image.
Gunshots had echoed in the distance, and the smell of death hung heavy in the air. She hadn’t cared that the odds were against her. She’d found the courage to stand up for what she believed.
And he’d lost her.
Natalie rested her palms against the desk beside him. “What arewe going to do, Stephen? This points to the reality of a modern-day slave trade—”
“No!”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
He rubbed a bead of sweat from his forehead as he moved around the desk and slid into his seat. This was why he’d left his last post. Leaving the corruption seemed easier than confronting it.
Coward.
“Stephen?” Natalie’s persistent voice wouldn’t leave him alone.
“I don’t know. I might be able to make a few phone calls,” Stephen relented, gripping the edge of the desk with his fingertips. Yes, he could do that much—make a few phone calls.
She dug the photos from his briefcase and handed them to him. “Then call them. Please. We need to know if anyone recognizes anyone in the photos.”
Stephen stared at his telephone. The image of Camille wouldn’t let go of him. He didn’t have to get involved, but he also couldn’t just do nothing and let it happen again. He’d make a call or two. Then it was someone else’s job to do something.
He started digging through his desk, trying to clear his mind enough to remember where the business-card holder was stashed. Normally he was more organized—He let out a sigh of relief. The holder was sitting in the third drawer where he always kept it.
Natalie pressed her back against the wall. “I’m taking Joseph back to my house. Promise me you’ll call someone when the lines are up again.”
He nodded.
“Good. And give the pictures to Patrick when you see him again. Surely that’s enough evidence to convince him he’s wrong.”
“Are there any other copies of the photos?”
She clinched her fists at her sides. “I have my own set somewhere safe.”
Somewhere safe.
He hadn’t felt safe for years. It was as if he’d been thrust into some cloak-and-dagger game without knowing who the players were. He didn’t want to ignore the plight of an entire village—or, for that matter, the possibility of countless others. But he knew the dangers of getting involved. He’d never make a difference anyway. Chances were it was all about money. Money had always been the root of this country’s destruction. Dhambizao was rich in natural resources—gold, diamonds, zinc, and other prized minerals—and there were lots of megacorporations willing to pay to get to them. More than enough motivation for power-hungry officials to line their own pockets while ignoring the toll it took on their people.
He didn’t know which side of the fence President Tau sat on, but in the long run it didn’t matter. There would be no investigation. Never would be. The best thing Joseph could do was to count his lucky stars he hadn’t been there when the village was ransacked. At least the boy still had a chance.
Trying to ignore the photos, Stephen clicked open the document he’d worked on earlier that day and started typing. Work was the one thing that could make him forget. About Joseph’s village, about the election…about Camille.
He’d barely gotten started when he heard voices down the hall and recognized Patrick’s voice. Five minutes later, Patrick sauntered into Stephen’s office, tugged on the edge of his suit jacket, and sat on the edge of the desk. “Natalie told the secretary that you have something for me.”
“Apparently you were wrong.” Stephen slammed the pictures onto his desk, then pushed them toward Patrick. “Looks to me as if these prove the existence of the rumored Ghost Soldiers. Or whatever you want to call them.”
“Where did you get these?”
“The boy with Natalie, Joseph Komboli, took them. Ghost Soldiers attacked his village.”
Patrick looked through the photos slowly, as if trying to digestwhat he was seeing. He
Gunshots had echoed in the distance, and the smell of death hung heavy in the air. She hadn’t cared that the odds were against her. She’d found the courage to stand up for what she believed.
And he’d lost her.
Natalie rested her palms against the desk beside him. “What arewe going to do, Stephen? This points to the reality of a modern-day slave trade—”
“No!”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
He rubbed a bead of sweat from his forehead as he moved around the desk and slid into his seat. This was why he’d left his last post. Leaving the corruption seemed easier than confronting it.
Coward.
“Stephen?” Natalie’s persistent voice wouldn’t leave him alone.
“I don’t know. I might be able to make a few phone calls,” Stephen relented, gripping the edge of the desk with his fingertips. Yes, he could do that much—make a few phone calls.
She dug the photos from his briefcase and handed them to him. “Then call them. Please. We need to know if anyone recognizes anyone in the photos.”
Stephen stared at his telephone. The image of Camille wouldn’t let go of him. He didn’t have to get involved, but he also couldn’t just do nothing and let it happen again. He’d make a call or two. Then it was someone else’s job to do something.
He started digging through his desk, trying to clear his mind enough to remember where the business-card holder was stashed. Normally he was more organized—He let out a sigh of relief. The holder was sitting in the third drawer where he always kept it.
Natalie pressed her back against the wall. “I’m taking Joseph back to my house. Promise me you’ll call someone when the lines are up again.”
He nodded.
“Good. And give the pictures to Patrick when you see him again. Surely that’s enough evidence to convince him he’s wrong.”
“Are there any other copies of the photos?”
She clinched her fists at her sides. “I have my own set somewhere safe.”
Somewhere safe.
He hadn’t felt safe for years. It was as if he’d been thrust into some cloak-and-dagger game without knowing who the players were. He didn’t want to ignore the plight of an entire village—or, for that matter, the possibility of countless others. But he knew the dangers of getting involved. He’d never make a difference anyway. Chances were it was all about money. Money had always been the root of this country’s destruction. Dhambizao was rich in natural resources—gold, diamonds, zinc, and other prized minerals—and there were lots of megacorporations willing to pay to get to them. More than enough motivation for power-hungry officials to line their own pockets while ignoring the toll it took on their people.
He didn’t know which side of the fence President Tau sat on, but in the long run it didn’t matter. There would be no investigation. Never would be. The best thing Joseph could do was to count his lucky stars he hadn’t been there when the village was ransacked. At least the boy still had a chance.
Trying to ignore the photos, Stephen clicked open the document he’d worked on earlier that day and started typing. Work was the one thing that could make him forget. About Joseph’s village, about the election…about Camille.
He’d barely gotten started when he heard voices down the hall and recognized Patrick’s voice. Five minutes later, Patrick sauntered into Stephen’s office, tugged on the edge of his suit jacket, and sat on the edge of the desk. “Natalie told the secretary that you have something for me.”
“Apparently you were wrong.” Stephen slammed the pictures onto his desk, then pushed them toward Patrick. “Looks to me as if these prove the existence of the rumored Ghost Soldiers. Or whatever you want to call them.”
“Where did you get these?”
“The boy with Natalie, Joseph Komboli, took them. Ghost Soldiers attacked his village.”
Patrick looked through the photos slowly, as if trying to digestwhat he was seeing. He
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