didn’t get along well with her mother and did not have her picture on display in her bedroom as she did her father’s and brother’s.
“What is this about?” asked Diane.
“Did you hear me? Leave or I’m calling security. This is your fault. And his.” The woman gave David a brief glare. “This is all your fault. Every bit of it.”
“Do you know why Simone came here?” said Diane.
“Chester, get the nurse to call security.”
“Eileen,” he said, in a resigned sort of way, but let whatever else he was going to say drop.
“Please,” Pieter, Simone’s brother, mouthed to Diane. Diane was inclined to fold her arms and stay, but however strange Simone’s family were acting, they were hurting. And they did have the right to bar anyone they wanted from seeing their daughter.
“Very well,” said Diane. “But please understand, we have no idea what this is about.”
She and David turned, walked out to David’s vehicle, and got in. David didn’t immediately start up the Land Rover, but sat quietly staring at the hospital.
“Last week I was a respectable member of the community,” said Diane, putting on her seat belt. “Today I’m a drug-dealing whore. What the hell is going on?”
David muttered something like, “I don’t know.” Diane knew him well enough to know he was working through the problem. As she complained about everything that was happening she stared at the dashboard, which looked like it could have come out of an airplane. She stopped abruptly.
“David, what is all this stuff on your dash?”
“This”—he pointed to a section of buttons and knobs—“detects bugs planted in or on my Rover.”
“You are kidding. Have you ever had your vehicle bugged?”
“No, but it would be too late if I waited until it became a problem,” he said.
“And this other stuff?” asked Diane.
“If you are going to make fun of everything, I’m not going to tell you. However, I will tell you that some of it can access my computer.”
“Really?”
“I have my little inventions I’m working on,” he said. “You know how I like to marry algorithms, databases, and gadgets together.” He paused for several moments. “I’ve been accused of dealing in drugs too. Martin Thormond got another call, this one about me. He tried to get the reporter, Brian Mathews, to be more forthcoming, but Mathews refused.”
“What is this about?” Diane asked again.
“It has something to do with Simone and what she was doing here,” he said.
Diane looked over at him. “Why? Because it’s happening at the same time, and you don’t like coincidences?”
“No, things happen to us on such a regular basis, we can’t rely on simple correlation to be particularly helpful.”
Diane smiled and started to disagree, but didn’t say anything.
“There’s an international news bit I read before we came over here. The executive director of World Accord International has gone on an extended vacation amid accusations of consorting with prostitutes.”
“But the executive director is Gregory Lincoln,” she said, staring at David. Gregory was their boss when they both worked at WAI, and a good friend.
“Yes. And our experience in South America connects all of us. Someone is trying to discredit and/or kill us.” He glanced at the hospital again. “And the big event in all our lives is the massacre.”
Diane was quiet for several moments.
“I know,” she said. “The bone we found in the backpack belonged to someone from the part of South America we . . . I thought it might be . . .” Diane couldn’t finish. She didn’t have to. David reached over and grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“What was it Simone said?” said David. “‘It was one of us.’ It’s been haunting me.”
“Me too. Look, we know for sure it was Ivan Santos who carried out the massacre. We know why he did it—to get back at us, to stop us. So what did she mean by ‘It was one of us’?” said Diane.
“We need to
“What is this about?” asked Diane.
“Did you hear me? Leave or I’m calling security. This is your fault. And his.” The woman gave David a brief glare. “This is all your fault. Every bit of it.”
“Do you know why Simone came here?” said Diane.
“Chester, get the nurse to call security.”
“Eileen,” he said, in a resigned sort of way, but let whatever else he was going to say drop.
“Please,” Pieter, Simone’s brother, mouthed to Diane. Diane was inclined to fold her arms and stay, but however strange Simone’s family were acting, they were hurting. And they did have the right to bar anyone they wanted from seeing their daughter.
“Very well,” said Diane. “But please understand, we have no idea what this is about.”
She and David turned, walked out to David’s vehicle, and got in. David didn’t immediately start up the Land Rover, but sat quietly staring at the hospital.
“Last week I was a respectable member of the community,” said Diane, putting on her seat belt. “Today I’m a drug-dealing whore. What the hell is going on?”
David muttered something like, “I don’t know.” Diane knew him well enough to know he was working through the problem. As she complained about everything that was happening she stared at the dashboard, which looked like it could have come out of an airplane. She stopped abruptly.
“David, what is all this stuff on your dash?”
“This”—he pointed to a section of buttons and knobs—“detects bugs planted in or on my Rover.”
“You are kidding. Have you ever had your vehicle bugged?”
“No, but it would be too late if I waited until it became a problem,” he said.
“And this other stuff?” asked Diane.
“If you are going to make fun of everything, I’m not going to tell you. However, I will tell you that some of it can access my computer.”
“Really?”
“I have my little inventions I’m working on,” he said. “You know how I like to marry algorithms, databases, and gadgets together.” He paused for several moments. “I’ve been accused of dealing in drugs too. Martin Thormond got another call, this one about me. He tried to get the reporter, Brian Mathews, to be more forthcoming, but Mathews refused.”
“What is this about?” Diane asked again.
“It has something to do with Simone and what she was doing here,” he said.
Diane looked over at him. “Why? Because it’s happening at the same time, and you don’t like coincidences?”
“No, things happen to us on such a regular basis, we can’t rely on simple correlation to be particularly helpful.”
Diane smiled and started to disagree, but didn’t say anything.
“There’s an international news bit I read before we came over here. The executive director of World Accord International has gone on an extended vacation amid accusations of consorting with prostitutes.”
“But the executive director is Gregory Lincoln,” she said, staring at David. Gregory was their boss when they both worked at WAI, and a good friend.
“Yes. And our experience in South America connects all of us. Someone is trying to discredit and/or kill us.” He glanced at the hospital again. “And the big event in all our lives is the massacre.”
Diane was quiet for several moments.
“I know,” she said. “The bone we found in the backpack belonged to someone from the part of South America we . . . I thought it might be . . .” Diane couldn’t finish. She didn’t have to. David reached over and grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“What was it Simone said?” said David. “‘It was one of us.’ It’s been haunting me.”
“Me too. Look, we know for sure it was Ivan Santos who carried out the massacre. We know why he did it—to get back at us, to stop us. So what did she mean by ‘It was one of us’?” said Diane.
“We need to
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