The Mad Dog's Logic

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Geiger's real name was Geiger.

That was the kind of fact Adrian wished were a joke. Years ago, a mercenary with too much free time had decided that a man named Geiger should naturally be called Radiation. The nickname stuck with the stubbornness of a parasite. By the time Geiger left Loplers for Africa, half the underworld had forgotten he had ever had a normal name.

Normal being generous.

His red compact car rattled ahead of Adrian's armored truck, leading them away from the checkpoint and out toward the edge of town. The road deteriorated quickly. Paved ground became hard dirt. Hard dirt became loose sand and stones. Buildings thinned into broken walls, then storage sheds, then nothing but scrubland and heat.

At last, Geiger stopped at an abandoned yard surrounded by cracked concrete and rusted sheet metal.

"Safe enough," he said after stepping out. "For Malvia, that means nobody is shooting at us right now."

"High standard."

"You adapt."

Geiger walked around the truck and peered into the cargo bed. His eyebrows rose.

"You said equipment. This is not equipment. This is a small rebellion."

"It fits in the truck."

"That is not the legal definition of reasonable." Geiger looked at Rita and T-Lilith. "And who are they? Your women?"

Adrian's hand moved toward his knife.

Geiger immediately raised both hands. "Bad question. Forget I asked."

"Good."

"Still the same Mad Dog. Your temper somehow got worse." Geiger tilted his head toward the two women. "Why bring them to a place like this?"

"They are stronger than you."

Geiger opened his mouth, looked at T-Lilith, looked at Rita, then closed it again.

"I will pretend I believe you because I enjoy being alive."

"Smart."

"But you do realize you look like a low-budget Charlie's Angels remake with more ammunition."

Adrian stared at him.

"Too far?"

"Keep walking."

Geiger led them into a single-story house hidden behind the yard. The furniture was cheap, the walls cracked, and the air smelled like dust and old cooking oil. Under the bed in the back room, however, a trapdoor opened into a surprisingly dry cellar.

"Agor paid for the house, the papers, the truck route, and a silence fee for three different local officers," Geiger said. "The cellar is yours. Stay away from the main roads at night. Government troops and the rebels have been acting strange."

"Strange how?"

"Like they want to die." Geiger's expression lost some of its humor. "Both sides. Too much courage, not enough fear. Some locals say witchcraft. I say drugs. Either way, bad timing for tourists."

"We are not tourists."

"Then bad timing for heavily armed idiots."

Geiger left before Adrian could answer.

The next two hours vanished into unloading. Ammunition went into crates. Rifles went into racks. Medical supplies, explosives, spare armor, water, food, and communications gear were sorted with Rita's frightening precision. T-Lilith claimed the bed for exactly seven minutes before Adrian made her help.

Once the house was quiet, Adrian spread the mission file over the table.

Kanan Mafar. Female. Age uncertain. Nationality uncertain. Leader of Black Mamba. Active in the Middle East before appearing in Malvia. Repeated attacks on Tricell facilities. Multiple destroyed vehicles. Multiple dead employees. No ransom demands. No clear political statement beyond the pattern itself.

She hated Tricell.

That much was obvious.

Rita stood at his side. "Do you believe Tricell's claim, sir?"

"Which one? The humanitarian fairy tale or the part where Kanan keeps blowing up their people?"

"The motive."

"No." Adrian tapped the photograph. "A woman does not chase a corporation across continents with bombs and rifles because she dislikes their logo."

"Then Tricell wronged her."

"Probably."

"And we are still accepting the commission?"

"Yes."

Rita considered that without judgment. "Because the commission is not to decide who deserves sympathy. It is to eliminate the target."

"Exactly."

"How will we find her?"

Adrian leaned back.

Malvia was a mess of villages, checkpoints, military camps, rebel zones, tribal borders, and roads that barely deserved the name. Finding one woman in all of that would be a waste of time.

Finding Tricell would be easier.

"We do not hunt Kanan," he said. "We find Tricell's people."

Rita's eyes sharpened with understanding.

"Where Tricell goes," Adrian said, "Kanan Mafar will eventually follow."

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