“How much do they pay you?”
“Half of what the thing is worth.”
The alien’s response was the fastest it had been. “That is absurd. No such service is worth half the value of the object in question.”
“It is,” I said, “if the object is difficult to find and retrieve, so difficult that normal approaches will not work, so difficult that there is significant risk and there are no other options.” Anyone talking to the highest levels of all the leading governments on Earth who resorted to kidnapping a single guy rather than simply asking for government help clearly couldn’t operate in the open, so I spelled it out for them, just in case. “My services are worth the fee, for example, when the buyer cannot afford to be openly searching for the lost goods.”
“Of course. It is clear that you appreciate our situation. I assume it is also clear that your . . . discretion is vital in this matter.”
“Of course. When I work, it’s always confidential.”
“And what price would you put on James Peterson that we might pay you half?”
They were serious. Jim was alive, or at least they believed he was.
“He really is alive?”
“Of course. He has been working for us since the moment we arranged his revival. I repeat: What price would you put on him and on this task?”
I could have told them that I would find Jim just so I could put him away again, but there was no point in throwing away a good opportunity.
“I assume you guys don’t have anything like a normal bank account, so I have to answer your question with another: What can you pay that I can use but that would also allow you to meet your needs for discretion?”
They chattered again for a while, then the original speaker left the room. He returned quickly with a stained brown paper bag that looked and smelled like it had been in the trash for a couple of days.
“Diamonds. We traded some very simple devices to a minor government to obtain some working capital. This bag contains enough value to easily equal the cost of a single human.”
The original speaker opened the bag next to my head so I could look inside. The contents were beautiful, more diamonds than I had ever seen in one place, facets dancing in even the room’s dim light, each stone easily a carat or more. He put the bag in my hand so I could gauge its weight. I’d have to revise my opinion about the aliens’ skill at motivation: The bag had to weigh at least two pounds, maybe more. Even with the massive cuts we’d have to take to move the diamonds without alerting the IRS, they would buy R.C. and me a long, long break in high style before we had to work again.
The alien took the bag from my hand and put it on a workbench on the right-hand wall.
“It’s enough,” I said. “What do you want me to do when I find him?”
The original leader stepped back as the older alien spoke. “You do not need to do anything. He—” he pointed with his upper left arm toward the original speaker “—will accompany you. You will leave when you have found James Peterson. He will retrieve some materials that are ours and . . . deal with Peterson.”
I shook my head. “That won’t work. To find him, I have to talk to people. Your friend here is hardly inconspicuous, and I’m sure you don’t want him to be seen wandering around in the open.”
“That point is not negotiable. He must be with you.”
I stared at the original leader and pictured him in a pair of pants, a sweatshirt, and a big hat. It wouldn’t be enough. There was no way I could take him out in public. Perhaps, though, if he stayed out of sight, kept to the car while I worked. “Let’s compromise. He can ride with me to each place I go, but he’ll have to wait in the car whenever I deal with other humans.”
The two of them chattered again briefly, then the older alien spoke to me. “That is acceptable.”