the cell service that both Marivic and Ronnie used. Arielle had managed to talk her way past several layers of employees and representatives and management—Filipinos were amazingly open and accessible, she thought—and now Arturo Guzman was the last barrier between her and the data that she wanted.
“Two lives are at stake,” Arielle said.
“I’m sure that the cause is legitimate. But it’s strictly against corporate policy. If we allowed everyone with a cause to rummage through our data, we would never get any work done.”
The walls of Guzman’s office were glass from waist height to the ceiling. The office was in the middle of a large open floor, and Guzman could look out over several dozen desks and consoles that were spread in all directions. Arielle smiled pleasantly and said, “But no one is standing in line behind me. And when I have what I need, I’ll say good-bye with thanks, and I’ll never bother you again. Please. Two numbers only, covering just the past ten days.”
He said, “Ten days, with well over one billion individual records per day, even more if you include hits at our competitors’ unique sites. And I’m sure that you do want that, correct?”
“The more data, the better.”
“There—you see how difficult this would be?”
She said, “But the data does exist, correct?”
“In theory, yes. Sites retain their records for about fifteen days. But it’s moot, because we access that data only on a large scale, to track traffic flows and patterns. The kind of granularity you’re talking about, we just don’t do.”
“I see,” she said. “I guess I had the wrong impression. I mean, based on my experience in the States.”
“How’s that?”
“A couple of years ago I had occasion to make the same request of a cell provider in the U.S., and it seemed to be a trivial matter for them. But naturally their software would be highly sophisticated. It isn’t fair to expect that a company in a developing country would have tools so powerful and robust.”
Guzman recoiled. His face showed disbelief. Outrage.
“Robust?” he said. “From a U.S. cell company? Give me a break. My American counterparts are constantly griping about their kludgy software. Inadequate software infrastructure is the curse of the early adopter. By the time the Philippines was ready for cellular, we understood what was possible. We had a chance to do it right, and we did. Robust? Powerful? Please. My software tools will blow away anything that the fat cats in the U.S. are working with.”
Arielle didn’t say anything. She wanted to give it a chance to sink in, what he had just said.
After a couple of seconds, he got it. His face took on a wry expression.
Checkmate. And he knew it.
“Give me those numbers,” he said. “Let me see what I can do.”
Marivic Valencia stood on her precarious perch and watched two orderlies carry a limp passenger off the seaplane and load him into the green and yellow six-wheel utility vehicle they regularly used at the dock.
Marivic had noted the markings early on. The side panel said JOHN DEERE and on the back was the word gator. She had also learned to recognize the sound of its engine as it passed, and would move her chair and table against the wall and scramble up to see what was happening. She rarely learned much, but it was at least a break in the monotony of the day.
This time she hadn’t needed the Gator to arouse her. She had jumped up when she heard the drone of the seaplane, its first visit to the island since the day she arrived. She thought it might be bringing a new prisoner to occupy the cell that Junior had left, and as she watched the scene on the dock, she was even more certain. It jibed perfectly with her drug-addled memory of her own arrival.
Now the Gator was working back up the hill, with one orderly driving while the other sat in back with the new arrival, holding him to keep him from falling out.
The Gator had a steel tube frame above the body. Sometimes an awning was stretched over the frame, sometimes not. Today the awning was pulled back, and she got a good view as the vehicle worked toward the building and then pulled up outside.
Oh, God.
The passenger was Ronnie.
Nineteen
Favor said, “Stick, you got a minute?”
The three men were in the bodega, Favor and Stickney and Mendonza. Arielle was still out, and they were waiting for Edwin Santos.
Mendonza was asleep.
“Sure, Ray,” Stickney said.
“What you were