you can say?”
“This is none of your business.”
“It became my business when I helped get you out of that church.”
“I don’t know why you did that, nor do I care. I didn’t ask for your help.
The older woman shook her head. “I only hope my children never grow to resent me like this.”
Brian had tried to sway her, that much she now realized. He’d also defended her father, made her feel bad about what she’d done. And all with questionable motives. Now, listening to another stranger defend him, was too much.
Zachariah would have to find another way.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
———
TOM APPRECIATED INNA’S DEFENSE. HE SHOULD HAVE SAID IT himself, but could not bring himself to do it. He’d taken Alle’s abuse for a long time, believing it his penance for all of the mistakes he’d made with her. Interesting how the world hated him for something he hadn’t done—falsify a news story—yet almost no one knew a thing about his real error.
A mistake that was all his.
And so was the punishment.
He’d come to Alle’s rescue because he had to. Now he knew the whole thing had been a ruse. A con. One his daughter had participated in, and she harbored no regrets.
He stared at the closed door where Alle had left.
“I’m so sorry,” Inna said.
He shook his head. “It’s my fault.”
“There is a lot between you two.”
“More than either of us realizes.”
“She’s going back to Zachariah Simon,” Inna said.
“He owns her mind.”
“She took what you gave her.”
He nodded. “It was meant for her.”
Inna threw him a puzzled look.
“I retyped my father’s note before I flew over here and removed the important parts. I didn’t know what I was going to do here, but I wanted options. Every good reporter has to have options.”
She smiled. “I remember that rule. I’m glad you do, too.”
“I’m not dead yet.”
And he meant it.
“So what are you really going to do?”
“Not what I told her.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ZACHARIAH WATCHED AS THE AMBASSADOR LEFT THE GARDENS at Schonbrunn. Dusk had arrived with 8:00 P.M., the sun waning, air cooling.
A most unexpected twist.
He would have Rocha check that trash bin.
But he already knew that she’d spoken the truth.
He cared little for politics. Nothing good, he’d ever seen, had come from that convoluted process. It was nothing but endless talk that led to debilitating compromise, all designed to gather popular support for another election. He wanted results, not votes. Action, not talk. Change, not status quo.
And secrecy had been his ally.
But not anymore.
At least one other thought the same way he did.
The phone vibrated in his pocket.
He found the unit and saw no number displayed. This was Rocha’s, so he thought it best to answer.
“
He knew the name.
“It is Zachariah, Mateo.
“