Chương 5
Mara read the sentence about distress three times.
Nia called from work.
“They made us sign something,” she said without greeting.
“What?”
“A reminder about client confidentiality. Russell says anyone posting videos gets terminated.”
“Did you post one?”
“No. Elliot did.”
“Elliot filmed it?”
“His cousin posted it from his account, which is not the legal masterpiece they think it is. Russell fired him.”
Mara walked to the window. A child on the sidewalk dragged a stick along a chain-link fence, producing a metallic rattle that made her shoulder tighten.
“What about you?”
“I’m still employed, apparently because I was behind the camera angle.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing for other people.”
Mara rested her forehead against the glass.
Nia lowered her voice. “The foundation’s lawyer is here.”
“At the catering office?”
“He brought Russell a folder. They’ve been talking for forty minutes.”
“What kind of folder?”
“Blue. Expensive. Villainous.”
“Nia.”
“I don’t know. But Russell came out and asked whether you ever disclosed a military background on your employment forms.”
“I don’t have a military background.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You shouldn’t be involved.”
“I was involved when I watched that woman throw your tray.”
“You need the job.”
“So do you.”
“I’m already suspended.”
“Which is why you should stop protecting people who didn’t protect you.”
Mara closed her eyes.
Nia sighed. “The general called here.”
“What did Russell tell him?”
“That employee information is confidential.”
“That’s appropriate.”
“Then Russell gave him your address.”
Mara opened her eyes.
“I’m joking,” Nia said. “He didn’t. You stopped breathing.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“A little.”
Someone knocked at Luis’s apartment door.
Mara moved away from the window.
“Nia, I have to go.”
“Do not open it unless they have pizza.”
The knock came again, controlled and unhurried.
Mara looked through the peephole.
Thomas Mercer stood alone in the hallway wearing a dark civilian suit. He held no flowers, no camera crew, and no visible solution.
Mara opened the door but left the chain attached.
“How did you find me?”
“Your mother.”
“She gave you this address?”
“She called my office and informed my aide that reporters were outside your building. Then she said you were staying with your brother and hung up before giving the address.”
“That sounds more like her.”
“I obtained it from a public property record.”
“That sounds more like you.”
His mouth moved slightly. Not a smile, exactly.
“I can leave,” he said.
Mara considered it. “Why are you here?”
“To apologize.”
“For the salute?”
“For what happened before it.”
“You didn’t accuse me.”
“I looked at you as if you might have taken the medal.”
“So did everyone.”
“I am responsible only for my own failure.”
He said it with the clean precision of a formal report. Mara disliked how much she wanted to believe him.
“You came here to say that?”
“And to tell you I did search.”
“I don’t need proof.”
“I brought it anyway.”
He held up a thin paper file.
Mara stared at the folder, then unhooked the chain.
Luis’s apartment smelled faintly of sawdust and cat food. Mercer entered cautiously, as though the clutter required tactical awareness. The orange cat appeared from beneath the couch and rubbed against his polished shoe.
“That isn’t my cat,” Mara said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“People always ask.”
He looked down at the cat. “Whose is it?”
“The woman downstairs.”
“Why is it here?”
“It rejects borders.”
Mercer sat at the small table. The cat jumped into the chair opposite him, forcing Mara to take the couch.
He placed the folder within reach but did not push it toward her. Inside were copies of letters dated over nearly a decade. Some had military letterhead. Others had been addressed to dissolved aid organizations, former embassy staff, hospitals, and a relief coordinator whose name Mara recognized.
Each inquiry described an unidentified civilian medic with a blue torch tattoo and a burn injury.
The early letters were signed Colonel Thomas Mercer. The later ones carried stars after his name.
“You could have found my mother,” Mara said.
“The personnel record listed Marisol Alvarez as the responder. We located an Alvarez family in New Mexico who had lost a daughter working overseas. They believed I was asking about her.”
“So you stopped.”
“For a time. My contacting them caused pain. I told myself further searches might do the same.”
“You told yourself.”
“Yes.”
The cat stepped onto the folder. Mercer moved one page before it could be creased.
Mara looked at a letter from nine years earlier. The language was restrained, but one handwritten line had been added beneath the signature: I need only to know whether she survived.
“You were awake in the transport?” she asked.
“Partly.”
“What do you remember?”
“Fire against the windows. My driver was dead. I could not release the harness.” His gaze settled on the table rather than on her. “Someone climbed through the rear door. You said the vehicle was going to kill us both if I didn’t stop fighting you.”
Mara heard her own voice from eleven years earlier, hoarse beneath smoke: You can break my wrist later. Right now, hold still.
“You were fighting me.”
“I believed you were an enemy.”
“You had a head injury.”
“I was still difficult.”
“That has apparently healed less than the rest.”
This time he did smile, briefly. It changed his face enough to reveal the younger man she had dragged across the dirt.
He continued. “You cut the harness. Something exploded outside. A man shouted at you to leave me.”
“Diego.”
“I remember that name.”
Mara’s fingers tightened around the edge of the couch.
“You went back into the vehicle,” Mercer said. “I heard him yelling. Then you came through the front and pulled debris off my leg.”
“You were trapped.”
“The report said the civilian responder ignored an evacuation order.”
“Reports enjoy verbs like ignored.”
“What verb would you use?”
She looked at the scar beneath her sleeve.
May you like
“Chose.”
Mercer waited, but Mara had nothing more to give him.
