The Falconer's Tale by Gordon Kent Read Free Book Online Page A

mother?”
    â€œThat’s a sore subject.” Hackbutt trudged along with hispail. “Between you and me, they had a big fight. Her motherdoesn’t understand about Irene’s art. She hates feminists. Wehave to do everything ourselves. Irene’s a free spirit.”
    â€œThe project I have in mind might be able to help withthat.” Piat caught Hackbutt’s head move out of the cornerof his eye, and he said quickly, “Maybe you could supportIrene’s art and she wouldn’t have to go crawling to hermother.”
    Hackbutt put the bucket down and folded his arms overhis skinny chest. “You better tell me about that.”
    â€œI don’t want to tempt you to do something you don’twant to do, Digger.”
    â€œIt’s legit?”
    â€œOh, shit yes, well, if that’s what’s bothering you— Yeah,this is top-drawer, Dig. Have I ever bullshitted you? Youknow I was into some shitty stuff in Southeast; so were you,smuggling those parrots—”
    â€œIrene doesn’t know about that!”
    â€œI’m just saying, this isn’t anything like that. This is USpolicy. The most important kind.” He lowered his voice as ifhe were going to pronounce the secret name of Yahweh. “Anti-terrorism.”
    â€œI told you, I haven’t got the guts for that stuff.”
    â€œNot that kind of ‘antiterrorism’. This is sort of social. It’sa matter of contact. And maybe recruitment. You rememberhow that goes. Shmoozing. If anything starts to go down,the whole thing’ll be moved to other people.”
    â€œI’m not very social, Jack.”
    Piat knew that, and he was looking at Hackbutt’s wild hairand his scraggy beard and his bloodstained clothes andthinking that anything social was going to take a totalmakeover. But that wasn’t his problem “You’d be fine.”
    â€œWhy me?”
    It was the moment he had been aiming toward. It waseither going to make everything else a piece of cake, or itwas going to end it with the finality of the cleaver. He leanedcloser and almost whispered, “The birds.”
    Hackbutt didn’t get it. He looked as if he didn’t get it andhe said so. Piat, his own arms folded now because he wascold, the early sun behind clouds that were piling over thewhole sky, said, “You’re an authority on falconry. No, youare, Dig, don’t deny it. But you also love the birds. That lovecomes through in everything—when you handle them, whenyou talk about them. It’s great—it’s nice, it’s a good quality.It’s what makes you right for this project and it’s what wouldmake the project easy for you. See—” He looked up wherethe sun should have been and saw only a bright smudgebehind deepening gray. “The means to make contact with acertain guy is through falconry. He’s like you—he lives forthe birds”. Piat hoped it was true. He could push inventiononly so far.
    â€œHe flies them.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œIs he an Arab?”
    That caught Piat off guard. It was an obvious leap—It wasthe guess on which he was building the tale—but not onehe’d expected Hackbutt to make. “You’re getting ahead ofme, man. What’s the rule—we find out when we need toknow?”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œNo, no—” He put his hand on Hackbutt’s arm and thenlet go. “It would be meeting this individual and talking birdswith him, letting him get to know you a little. Then, if thatgoes well, then the powers that be maybe would make abird available to you to give him or something. Then—”
    â€œWhat kind of bird?”
    â€œWell, I don’t know birds, Dig—”
    â€œDo I get to pick the bird? There are some fantastic birdsout there, Jack, I’d give my left nut just to handle one ofthem! Is that the way it would work?”
    â€œThat’s the way it could