from the Stork Brigade, from now until the end of time. Or at least until the end of your miserable life.”

Starkey glares at her. “And why would I do that?”

“This is why.” And she turns to Jeevan, who fiddles with the device in his hands that Starkey had mistaken for a weapon. It’s not a weapon at all; it’s a small recording device. Jeevan hits a button, and it projects a hologram—a miniaturized version of the spot they still stand in, in high definition, just as clear as the real thing. Starkey watches himself say:

“If you free me, I can supply you with Unwinds to sell to the Dah Zey. They’re AWOL storks marked for unwinding, so no one will miss them.”