Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,89

already talked with Alejo a tiny bit last night, when just the two of them were left alone in the room after all the lab tests. He remembered being shot and was obviously relieved that Wara was alive and well. Wara filled him in on how Stalin and Gabriel had saved his life by dropping them off here at Univalle.

There really wasn’t much else to say, was there?

Oh yeah.

“I’m going to Lima, to see your family,” she announced, watching his reaction while breaking another Maria cookie up into tiny little bits. “Tonight. Yesterday I found out the bus is leaving at six.”

Alejo’s face was impassive as he said he agreed with her decision. Wara slowly fed herself bites of cookie, willing the day to go by quickly.

They spent the next three hours watching TV. Or listening to TV, in Alejo’s case. The afternoon news began by the time a nurse brought a late lunch of white rice and chicken. Alejo fumbled with his fork at his plate, then froze and snatched the remote off his lap, stabbing buttons to turn up the volume.

“Look!” he ordered, straining to hear the blaring voice of a female announcer. Wara turned her eyes to the small TV and nearly spit out a mouthful of sticky rice at the sight.

It was a building on Cochabamba’s Prado avenue, and it was burning. Alejo was leaning towards the television, knuckles squeezing the life out of the remote.

“…at around 12:30 today,” the announcer was saying. “There have been reports of an explosion, followed by these images of fiery destruction you are now seeing at the Hotel Diplomat.” The screen cut to the picture of burning building again, towering over the busy Prado avenue, flames licking the clouds. Boiling black smoke poured towards heaven. Wara gaped at the TV, not able to believe that the sleek hotel she had passed hundreds of times was now this burning wreck.

Noah’s parents had stayed there, but were scheduled to leave the night following the funeral. Wara felt sure they hadn’t stuck around a single minute longer than necessary.

On the news they said it was an explosion. She cut her eyes over to Alejo, whose lips had condensed into a grim, pale line. The female announcer was back again, in a low-cut mauve suit coat and braided gold earrings that hung to her shoulders. Smoky eyeliner made her eyes pop from a flawlessly tan face with salmon-colored cheeks.

“Many of the hotel guests,” she continued gravely, “were able to escape the building through stairs at the back, and the hotel bar and restaurant seems to be the hardest hit. While we will have to wait for a final count, there is sure to be a great number of lives lost in this tragedy. Initial estimates for the death toll are between sixty and seventy.”

Wara’s stomach clenched and she saw the silver fire again, spinning over her head as the bus hurdled down the ravine, taking Noah with it. She staggered to her feet, bumping the lunch tray and sending cool tea splashing over the rice.

I’ve got to get out of here, she thought in a daze. Even the bus station was sounding preferable now than staying here and watching this. The news reporter was receiving a note from an off-screen hand and continuing in all her mauve, low-cut glory. She drew back and frowned at the small note, then raised dark eyes to the camera.

“We are just receiving word that we have confirmation of the identities of two of the men who were killed in the Hotel Diplomat this afternoon. Their names will be released later, but we do know they are a deputy minister in Israel’s Ministry of Defense and the Israeli ambassador to the United States.”

Wara’s eyelids fluttered as Alejo muttered under his breath. He did not sound happy. But the news story wasn’t over yet.

“The Israeli men had come to Bolivia for negotiations with the government to reopen diplomatic relations. Bolivia and Israel have had no diplomatic relations since 2008, when President Evo Morales cut off relations over the actions of Israel in the Gaza Strip during the 2008-2009 war. Israel has stated that the nature of the explosion at the Hotel Diplomat is believed to be consistent with that of a suicide bomber,” the young news reporter faltered a moment, and then looked at the camera, puzzled, “and that a team of experts from Tel Aviv will be sent to examine the remains of the scene, to arrive at their