For Port Authority, it had truly been a day of firsts. Shig reflected on that as he leaned back in the old duraplast chair in the Admin Dome conference room. First time a marine colonel had been eaten by a quetzal, first time a Board Appointed IG had been knifed in Inga’s—let alone buried up in the cemetery. While it wasn’t the first time a wounded quetzal had hobbled its way up PA’s main avenue, it was the first time one had done so surrounded by an armed guard. Kylee, Tip, Talina, Dek, and Falise Taglioni, walking on all sides, carrying rifles, had escorted Flute to the hospital where an incredibly nervous Raya Turnienko had rendered medical aid to the mobber-wounded quetzal. When asked why the quetzal was receiving aid before her own cuts were administered to, Falise had replied, “Because Flute’s lineage.”

In yet another first, Hofer—of all people—had applauded and called out a hurrah as Flute limped past.

Shig glanced down the table to where Kalico Aguila was bent over a notebook, checking figures. Allison Chomko—who would have guessed that she owned that much real estate in PA?—had already given her approval for the deal. Allison had conducted the negotiations without so much as a hint of emotion. No wonder the woman was so good at running a casino.

Cinque Suharto—dressed in his light-sucking black suit—arched a questioning brow as Kalico handed the notebook across to Yvette. The silver-haired blonde took it in her long fingers, those hazel eyes going pensive as she checked the numbers.

Cinque’s dark features, however, reflected a hint of accomplishment. As though he had prevailed in some way Shig couldn’t understand. The man—along with his colleagues, Chad Grunnel and Bartolome Radcek—had come in service of their own ends. What did it mean that Soukup had appointed him Supervisor? How fortunate for Cinque—Shig supposed—that their killers had never been identified.

In the end, Yvette sighed, pushed the notebook to the middle of the table, and said, “Works for me.”

“Then we have a deal,” Kalico noted, glancing at Suharto. “If you sign off on this, you’ll be swimming just as deeply in these waters as the rest of us. And just as culpable if we ever have to face a Board inquest.”

Cinque spread his fingers and studied them, a slight smile on his lips. “It’s the price of being named Supervisor by that Cretan, Soukup. I’ll take the risk. Besides, any reckoning will be a minimum of four, maybe five years down the road. In the meantime, a lot can happen.”

“Welcome to Donovan,” Kalico agreed as Yvette affixed her signature to the document.