Smokescreen - Iris Johansen Page 0,15

to survive. But I try to be honest, Eve.”

“I had to be sure about that, too. You told me not to take you at face value. I didn’t. I spent a little time this morning finding out about you.”

“I thought you might. Did you discover anything interesting?”

“You spent your entire life until you were eleven years old trailing around the world with your father, who was a photographer. When he was killed in Tibet, it took the U.S. consulate over a year to get you back to the States. But you had no relatives, so you were fostered out for the next five years. Then you worked your way through a community college and started freelancing. Your gift for languages helped you to get ahead, but the first couple years must have been hard.”

“Not that bad. I liked traveling around on my own again. I was a little gypsy until my father was killed.” She added, “But you didn’t find anything incriminating, did you? Other than being a loner, I’m pretty much what I appear on the surface.”

“I wanted to find something.”

“I know you did. It would have been an excuse to close your eyes again.” She paused. “Are you going to come with me?”

“I’m close,” Eve said jerkily. “Not because you want me to do it. Whether it was for a good cause or not, you tried every weapon in your arsenal to make me do what you wanted. And I could see how you’d pried and researched into who I was to make that happen. That’s probably what I resent most. Talk about violation of privacy? And you did such a damn good job.” She gestured impatiently. “No, it’s because last night I realized those stories were like a poison inside me. I couldn’t forget them. And I knew the only way I might be able to was to do something to help, to heal, those children. But you probably knew that would be my reaction?”

“I thought it was likely. You’re very caring.”

“And I can’t heal them, but I might be able to heal those closest to them.”

Jill nodded silently.

“So when I decided that those stories might have trapped me into doing this, I decided I had to look the situation over and explore how bad it might be. First. My family. I have a husband and a son who need me. And I need them. From what I’ve been able to find out, Maldara is still too unstable to be considered safe on any level. Yet you said that I’d be safe while I did those reconstructions. How?”

“I have friends at the embassy. And the U.N. staff on-site think reporters have to be given special protection. No bad press. I’ll just convince them to extend that protection to you.”

“From what you said, they don’t even want the work done at Robaku.”

Jill grimaced. “But I’ve been a thorn in their diplomatic asses over the last year. They’ll be glad to shut me up and get rid of my nagging as long as it doesn’t affect their budget.” She added, “But, you know, it might be a good idea for you to call one of those charities you mentioned and tell them you’re volunteering to do the job. You have tremendous name recognition, so there’s no question they’ll jump at sponsoring you. Just ask them if they’ll contact the U.N. and advise them you’re operating at their request. That way you’d get the official protection and not raise any U.N. hackles by mentioning me.” She shrugged. “And the charity would get credit in the international community that might translate to donations later. Everyone wins.”

“And more manipulation,” Eve said.

“Would you rather I do it? I’ll do anything that will make you feel more comfortable.” Jill was obviously being perfectly sincere.

“No, I’ll take care of it.” Eve ran her hand through her hair. “If it’s even possible. I just remembered I don’t have a visa, no documents. That could take—”

“Twenty-four hours,” Jill said. “Give me your passport, and I’ll have it processed. We can stop and have the necessary shots on the way to the airport.”

“Twenty-four hours?”

She smiled. “I told you that I have friends in high and low places. This is a piece of cake.” She turned and strode toward the door. “And while you’re getting me your passport, I’ll make you a cup of coffee.” She glanced over her shoulder. “If I’m forgiven enough to be let back into your good graces?”

“Marginally.” She followed her into the house. “I’ll

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