She reaches for the photo; takes it, then holds it in her hand...

"Places? Like vias on a microcircuit?"

"Whatever I can help you with. We need to contain the situation."

"That's enough for now." (Conclude.)

"I am sorry to have been the bearer of bad news. If there is anything else I can help you with, please ask."

"No, no, no -- we need to discuss this now. There isn't time to waste. Blood bath, remember?"

She cannot let you leave without having her say.

"You're right..."

She sips from her thermos.

"My bad, I thought you said mud bath..."

She sips from her thermos. She does not look away from you.

"What can you tell me about Krenel?"

"Not much. Their public resume is relatively good -- as far as private military contractors go. I believe they were once called... Downwell."

Down a deep, black well.

"They boast a long list of clients: Saint-Batiste, Welchman-Lorentz, Eendracht... A warning sign, however -- the operations concerned all take place in third- or fourth-world countries. Guarding facilities, escort missions, and such."

"Meaning they're used to operating in war zones."

"Yes. All the good conflict corridors: Supramundi, Yeesut, the Semenese islands. Countries that don't have a good record reporting atrocious military conduct on their soil."

"Sounds like maybe the colonel went a little native during the course of his duties."

"I wouldn't go as far as to use that term detective."

It's the expression she objects to?

"What? Going native?"

"Yes."

Feels like there's a good response here, but you're not coming up with one. Carry on.

She's picked a strange hill to die on. Strike!

"It sounds like you object to the words 'going native' more than him raping and killing people here."

She's silent.

"What is the purpose of this, detective?"

"This is where you draw the line -- going native? Not at hiring a paramilitary death squad?"

"Paramilitary death squad is a bit rich." She remains calm: "But yes -- were it up to me I would have at least vetted them more thoroughly."

"Never mind. Forget it."

Should have cornered her. Maybe it would have yielded something...

"Okay. Anything else you can tell me?"

"Sadly -- no. Before this happened I had little interest in them. Now that I do -- I don't have the resources." She thinks.

"If you still have access to the ICP's database, you could run a better background check than I ever could. It may take some time, though..." She thinks.

"Do you know a lot about the inner workings of the RCM and the ICP, ma'am?"

"In my line of work it pays to do your research. I was prepared to deal with the RCM. I did not think I would be dealing with a group like Krenel."

"Could you contact the company? Tell them to call them off."

"I have. And they will. However, these orders take time to reach what is basically a rogue unit out in the field, here. Until they do -- it's all on us."

She's being truthful. She is pressing them as hard as she can.

"Probably."

"Ah yes, your condition. The International Collaboration Police maintains a database for these sorts of things. Perhaps you should consult it. It was just a suggestion."

"Perhaps the arrangement no longer stands... excuse me, it's not my place to pry. If it does you should take advantage of it. Just a suggestion."

"I'm gonna say no."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The International Collaboration Police (ICP) is charged with coordinating law enforcement activities in complex, multi-national investigations. Their database is the single largest source of information in the world.

"Where are the remaining two mercs now?"

"They've gone to ground, as it were. I don't recommend seeking them out." She puts her foot on the guardwire, for balance. "For one -- they're almost certainly armed to the teeth."

"They don't have the same respect for the Revachol Citizens Militia as I do. To put it bluntly they think you're vigilantes, ghetto savages. It will not be a fruitful meeting."

Vigilantes? You're a professional officer of the only legitimate authority in Revachol.

You should show those meatheads exactly how savage you really are.

"They just need someone to put the Fear of Revachol into their hearts."

"Did you miss the part about ceramic armour and automatic weapons, detective?"

"That is a bad idea, one I won't be a party to." She shakes her head emphatically.

"Okay, I'll steer clear for the moment."

"That's wise," she nods. "Our goal is to avert catastrophe. Besides," she sighs, "You're likely to encounter them sooner or later."

Where are these mercenaries?

One is obviously the Scab Leader -- at the harbour gates. The one chanting the idiotic slogans. He's barely maintaining his disguise.

The other has a vantage point in a building South of the roundabout -- they were keeping tabs on you while you were canvassing the lorry drivers.

"One is probably in a building overlooking the roundabout."

"That would afford a good vantage point," she says. "In any case, it's practically inaccessible."

"Where is your radio, for contacting them -- if I may ask? Do you have an ear piece?"