"I'll go." McTavish interrupted him, glancing at the document filled with dense legal jargon, "But I'll bring armed guards. Not negotiators, guards. Ten fully armed men into the meeting."
Johnson frowned, "That's not in line with diplomatic protocol, it may provoke a strong reaction from London—"
"Then let them react." McTavish stared at him, "Many of my brothers died at the hands of men in suits. Let them see the guns, it will remind everyone that this negotiation is paid for in blood, not a gift from London. This is my bottom line."
Johnson was silent for a moment, eventually nodding, "I will convey that. But please control the numbers and... demeanor."
The jeep jolted on the muddy mountain road. McTavish looked out the window; the rain had lessened, and the sky began to lighten. He thought of the late Duncan, of Callum's young face, of many people he would never see again.
