It was horrible, and Danielle faulted herself because she was able to keep her distance from those involved. Finally, unable to bear the impersonal sounds of the earthmover as the scoop carved the grave, Danielle turned away. Farther down the street, she saw a man loading a small car. Evidently he had lost faith in the military to hold their positions.
A woman who was probably his wife came forward. She cried openly, one knotted fist in her mouth. She carried a child’s car seat. Her husband joined her. He looked at the car seat and shook his head. Even though Danielle couldn’t hear their voices over the sounds of the earthmover and the truck engines, she knew the couple was arguing.
The man tried to take the car seat from the woman. She held on to it desperately and shook her head. Tears streamed from her eyes and pain wrinkled her face like a prune.
Taking the car seat, the man spoke softly. The woman shook her head, tucking her chin against her chest and not meeting his gaze. He spoke again, more harshly this time because the tendons stood out on his neck.
For a moment Danielle thought the argument was only over the fact that there wasn’t room in the tightly packed car for the seat. Suddenly she noticed that there was no baby or small child in evidence. Then she realized why there was no child: all the children were gone, taken away by whatever forces had made them vanish.
Danielle took a picture of the couple arguing over the child’s seat. The scene was intimate and personal, but Danielle knew the same confusion had to be felt around the globe.
First Sergeant Gander’s son had disappeared, too. Danielle had learned that Goose had a son through the bio information Lizuca was able to get from someone in Waycross, Georgia, Goose’s hometown. Danielle hadn’t been able to bring up his son’s disappearance the few times she’d talked with the sergeant, and she didn’t think he would have talked about his boy if she had.
She put her camera away again and kept moving. Walking through the smoke that clogged the streets, seeing all the debris from the broken buildings and the shattered trees and burned vehicles, she missed the RV. Inside the Adventurer, she felt removed from the threat and the agonizing aftermath of the attack.
Before she knew it, tears ran down her face as she thought about the young couple and the car seat and the mass grave surrounded by all the upset family members and friends. And First Sergeant Goose Gander who had lost a son and seemed at odds with his superior officer over the matter of the CIA team.
She’d noted that in the hallway. She didn’t miss much. From everything she’d read about the 75th, Captain Remington and First Sergeant Gander had served successfully together for years. Maybe they had their differences of opinions during downtime or when they were on a routine peacekeeping mission, but Danielle didn’t buy the possibility that the pressure of the war zone had put them at odds.
The only catalyst she could point to was the CIA man she couldn’t identify. Yet. But she was willing to bet she could change that.
She took her sat-phone from her chest pouch and punched in the number. Military vehicles and civilian transport rolled by in the street, crunching through debris. In addition to the number she had for Lizuca Carutasu at OneWorld NewsNet, she also had the young woman’s home number.
After getting the job at OneWorld, the first thing Lizuca had done was put in a phone. Her mother had protested the expense, the young woman had told Danielle, and the stories of how her mother had tried over the past years to manage her money had made Danielle laugh. Mrs. Carutasu’s efforts reminded Danielle a lot of her own mother’s micromanaging attempts when she’d first moved out on her own.
The phone rang four times before it was answered.
Danielle ducked into an alley and turned toward the wall so the street noise wouldn’t sound so loud.
Mrs. Carutasu answered in Romanian.
Not having knowledge of the language other than to say hello and good-bye, Danielle said in English, “Hello, Mrs. Carutasu. This is Danielle Vinchenzo.”
“Ah, hello. Hello.” The woman’s English was limited, so even a polite conversation was difficult. “Danielle Vinchenzo. Yes.”
“Yes. Is Lizuca home?”
“No,” the old woman said. “Lizuca not home. She should be sleeping. Is time for bed. She work very hard.”
“I know,” Danielle said. “I apologize. If it wasn’t important I wouldn’t have called.”
“Oh, no,” the woman disagreed. “You call. You call.”
“I know I called.” Danielle glanced out at the street. “I need to speak with Lizuca.”
“Lizuca no here. She say she working. Say, tell Danielle … working. She know you call, yes.”
“Yes.”
“She say, tell working on peek-ture. Call you when she done. Then sleep, yes?”
The news heartened Danielle. Over the past few days she and Lizuca had managed to develop a rapport and get a few things past
Stolojan, including Lizuca’s overtime, which came out of Danielle’s budget. It didn’t surprise her now that Lizuca would undertake to work on the picture on her own time.
Of course, Danielle didn’t intend for the young woman not to get paid for her trouble. She knew from conversations with Lizuca that she was sole support for a number of people in addition to her mother.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carutasu,” Danielle said.
“Okay. Good-bye.” The phone hung up with an abrupt click.
Danielle put the sat-phone away in her vest. She took a deep breath and tried not to choke on the trace elements of chemicals in the dry air. She felt better. If Lizuca caught a break, Danielle knew she’d be in the middle of whatever game the CIA team was playing in Sanliurfa.
All Saints Hospital
Marbury, Alabama
Local Time 0743 Hours
“Well, there you are.”
Blearily, Delroy opened his eyes in the dimness of the hospital
