opened easily, into a storeroom that took up the entire second floor—no furniture, as best I could make out in the bit of light that seeped in, just boxes and old file cabinets. From here, the voices were clearer—there was Ti-Anna speaking now, I was sure—but still indistinct. Then I noticed a bit of light, a small hole in the floor. I tiptoed over, lay flat and peered down: nothing. Angled slats made it impossible to see anything but the ceiling fan below. But pressing an ear to the opening I could hear almost as though I were in the room.
“I don’t believe you,” Ti-Anna was saying angrily.
“See for yourself,” a man said. It did not sound like Thieu—the voice was deeper, the English less accented. He said something in Vietnamese, and I heard some walking and some rustling. “Here are the photos,” he said.
Ti-Anna gasped. “My father.”
“Yes,” the man said.
“And who’s that? The labor leaders?”
“She still does not get it,” a different voice said. This was Thieu,I was certain—the same higher-pitched, sneering rat voice we had heard at the gate that morning. “Stupid as her father.”
“There never were any labor leaders,” the other man said, in a more patient voice. “That was how they lured him here. Don’t you see? Those are Chinese agents. Doing their job.”
There was a pause.
“Where is he?” I heard Ti-Anna ask. Now she sounded more frightened than angry, as though she didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Not our business,” the man said. “But that car? From China. Probably they drove back across the border and threw him in prison that same day. If they’d wanted to kill him, they would not have had to go to such trouble.” He laughed a bit. “Not to mention expense.”
Now there was a longer pause. “So … why tell me now?” Ti-Anna asked.
“We were not supposed to,” the man said. “But I think, why not? Where you are going now”—the blood froze in my veins—“you will not be telling anyone. So what harm in satisfying your curiosity?”
“You’re going to kill me?” She sounded a lot more composed than I would have.
“No.” There was a chilly laugh. “What a waste that would be—an attractive young woman like you. These men”—I heard something, and assumed he was thumping the photo—“want you out of the way. ‘A good lesson,’ they say. ‘They will think twice about making trouble again, if they know even the children are not safe.’ But they didn’t tell us how. Now we will give you something to help you sleep. And you will go on a ride. And when you wake up—well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise. You will have a new life, believe me.”
The next second all hell seemed to break loose. Something was scraping along the ground, Ti-Anna was screaming, men were yelling in Vietnamese. Then I heard a groan from Ti-Anna. A thump. Quieter talking in Vietnamese. The front door opening.
The truck, I thought. With its engine rumbling.
I scrambled to my feet, ran out to the porch and around the corner. Below me two men were shoving Ti-Anna into the truck while a third supervised. She was limp.
The two haulers clambered after her and disappeared for a minute. Then they slid back out onto the gravel, said a few words to the third man and walked back inside. The third man rehooked the flap, tugged it to make sure it was fixed and started toward the cab.
I climbed onto the balcony railing. The truck’s canvas roof was about six feet below me. I knew I could either jump and try to hold on or lose Ti-Anna forever.
I jumped.
Chapter 28
The next—what was it, two hours? three? four?—were the scariest of my life.
The tarp sagged when I jumped, but didn’t give way. I started snaking toward the back, thinking I could swing inside, grab Ti-Anna and make a run for it. But as I hung my head over the edge, the truck lurched forward.
It was all I could do not to tumble off. I grabbed the edge of the tarp and managed to wriggle
“I don’t believe you,” Ti-Anna was saying angrily.
“See for yourself,” a man said. It did not sound like Thieu—the voice was deeper, the English less accented. He said something in Vietnamese, and I heard some walking and some rustling. “Here are the photos,” he said.
Ti-Anna gasped. “My father.”
“Yes,” the man said.
“And who’s that? The labor leaders?”
“She still does not get it,” a different voice said. This was Thieu,I was certain—the same higher-pitched, sneering rat voice we had heard at the gate that morning. “Stupid as her father.”
“There never were any labor leaders,” the other man said, in a more patient voice. “That was how they lured him here. Don’t you see? Those are Chinese agents. Doing their job.”
There was a pause.
“Where is he?” I heard Ti-Anna ask. Now she sounded more frightened than angry, as though she didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Not our business,” the man said. “But that car? From China. Probably they drove back across the border and threw him in prison that same day. If they’d wanted to kill him, they would not have had to go to such trouble.” He laughed a bit. “Not to mention expense.”
Now there was a longer pause. “So … why tell me now?” Ti-Anna asked.
“We were not supposed to,” the man said. “But I think, why not? Where you are going now”—the blood froze in my veins—“you will not be telling anyone. So what harm in satisfying your curiosity?”
“You’re going to kill me?” She sounded a lot more composed than I would have.
“No.” There was a chilly laugh. “What a waste that would be—an attractive young woman like you. These men”—I heard something, and assumed he was thumping the photo—“want you out of the way. ‘A good lesson,’ they say. ‘They will think twice about making trouble again, if they know even the children are not safe.’ But they didn’t tell us how. Now we will give you something to help you sleep. And you will go on a ride. And when you wake up—well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise. You will have a new life, believe me.”
The next second all hell seemed to break loose. Something was scraping along the ground, Ti-Anna was screaming, men were yelling in Vietnamese. Then I heard a groan from Ti-Anna. A thump. Quieter talking in Vietnamese. The front door opening.
The truck, I thought. With its engine rumbling.
I scrambled to my feet, ran out to the porch and around the corner. Below me two men were shoving Ti-Anna into the truck while a third supervised. She was limp.
The two haulers clambered after her and disappeared for a minute. Then they slid back out onto the gravel, said a few words to the third man and walked back inside. The third man rehooked the flap, tugged it to make sure it was fixed and started toward the cab.
I climbed onto the balcony railing. The truck’s canvas roof was about six feet below me. I knew I could either jump and try to hold on or lose Ti-Anna forever.
I jumped.
Chapter 28
The next—what was it, two hours? three? four?—were the scariest of my life.
The tarp sagged when I jumped, but didn’t give way. I started snaking toward the back, thinking I could swing inside, grab Ti-Anna and make a run for it. But as I hung my head over the edge, the truck lurched forward.
It was all I could do not to tumble off. I grabbed the edge of the tarp and managed to wriggle
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